I started hearing rumors of Mr. Huang’s infidelities earlier this year, but was unable to confirm them. Inside Nvidia, there was a culture of omertà that was difficult to break, and this enabled Mr. Huang to be his worst self. I sensed this deference, at times, in the sycophantic laughter of his subordinates when he was around, and the little things they muttered once he left the room. Ultimately, it took government intelligence to pierce Nvidia’s culture of silence — along with the reporters at this newspaper. But now that containment is shattered, and I will not be surprised if more women come forward. No one will be surprised.
Mr. Huang went to considerable lengths to cloak his arrogance. When I first met him in 2023, he and his handlers were pushing the idea that he was a humble man. In our conversations, Mr. Huang was constantly deflecting attention away from his success, always quick to assign credit to his employees and executive staff members. He also liked to glad-hand service people. He’d been a dishwasher himself once, a point he never let you forget. He loved visiting small, hole-in-the-wall restaurants and leaving extravagant tips. I’d met him for breakfast at Denny’s, and he tipped our waitress $1,000 in hundred-dollar bills. He didn’t make a show of it, either. I had to track her down to ask.
Over time, though, I began to suspect that this was an act, one performed not for the observer, but to flatter himself. In truth, Mr. Huang was quite arrogant. He had little tolerance for disagreement and almost no capacity for open discourse. When you contradicted him, even over the most trivial matter, it was like lighting a fuse. Stick to your position and soon he exploded, screaming at you for your idiocy. A harangue from Mr. Huang could last an hour or more; his executive staff appeared genuinely afraid of him. Listening to their stories, I was reminded of the abusive music instructor from the movie “Whiplash.”
Mr. Huang went to even greater lengths to present himself as a family man. Here, the act was harder to detect and must have involved a great deal of self-deception. He spoke of his wife, Lori, and his kids, Madison and Spencer, all the time. Unlike his flimsy man-of-the-people shtick, this affection for his family seemed genuine. He traveled with them often, all over the world. He encouraged his kids to leave careers in unrelated fields to join him at his microchip company. Several weeks ago, at a wedding in Hawaii, he gave away his daughter Madison to Nico Caprez, another Nvidia executive.
Mr. Huang met Lori when he was 17. The two were lab partners in an electrical engineering course and Mr. Huang was so shy it took him six months to ask her out. She was his first girlfriend and they married in their early 20s. She left the work force to raise their kids so Mr. Huang could pursue his dream of founding a company. He has spoken often of the sacrifices she made for him. His betrayal of her is absolute.
