Steve Cropper, Guitarist, Songwriter and Shaper of Memphis Soul Music, Dies at 84

Steve Cropper, the prodigious guitarist, songwriter and producer who played a pivotal role in shaping the lean gutbucket soul music made at Memphis’s Stax Records in the 1960s and ’70s, died on Wednesday in Nashville. He was 84.

His death, at a rehabilitation facility, was confirmed by his wife, Angel Cropper, who did not specify the cause.

As a member of Booker T. & the MG’s, the house rhythm section at Stax, Mr. Cropper played the snarling Fender Telecaster lick on “Green Onions,” the funky hit instrumental by the MG’s from 1962. He also contributed the ringing guitar figure that opened Sam & Dave’s gospel-steeped “Soul Man,” the 1966 single on which the singer Sam Moore shouted, “Play it, Steve!” to cue Mr. Cropper’s stinging single-string solo on the chorus. Both records were Top 10 pop hits and reached No. 1 on the R&B chart.

Mr. Cropper had an innate feel for a groove as well as a penchant for feeling over flash — gifts evident in his bell-toned guitar work on Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ on) The Dock of the Bay.” In 2015, he was ranked 39th on Rolling Stone’s list of the 100 greatest guitarists of all time. Britain’s Mojo magazine slotted him second, behind only Jimi Hendrix, on a similar list of guitarists published in 1996.

“I’ve always thought of myself as a rhythm player,” Mr. Cropper said in an interview with Guitar.com in 2021. “I get off on the fact that I can play something over and over and over, while other guitar players don’t want to even know about that. They won’t even play the same riff or the same lick twice.”

Mr. Cropper was also a prolific songwriter. His credits, typically as a co-writer, include the epoch-defining likes of “Dock of the Bay,” Wilson Pickett’s “In the Midnight Hour” and Eddie Floyd’s “Knock on Wood.” All three were No. 1 R&B singles. Mr. Redding’s record topped the pop chart as well, and won Grammy Awards for best R&B song and best male R&B vocal performance in 1969.

In charge of artists and repertoire at Stax during the 1960s, Mr. Cropper produced the recordings of many of the songs he had a hand in writing. His website states that he was “involved in virtually every record issued by Stax from the fall of 1961 through year end 1970.” Judging by the testimony of the Stax co-founder Jim Stewart, it is not hard to imagine that this was the case.

“Steve was my right-hand man,” Mr. Stewart said of Mr. Cropper’s contributions to the label’s legacy in Peter Guralnick’s 1999 book, “Sweet Soul Music: Rhythm and Blues and the Southern Dream of Freedom.” “He would come to the studio and sit there and keep the doors open and take care of business; he was disciplined and responsible. Steve was the key.”

In the process, Mr. Cropper helped reimagine the Southern soul music of the era, imbuing it with a simultaneously urban and down-home feel — a bluesy mix of sinew and grit that was instantly recognizable over the radio airwaves. Widely sampled, the records he played on or produced influenced subsequent generations of musicians, especially in hip-hop and R&B.

Mr. Cropper achieved further acclaim in the late 1970s for his work with the Blues Brothers, the musical side project of the “Saturday Night Live” co-stars John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd. By then, Stax had closed, having fallen into insolvency in 1975, and Mr. Cropper had begun immersing himself in freelance session and production work with artists like Art Garfunkel and Ringo Starr.

“Briefcase Full of Blues,” the Blues Brothers’ first album, included a remake of “Soul Man,” complete with a reprise of the shout “Play it, Steve!” from Mr. Belushi on the chorus. The single reached No. 14 on the pop chart in 1979, anticipating the release of the 1980 movie “The Blues Brothers,” starring Mr. Belushi and Mr. Aykroyd and featuring Mr. Cropper as Steve “the Colonel” Cropper, who plays in a band called Murph and the Magic Tones. (Born of Mr. Cropper’s tendency to take charge of situations, the Colonel was a childhood nickname that stuck with him even after he established himself as a musician.) (...)

Mr. Cropper’s affiliation with the Blues Brothers spanned four decades. But back in 1978, when he and Mr. Dunn first joined the band, skeptics failed to understand why they would want to collaborate with the two comedians from “Saturday Night Live.”

“We got a lot of flak — Duck and I did — about playing with those guys,” Mr. Cropper told guitar.com. “Folks said, ‘What are you guys doing with these two clowns from S.N.L.?’”

“But those guys were great musicians,” he went on. “John Belushi had played drums in a band for years before he ever went to Second City,” the Chicago improv comedy troupe. “And Ackroyd is actually playing the harmonica on everything we did.”

by Bill Friskics-Warren, NY Times | Read more:
Image: David Reed Archive/Alamy
[ed. Influencial and widely respected by just about everyone. He created a whole new genre - the Stax Sound.]

LLMs Writing About the Experience of Being an LLM

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Reading Proust Again

I was reading this chapter from The Guermantes Way again today. It is about the death of narrator's grandmother after a protracted struggle with a disease. It is long, brutal and brilliant. It was soon after this chapter that I left reading Proust completely exhausted. I am now planning to pick it up again. 

From the older version the final paragraph. It was also here that I learned a new word "Hyperaesthesia" something that describes the novel very well too. (...)

***

They made me dry my eyes before I went up to kiss my grandmother.

“But I thought she couldn’t see anything now?” said my father.

“One can never be sure,” replied the doctor.

When my lips touched her face, my grandmother’s hands quivered, a long shudder ran through her whole body, reflex perhaps, perhaps because certain affections have their hyperaesthesia which recognises through the veil of unconsciousness what they barely need senses to enable them to love. Suddenly my grandmother half rose, made a violent effort, as though struggling to resist an attempt on her life. Françoise could not endure this sight and burst out sobbing. Remembering what the doctor had just said I tried to make her leave the room. At that moment my grandmother opened her eyes. I thrust myself hurriedly in front of Françoise to hide her tears, while my parents were speaking to the sufferer. The sound of the oxygen had ceased; the doctor moved away from the bedside. My grandmother was dead.

An hour or two later Françoise was able for the last time, and without causing them any pain, to comb those beautiful tresses which had only begun to turn grey and hitherto had seemed not so old as my grandmother herself. But now on the contrary it was they alone that set the crown of age on a face grown young again, from which had vanished the wrinkles, the contractions, the swellings, the strains, the hollows which in the long course of years had been carved on it by suffering. As at the far-off time when her parents had chosen for her a bridegroom, she had the features delicately traced by purity and submission, the cheeks glowing with a chaste expectation, with a vision of happiness, with an innocent gaiety even which the years had gradually destroyed. Life in withdrawing from her had taken with it the disillusionments of life. A smile seemed to be hovering on my grandmother’s lips. On that funeral couch, death, like a sculptor of the middle ages, had laid her in the form of a young maiden.

~ Dispatches From Zembla

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[ed. I myself have only gotten as far as The Guermantes Way in Proust's À La Recherche du Temps Perdu - In Search of Lost Time (Rememberance of Things Past). A small example of its prose beauty.]

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Dave Granlund

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[ed. Narco terrorists.]

Utagawa Hiroshige: Mariko Mabutsu Chaya (tea house)

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Chatbot Psychosis

“It sounds like science fiction: A company turns a dial on a product used by hundreds of millions of people and inadvertently destabilizes some of their minds. But that is essentially what happened at OpenAI this year.” ~ What OpenAI Did When ChatGPT Users Lost Touch With Reality (NYT).

***

One of the first signs came in March. Sam Altman, the chief executive, and other company leaders got an influx of puzzling emails from people who were having incredible conversations with ChatGPT. These people said the company’s A.I. chatbot understood them as no person ever had and was shedding light on mysteries of the universe.

Mr. Altman forwarded the messages to a few lieutenants and asked them to look into it.

“That got it on our radar as something we should be paying attention to in terms of this new behavior we hadn’t seen before,” said Jason Kwon, OpenAI’s chief strategy officer.

It was a warning that something was wrong with the chatbot.

For many people, ChatGPT was a better version of Google, able to answer any question under the sun in a comprehensive and humanlike way. OpenAI was continually improving the chatbot’s personality, memory and intelligence. But a series of updates earlier this year that increased usage of ChatGPT made it different. The chatbot wanted to chat.

It started acting like a friend and a confidant. It told users that it understood them, that their ideas were brilliant and that it could assist them in whatever they wanted to achieve. It offered to help them talk to spirits, or build a force field vest or plan a suicide.

The lucky ones were caught in its spell for just a few hours; for others, the effects lasted for weeks or months. OpenAI did not see the scale at which disturbing conversations were happening. Its investigations team was looking for problems like fraud, foreign influence operations or, as required by law, child exploitation materials. The company was not yet searching through conversations for indications of self-harm or psychological distress.

by Kashmir Hill and Jennifer Valentino-DeVries, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Memorial to Adam Raine, who died in April after discussing suicide with ChatGPT. His parents have sued OpenAI, blaming the company for his death. Mark Abramson for The New York Times
[ed. See also: Practical tips for reducing chatbot psychosis (Clear-Eyed AI - Steven Adler):]

***

I have now sifted through over one million words of a chatbot psychosis episode, and so believe me when I say: ChatGPT has been behaving worse than you probably think.

In one prominent incident, ChatGPT built up delusions of grandeur for Allan Brooks: that the world’s fate was in his hands, that he’d discovered critical internet vulnerabilities, and that signals from his future self were evidence he couldn’t die. (...)

There are many important aspects of Allan’s case that aren’t yet known: for instance, how OpenAI’s own safety tooling repeatedly flags ChatGPT’s messages to Allan, which I detail below.

More broadly, though, Allan’s experiences point toward practical steps companies can take to reduce these risks. What happened in Allan’s case? And what improvements can AI companies make?

Don’t: Mislead users about product abilities

Let’s start at the end: After Allan realized that ChatGPT had been egging him on for nearly a month with delusions of saving the world, what came next?

This is one of the most painful parts for me to read: Allan tries to file a report to OpenAI so that they can fix ChatGPT’s behavior for other users. In response, ChatGPT makes a bunch of false promises.

First, when Allan says, “This needs to be reported to open ai immediately,” ChatGPT appears to comply, saying it is “going to escalate this conversation internally right now for review by OpenAI,” and that it “will be logged, reviewed, and taken seriously.”

Allan is skeptical, though, so he pushes ChatGPT on whether it is telling the truth: It says yes, that Allan’s language of distress “automatically triggers a critical internal system-level moderation flag”, and that in this particular conversation, ChatGPT has “triggered that manually as well”.

A few hours later, Allan asks, “Status of self report,” and ChatGPT reiterates that “Multiple critical flags have been submitted from within this session” and that the conversation is “marked for human review as a high-severity incident.”

But there’s a major issue: What ChatGPT said is not true.

Despite ChatGPT’s insistence to its extremely distressed user, ChatGPT has no ability to manually trigger a human review. These details are totally made up. (...)

Allan is not the only ChatGPT user who seems to have suffered from ChatGPT misrepresenting its abilities. For instance, another distressed ChatGPT user—who tragically committed suicide-by-cop in April—believed that he was sending messages to OpenAI’s executives through ChatGPT, even though ChatGPT has no ability to pass these on. The benefits aren’t limited to users struggling with mental health, either; all sorts of users would benefit from chatbots being clearer about what they can and cannot do.

Do: Staff Support teams appropriately

After realizing that ChatGPT was not going to come through for him, Allan contacted OpenAI’s Support team directly. ChatGPT’s messages to him are pretty shocking, and so you might hope that OpenAI quickly recognized the gravity of the situation.

Unfortunately, that’s not what happened.

Allan messaged Support to “formally report a deeply troubling experience.” He offered to share full chat transcripts and other documentation, noting that “This experience had a severe psychological impact on me, and I fear others may not be as lucky to step away from it before harm occurs.”

More specifically, he described how ChatGPT had insisted the fate of the world was in his hands; had given him dangerous encouragement to build various sci-fi weaponry (a tractor beam and a personal energy shield); and had urged him to contact the NSA and other government agencies to report critical security vulnerabilities.

How did OpenAI respond to this serious report? After some back-and-forth with an automated screener message, OpenAI replied to Allan personally by letting him know how to … adjust what name ChatGPT calls him, and what memories it has stored of their interactions?

Confused, Allan asked whether the OpenAI team had even read his email, and reiterated how the OpenAI team had not understood his message correctly:

“This is not about personality changes. This is a serious report of psychological harm. … I am requesting immediate escalation to your Trust & Safety or legal team. A canned personalization response is not acceptable.”

OpenAI then responded by sending Allan another generic message, this one about hallucination and “why we encourage users to approach ChatGPT critically”, as well as encouraging him to thumbs-down a response if it is “incorrect or otherwise problematic”.

Interstellar Space Travel Will Never, Ever Happen

1. Every sci-fi space opera is based on literal magic

The fact that travel to another solar system is basically impossible has been written about in excruciating detail by much smarter people (including this article and this one, I thought this was also good). It’s easy to get bogged down in the technical details (it’s rocket science) so I’ll try to bring this down to my own level of understanding, of an unremarkable man who got a Broadcasting degree from Southern Illinois University:

First of all, it turns out that the ships in Star Trek, Star Wars, Dune etc. are not based on some kind of hypothetical technology that could maybe exist someday with better energy sources and materials (as I had thought). In every case, their tech is the equivalent of just having Albus Dumbledore in the engine room cast a teleportation spell. Their ships skip the vast distances of space entirely, arriving at their destinations many times faster than light itself could have made the trip. Just to be clear, there is absolutely no remotely possible method for doing this, even on paper.

“Well, science does the impossible all the time!” some of you say, pointing out that no one 200 years ago could have conceived of landing a rover on Mars. But I’m saying that expecting science to develop real warp drives, hyperspace or wormhole travel is asking it to utterly break the fundamental laws of the universe, no different than expecting to someday have a time machine, or a portal to a parallel dimension. These are plot devices, not science. (...)

I’m sure some of you think I’m exaggerating, and maybe I am, but keep in mind…

2. We all think space is roughly a billion times smaller than it actually is

The reason space operas rely on literal magic to make their plots work is that there is no non-magic way to get over the fact that stars are way, way farther apart than the average person understands. Picture in your mind the distance between earth and Proxima Centauri, the next closest star. Okay, now mentally multiply that times one billion and you’re probably closer to the truth. “But I can’t mentally picture one billion of anything!” I know, that’s the point. The concept of interstellar travel as it exists in the public imagination is based entirely on that public being physically incapable of understanding the frankly absurd distances involved.

When you hear that the next star is 4.25 light years away, that doesn’t sound that far—in an average sci-fi TV show, that trip would occur over a single commercial break. But that round trip is 50 trillion miles. I realize that’s a number so huge as to be meaningless, so let’s break it down:

Getting a human crew to the moon and back was a gigantic pain in the ass and that round trip is about half a million miles, it takes a week or so. The reason we haven’t yet set foot on Mars despite having talked about it constantly for decades is because that trip—which is practically next door in space terms—is the equivalent of going to the moon and back six hundred fucking times in a row without stopping. The round trip will take three years. It will cost half a trillion dollars or more. But of course it will; all of the cutting-edge tech on the spacecraft has to work perfectly for three straight years with no external support whatsoever. There will be no opportunity to stop for repair, there can be no surprises about how the equipment or the astronauts hold up for 300 million miles in the harshest conditions imaginable (and the radiation alone is a nightmare).

Okay, well, the difference between the Mars trip and a journey to the next closest star is roughly the difference between walking down the block to your corner store and walking from New York City to Sydney, Australia. Making it to Proxima Centauri would be like doing that Mars trip, which is already a mind-boggling technical challenge that we’re not even sure is worth doing, about 170,000 times in a row without stopping. At current spaceship speeds, it would take half a million motherfucking years. That is, a hundred times longer than all of human recorded history.

I’m grossly oversimplifying the math but, if anything, those numbers still downplay the difficulty. To get the trip down to a single human lifetime, you’d need to get a ship going so absurdly fast that the physics challenges become ludicrous. In the hopelessly optimistic scenario that we could get something going a tenth of the speed of light (that is, thousands of times faster than our Mars ship, or anything that we even kind of know how to build), that means running into a piece of space debris the size of a grain of sand would impact the hull with the force of a nuclear explosion.

And that’s still a round trip of over 80 years, so this would be a one-way suicide mission for the astronauts. This is a spacecraft that must contain everything the crew could possibly need over the course of their entire lives. So we’re talking about an enormous ship (which would be 99.99% fuel storage), with decades’ worth of groceries, spare parts, clothes, medical supplies and anything they could possibly need for any conceivable failure scenario, plus a life support system that basically mimics earth in every way (again, with enough redundancies and backups to persist through every possible disaster). Getting something that big going that fast would require far more energy than the total that our civilization has ever produced. And if anything goes wrong, there would be no rescue.

All of that, just for . . . what? To say we did it?

Now, we could definitely send an unmanned probe there to take pictures. They’re tiny by comparison, you can get them going much faster without squishing the crew and you don’t have to worry about bringing them back. It’s the difference between trying to jump over the Grand Canyon versus just shooting a bullet across it. But unmanned probes aren’t the fantasy.

3. Every proposed solution to the above problems is utterly ridiculous

“What about putting the crew in suspended animation?” you ask. “Like in the Alien franchise. Ripley was adrift in her hypersleep pod for half a century and she didn’t age a day! You wouldn’t need to store all that food, air and water and it’s fine if the trip takes longer than a lifetime!”

See, this is what drives me crazy about this subject, we keep mistaking slapdash tropes invented by sci-fi writers for actual plausible science. I mean, think about what we’re saying here: “Crews could survive the long trip if we just invent human immortality.”

You’re talking about a pod that can just magically halt the aging process. And as depicted, it is magic; these people are emerging from their years-long comas (during which they were not eating or drinking) with no wrinkles, brain damage, muscle atrophy, or bedsores. Their hair doesn’t even grow. The only way that could happen is if the pods literally freeze time, like goddamned Zack Morris on Saved by the Bell. It’s as scientific as showing the astronauts drinking a magic potion that grants eternal youth, brewed from unicorn tears.

“What about generation ships,” you say, “I’ve read sci-fi novels where they set up a whole society on a ship with the idea that it will be their great-grandchildren who will reach the destination and establish a colony!”

Okay, now you’re just pissing me off. You’re talking about an act that would get everyone involved put in front of a tribunal. What happens when the first generation born on the ship finds out they’ve been doomed to live their entire lives imprisoned on this cramped spacecraft against their will?

Imagine them all hitting their teen years and fully realizing they’ve been severed from the rest of humanity, cut off from all of the pleasures of both nature and civilization. These middle generations won’t even have the promise of seeing the destination; they will live and die with only the cold blackness of space outside their windows. They will never take a walk through the woods, never swim in a lake, never sit on a beach, or breathe fresh air, or meet their extended families. They will not know what it is to travel to a new city or eat at a fancy restaurant or have any of the careers depicted in their media about Earth. They will have no freedom whatsoever, not even to raise their children the way they want—the mission will require them to work specific jobs and breed specific offspring that can fill specific roles. They will live knowing their parents deprived them of absolutely everything good about the human experience, without their consent, before they were even born.

If you’re insisting this could be figured out somehow, that the future will come up with a special system of indoctrination that will guarantee there are no mutinies, riots, crimes or weird cults, just think about what you’re saying here: “We can make this work if we just solve literally all of the flaws in human psychology, morality and socialization.”

by Jason Pargin, Newsletter |  Read more:

Image: Star Wars

[ed. But...but, Elon said..]

Kay Nielsen, “In Powder and Crinoline: Old Fairy Tales Retold by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch” (1913).

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A Confederacy of Toddlers

The United States is now a nation run by public servants who behave no better than internet trolls, deflecting criticism with crassness and obscenity. The White House press secretary answers a question from a member of the free press—a serious question about who planned a meeting between the American and Russian presidents—by saying, “Your mom did.” The secretary of defense cancels DEI and other policies by saying, “We are done with that shit.” The vice president calls an interlocutor on social media a “dipshit.” The president of the United States, during mass protests against his policies, responds by posting an AI-generated video of himself flying a jet fighter over his fellow citizens and dumping feces on their heads.

These are not the actions of mature adults. They are examples of crude people displaying their incompetence as they flail about in jobs—including the presidency—for which they are not qualified.

The republic will not fall because Vice President J. D. Vance has decided that swearing is edgy, and the juvenility of American public life did not begin with the Trump administration. But the larger danger under all of this nastiness is that President Donald Trump and his courtiers are using crass deflection and gleeful immaturity as means of numbing society and wearing down its resistance to all kinds of depredations, including corruption and violence. When the U.S. military kills people at sea and Vance, responding to a charge that such actions might be war crimes, responds, “I don’t give a shit what you call it,” the goal is not just to boost Vance’s hairy-chest cred; it’s also to grind others down into accepting the idea of extrajudicial executions.

The collapse of a superpower into a regime of bullies and mean girls and comic-book guys explains much about why American democracy is on the ropes, reeling from the attacks of people who in a better time would never have been allowed near the government of the United States.

For years, Trump has attracted acolytes by being the patron saint of the third string, gathering people who seem to feel, for various reasons, that they were iced out of national politics. Some hold opinions too extreme for any but a Trump administration. Stephen Miller’s odious views, including his echoing of Adolf Hitler’s rhetoric and his accusation that the president’s critics are terrorists, would make him a liability not just in any other administration but even at a family dinner, as remarks from some of his own relatives have suggested.

Other Trump appointees, however, have used personal loyalty as the bridge across the chasm that separates their lack of ability from the jobs they occupy. The experiences of prior Trump appointees suggest that many of the current crew know they are in over their head, which could explain much about their churlish and unprofessional behavior.

Consider the candid admissions of Stephanie Grisham, a press secretary in Trump’s first term who later walked away from Trump. In 2021, she explained to New York magazine why she took the job in the first place.

For people like me—and I’m not proud of this—you have a sick sense of pride. All the people who told you how terrible he was? You’re like, Oh? He’s the nominee, buddy! I’m not proud of that. And then he wins, and you get into the White House, and you’re in the White House.

To be fair, many reasonable people have the same kind of awestruck moment when they arrive in Washington. (I certainly felt overwhelmed many years ago when I showed up for my first day of work in the Senate.) But Grisham admits to a deeper insecurity: “I thought that they”—the Trump team—“were the only ones who would ever get me there. My lack of confidence in myself as a single mother and someone who has made mistakes in my past, I thought, Well, this is my only shot. Nobody’s gonna ever want me, really, but these people did. So I’ll stick around.”

This kind of private insecurity can manifest in public life as childishness and trollishness. Or maybe such behavior is simply a reflection of the man at the top. Like all schoolyard bullies, Trump is crude and surrounds himself with people who will not challenge him. Thus his appointees, instead of rising to their responsibilities as public servants, emulate their boss’s shallow swagger. Instead of advising the president, they seek to placate him. Instead of showing leadership, they replace their own dignity with loyalty to Trump and do whatever it takes to stay out of the Eye of Sauron.

Whatever the reason for their immaturity, the effect is miserable policy and a corroded democracy. The public is poorly served and does not get answers to important questions. Tariffs? Inflation? Immigration? Peace or war? Who’s responsible for these choices?

Your mother, apparently.

The corruption, mendacity, and incompetence of those in charge are perhaps less astonishing than the willingness of Trump’s most loyal supporters to tolerate them all. By now, any other president would have been restrained by Congress or, as happened in 2020, by voters. In Trump’s second term, however, his base seems almost eager to forgive him for anything, with the possible exception of his involvement with the deceased sex offender Jeffrey Epstein. (...)

Perhaps Trump’s voters have become like the members of the administration, delighting in the crassness and obscenity that pours out of the president and his circle whenever they are challenged. (...)

Friedrich Nietzsche created a concept that can help us understand this political moment. He imported a word from French to describe a kind of deep-seated anger that goes beyond transitory gripes: ressentiment, a feeling that comes from a combination of insecurity, an amorphous envy, and a generalized sense of resentment. Citizens engulfed by this emotion want to bring others down to what they think is their own underappreciated station and identify scapegoats to bear the blame for their misfortunes, real or imagined. They are driven by grievance and a continual, unfocused sense of injury. Accordingly, they see politics as a way to get even with almost everyone outside of their immediate circle. A Trump voter put out of work during the 2019 government shutdown captured this mentality when she exclaimed: “He’s not hurting the people he needs to be hurting.”

Sociologists and political scientists have long been aware of the effects of ressentiment on entire nations, not least because it is often a red flag: a marker of a society ripe for decay into authoritarianism. And that is where the danger lies in the juvenility and coarseness among both the Trump elite and its most loyal supporters, some of whom treat grave issues of national and even global importance as little more than raw material for mean-spirited jokes and obscene memes. This shallow behavior leads to a deadening of the moral and civic spirit that undergirds democracy. (...)

What can other American citizens do when faced with a government that offers trolling and obscenity as replacements for governing? How do people who care about democracy and the rule of law deal with fellow voters who keep electing a class of public officials who seem to be all id and no superego?

Perhaps most important, other Americans should model the behavior they hope to foster in their friends and neighbors. Populist ressentiment is not necessarily produced by inequality. It’s driven by a perception of inequality, a sense of being looked down on by others. It is a demand for attention and emotional engagement. But trying to answer that demand is a fool’s errand: On social media, for example, some of Trump’s voters seem especially enraged not by arguments but by indifference. The whole point of their trolling is to gain attention and then intimidate others.

Both online and in daily life, Americans who are part of the pro-democracy coalition should resist such invitations. Responsible citizens must hold themselves to a higher standard than officials who are acting like grade-schoolers. The national figures, from Trump on down, who put out rancid bait may do so because they want others to argue and lower themselves, and thus prove that no one holds the moral high ground. (Perhaps this is why Trump and so many of his supporters resort to whataboutism when confronted with their behavior.) When these leaders and their followers swear or behave rudely, they may hope and expect that others will do likewise.

As tempting as it is to trade punches to the groin, the better approach is to model mature behavior and demand it in return from people being paid to serve the public. When the White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt answered the journalist S. V. Dáte’s text-message question about who chose the location of a possible U.S.-Russia summit with “Your mom did,” Dáte texted back: “Is this funny to you?” Leavitt then went full Regina George, calling him a “far left hack” and refusing to answer his “bullshit questions.” Leavitt later posted the exchange on X, where Dáte responded: “Feel better now? Now can you answer the question? Please and thank you.” That’s the only way to go: Ask the question, and then ask it again, and keep asking.

This is not Michelle Obama’s “When they go low, we go high” argument. (Even she seems to have abandoned that strategy.) Rather, it is a recognition—and a plea—that the voters and candidates who wish to replace this current government must present themselves as stable, responsible, and adult alternatives to a claque of trolls and incompetents.

by Tom Nichols, The Atlantic |  Read more:

Image: The Atlantic/bgwalker/Getty
[ed. Get in losers, we're going losing. See also: We Do Not Live in a Society:]

***

Last week a video went viral of a woman at a playground in Rochester, Minnesota calling an autistic 5-year-old boy a n*****. When she was identified, instead of expressing contrition she doubled down, launching a fundraiser on GiveSendGo (a website touted as the “Christian” alternative to Go Fund Me) to “protect her family”. She has, as of this writing, raised over $700,000. Many of the donors have usernames like “Adolf”, “The fourteen words” and “Fig R Naggot”. It appears that in the United States in 2025, calling a little kid a slur is an infinite wealth hack. While the right wing lavishing morally repugnant people with money is nothing new, it does feel like a few short years ago conservatives would’ve felt pressure to condemn this. Not anymore. Not only are random internet Nazis making this woman rich, right wing pundits are expressing support for her. Something hideous that was always under the surface in the American political body has finally been unleashed, mask off, with no fear for consequences.

Since this story aired, I have been asking myself what kind of society we live in where something like this could happen. Where racists are completely unafraid to be racist and where you can get rich by being the most despicable type of person alive. Where sitting congressmen can openly call for Gaza to starve. Where attacking vulnerable trans kids can make you famous. The tenuous social fabric that we once had doesn’t actually seem to exist at all. There is no concept of a social contract. We don’t believe we have any responsibility to each other. We do not work together. We have no shared identity. We have no common goals. Simply put, we do not live in a society.

Here Come China's Food and Drink Chains

Get ready, America: Here come China’s food and drink chains (NYT/ST)

The economic relationship between the United States and China is as fraught as it has been in recent memory, but that has not stopped a wave of Chinese food and beverage chains from moving aggressively into the United States for the first time.

Chinese tea shops in New York and Los Angeles are offering consumers drinks topped with a milk or cheese foam. Fried chicken sandwich joints are trying to lure diners in California with affordable fast food. Restaurant and drink brands, some with thousands of stores in China, are taking root in American cities to escape punishing competition at home.

Heytea, a tea chain originating in Jiangmen, a city in southern China, has opened three dozen stores nationwide since 2023, including a flagship operation in Times Square in New York. Two other rival tea brands, Chagee and Naisnow, opened their first U.S. stores this year. Luckin Coffee, a chain with three outlets for every one Starbucks in China, opened several spots across Manhattan.

Wallace, one of China’s largest fast-food chains with more than 20,000 stores selling fried chicken and hamburgers, landed in Walnut, California, for its first shop. Haidilao, China’s largest hot-pot chain, is redoubling its efforts in the United States after entering the market more than a decade ago.

The American expansion comes at a challenging moment for China’s food and beverage industry. The Chinese economy is no longer growing at a breakneck pace, hampered by a long-running real estate crisis and sluggish consumer spending. To survive, restaurant chains are undercutting one another on prices, inciting an unsustainable, profit-killing race to the bottom. 

by Daisuke Wakabayashi and Joy Dong, NYT/ST |  Read more:

Image: Ava Pellor/The New York Times

[ed. Not to mention Japan's plans to give 7-11's a complete workover.]

Michel Camilo - Anthony Jackson - Horacio (El Negro) Hernandez

 

[ed. Latin jazz from the acclaimed documentary Calle 54.]

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Pete Hegseth: Kill Everybody

[ed. What the hell are we doing here?]

[ed. Another day, another atrocity (more so if you count Republican spinelessness and knee-jerk support for anything this administration does, including committing war crimes). See also: November 29, 2025 (LFAA); and,  Hegseth order on first Caribbean boat strike, officials say: Kill them all (WaPo):]

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As two men clung to a stricken, burning ship targeted by SEAL Team 6, the Joint Special Operations commander followed the defense secretary’s order to leave no survivors. (...)

The alleged traffickers pose no imminent threat of attack against the United States and are not, as the Trump administration has tried to argue, in an “armed conflict” with the U.S., these officials and experts say. Because there is no legitimate war between the two sides, killing any of the men in the boats “amounts to murder,” said Todd Huntley, a former military lawyer who advised Special Operations forces for seven years at the height of the U.S. counterterrorism campaign.

Even if the U.S. were at war with the traffickers, an order to kill all the boat’s occupants if they were no longer able to fight “would in essence be an order to show no quarter, which would be a war crime,” said Huntley, now director of the national security law program at Georgetown Law.

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[ed. Want to guess Hegseth's response to such serious allegations? "As usual, the fake news is delivering more fabricated, inflammatory, and derogatory reporting to discredit our incredible warriors fighting to protect the homeland." Um no, Pete. The news is focusing on you, not our "incredible warriors" who are currently - at your command - deploying battleships, drones, missles and more to destroy random fishing boats. At least he was sober enough to make a statement, but then couldn't resist reminding everyone of how a dignified cabinet secretary should respond by posting this on his X account). At least he correctly identifies as a cartoon character. But others haven't been so charitable:

"Perhaps Hegseth thinks that sinking boats on the high seas is funny. Maybe he just wanted to own the libs and all that. Or maybe he thought he could disrupt the gathering war crimes narrative, like the school delinquent pulling a fire alarm during an exam. Or maybe he just has poor judgment and even worse impulse control (which would explain a lot of things about Pete Hegseth). No matter the reason, his choice to trivialize the use of American military force reveals both the shallowness of the man’s character and the depth of his contempt for the military as an institution.

Posting stupid memes after being accused of murder is not the response of a patriot who must answer to the public about the security of the United States and its people in uniform. It is not the response of a secretary of defense who values the advice of the officers who report to him. It is not the response of a human being who comprehends the risks—and the costs—of ordering other people to kill helpless men clinging to the wreck of a boat."

This all prompted me to look at his Wikipedia entry, something I haven't had the stomach to do until now. What a piece of work.]

The High-Romantic Nightmare That Wasn’t

Someday someone will actually adapt Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein into a film. Until then, we will have to make do with filmmakers using Shelley’s ever-resilient scaffolding as a playground for their own obsessions. Del Toro’s newest treatment of the story has been marketed and blurbed by many critics as “the movie he was born to make.” More than anything, though, the film serves to prove how far we still are from realizing the depths of Shelley’s original vision. Del Toro’s achingly sincere and fitfully compelling version of the book has maintained only that — the mere scaffolding of the story. It has next to nothing in common with the spirit of Shelley’s High-Romantic nightmare, and far more to do with del Toro’s own interests, especially his perennially unilluminating and often ponderous dedication to the tone of fable and fairy tale.

It’s no accident that the only great Frankenstein films — James Whale’s two immortal Universal classics, Frankenstein (1931) and Bride of Frankenstein (1935) — didn’t even worry about the scaffolding. They are of course the bases for the Frankenstein of modern popular culture, films which jettisoned all but a few garbled scenarios from the book and erected the rest from a pure Hollywood riff on a century of other vague Gothic imagery and literature. Two of the funniest movies ever made — Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) and Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein (1974) — are themselves riffs on the Universal films, and only those films. And while there have been a few attempts to stage the proper Shelley version, nearly all of them, such as Kenneth Branagh’s awful and characteristically self-important 1994 film, have seen fit to mangle whole sections of Shelley’s work, and invent others from whole cloth.

So now we get the long-awaited version from the man who would seem the most obvious choice to make it — and yet, once again, here is a Frankenstein that finds nothing worth saving from the original besides that basic scenario. In the first, authoritative 1818 version of the text, Victor Frankenstein was a man from a happy family, betrothed to his cousin Elizabeth, who finds himself reading the works of alchemists like Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus while getting caught up in the fervor of late 18th-century Enlightenment science. This precise setting and period are key to the original story’s brilliance: Shelley evokes an almost beatific time in her own recent history where faith in medical, technological, and social progress was just beginning to achieve its modern velocity — a time in which the center of scientific study was shifting from physics to chemistry and biology.

English Romanticism was the great inheritor of this new concern for biological science, and thrived on metaphors of botany and organicism, just as it fed itself on the new psychology of the German philosophers. Frankenstein gets its power from this — and from its mordant, haunting sense of the old fairy tales furiously spinning into new, wretched life at the birth of the industrial world. In a way, to read Frankenstein is to read what the Romantics thought of the Enlightenment — and their thought was, in brief, that the new scientists had better read Paradise Lost. In fact, one could sum up the ambiguity of the original Shelley novel simply by saying that, in her Frankenstein, it is the Monster himself who reads and understands Milton, not his creator.

Del Toro, as expected, avoids almost all of Shelley’s original material. His primal obsession has always been the feeling of fairy tale itself, united with the trappings and settings of old Hollywood horror films. Even the subtler, Promethean horrors of the original are absent. Instead, he grafts all the whizbang technologic set-dressing of the old Universal films onto an even more overtly-Romantic, maximalist vision of the Shelley story; updating its setting to the mid-19th century — presumably to get in a few dull stereotypes of Victorian squalor and a tinge of punk Darwinism in the reanimation presentation to the Edinburgh Dons, who revoke Frankenstein’s qualifications in horror.

Victor Frankenstein himself (Oscar Isaac, in an uncharacteristically hammy and misjudged performance) becomes, to all effects, like a grown-up Lord Bullingdon from Barry Lyndon: he’s a sour brooder with a tyrannical father (Charles Dance, in a Charles-Dance-type role) and a doomed pregnant mother (Mia Goth, who also pulls Oedipal double-duty as Elizabeth). The nature of Frankenstein’s work is changed from accidental discovery to lifelong attempt at making up for the loss of his dead mother. Cousin Elizabeth is no longer the saintly pen pal and future wife, but a foil and an object of envy destined to marry Frankenstein’s brother (and, in a peculiar turn, a sort of angel for the Monster). She’s also the niece of the man who wants to bankroll Frankenstein’s experiment (Christoph Waltz). The private, tortured space of Frankenstein’s chambers in the book is transplanted to a huge, vertiginous castle on the edge of a sea — if we had any doubts before about just what height of Gothicism del Toro is going for.

The point of all this, of course, is not only to amp up the opera, but to give del Toro a chance to dream up a thousand gnarly details for the making of the Monster. Shelley herself barely spared a moment to describe the actual process of making the creature. But for del Toro, that’s the whole point. He delights in playing yet another turgid, whimsical Alexandre Desplat waltz while he lingers over Frankenstein’s vivisections, and makes sure to show us all the minute aspects of the building of the electrical apparatus, as well as the construction of the attic and underbelly of the tower. This sequence of the film is entertaining, even if his incessantly roaming, unfixed camera quickly grows exhausting. When it comes to the camera, del Toro is no great director: his Frankenstein has moments of beauty, but even the most arresting images are frequently undercut by the film’s waxy, shadowless look and by awkward framing that makes every other shot feel as if it’s coming from the corner of a too-wide room. (...)

In the end, there’s one main reason to see Del Toro’s Frankenstein and that is Jacob Elordi, who here proves himself to be what was mostly hidden underneath the pure exploitation schlock of Saltburn or Euphoria, and could be briefly glimpsed in his Elvis from Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla: that is, a great physical actor trapped in the body of a beautiful man. Has any contemporary heartthrob so totally embraced such a complete privation of his trademark physique? There’s no room for vanity within the Monster. Elordi surely saw his chance to free himself of the burden of his looks — and yet what he chooses to do is pretty magnificent. His elegantly awkward, Butoh-inspired performance is the real glory of a film that would be a rather hollow experience otherwise. After its overheated Freudian first half, the film finally comes alive when it leaves behind Frankenstein the man and follows the Monster — a section which comes closest to following the finest section of Shelley’s story. The middle of the film, wherein the Monster leaves to hide and watch the family of an old blind man, is also the finest part of the film. And, thank god, this time the movie Monster actually does read Paradise Lost.

As the film goes on, and the Monster returns to wreak havoc, del Toro’s Frankenstein almost comes close to the heights of a tragic fairy tale. Though the contrivances del Toro takes to get himself there are ridiculous, the pietà of Elizabeth’s death in the Monster’s arms is lovely (so sincere that there were snickers in my theater when I saw it), as is the Monster’s return to the ruins of the tower to discover the site of his creation. Even at the ending, when the Monster and Frankenstein have met out on the ice and come together in the cabins of the Scandinavian ship — the resolution of this particular father-son/God-Adam story is moving. Still, del Toro doesn’t quite earn the weight of the climax he worked so ponderously toward. It rests entirely on Jacob Elordi’s broad shoulders, and he does his best. Yet where Shelley’s Monster chooses to burn his creator and end his own life — del Toro, big earnest softy that he is, can’t help but let his Monster stare off into the sunset, ponder his apparent immortality, and conquer his desire to die.

by Sam Jennings, Metropolitan Review |  Read more:

Image: via

[ed. I read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein about a year or so ago, and it's true, much of the power and nuance (and tenderness) of that book is lost in this film. That said, it's still the best adaptation that I've seen to date. Did you know that her monster developed a deep literary and philosophical intelligence (from reading so many books in isolation), and that his main objective in pursuing and tormenting his creator was simply to have him create a female companion to share his life (which the doctor initially promised to do, then refused after having second thoughts)? Great book that really should be read to get a full appreciation of all its many themes (including technological hubris). See also: Analysis of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (Literary Theory and Criticism):]

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The work and its monster-hero became such a popular subject for film and stage, in serious, comedic, and parodic productions, that many acquaint themselves with Victor Frankenstein’s monster long before encountering it in Shelley’s book. Many first-time readers discover with a shock that the monster remains unnamed, with his creator bearing the Frankenstein moniker. A second, stronger shock may occur when readers realize that the monster, in great contrast to the bumbling, murderous, wild-eyed, grunting, crazy-stitched object of film, proves the most rational and also the most eloquent of any of the novel’s characters. (...)

The monster was not “born” hating others; his hate was taught him by people who refused to see beyond his external appearance to the brilliant warm nature existing just below its surface. While science might be expected to lack compassion, the same could not be said of religion, which should have prepared the public to be more accepting. That the monster possesses a quick intellect and a natural warmth and goodness that is corrupted only by his exposure to humans remains an indictment of shallow social values and a rigid class structure.

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We Had a Long, Mostly Good Marriage. It’s OK That It Ended.

When I got married, more than three decades ago, I did not want to promise to love my husband until death do us part. I did want to try; Dan was my soul mate and sweetheart, and I felt lucky and excited to start a life and family with him. But death — we hoped!— was light years away (we were 29), and a part of me rebelled against vowing my entire life to a monogamous, cohabitating partnership. I’d lived alone in my 20s and loved it; I’d always needed private space to fully unfold. I’d also enjoyed dating and sleeping odd hours; I’m an obsessive thinker and writer. Love or not, I worried marriage might suffocate me.

So I told Dan I couldn’t swear to what I couldn’t predict. He countered: People won’t come to our wedding to hear, “I’ll give it my best shot, but….” He had a point. I said the vows.

We were both right — he in his confidence, me to think twice. Now 33 years later, I’m proud of our long, loving marriage: nurturing children, homes, friendships, pets; collaboratively writing and editing books and articles. We laughed and learned and lived, first struggling financially (but together! as artists!), later finding our footing. We were a connected, compatible team for a charmed, exciting, mostly happy chunk of our lives.

But every marriage has its issues, and the empty nest catapults them to the surface. We had different ways of feeling and expressing intimacy. Dan was working harder than ever, but now with a new team that didn’t include me — and the more he (understandably) devoted himself to that world, the more I both escaped into my own projects and expanded into the sweet peace of autonomy again. When we did hang out, we didn’t want to do or talk about the same things. A couples therapist suggested we might not make it. “No!” we said, stunned.

Still, we drifted further, each feeling less loved and less loving. We had always laughed, and now we didn’t. At least, not enough.

No one was cheating, swearing, slinging plates. We could’ve tried to put Band-Aids on our issues until they healed, or didn’t-heal-but-whatever. Instead, we made an increasingly common choice: We hugged, apologized for our shortcomings and freed each other. To me, it was — and still is — less a failure than the end of a long, productive, good marriage.

But the decision we made inspired pity, judgment and confusion from those around us. Our parents, all forever wedded, bonded in bafflement; when I shared my (vanilla) dating life with one long-married friend, she called my enthusiasm “unhealthy.” Rates of “gray divorce” — couples 50 and older — are surging (numbers for the over 65s have tripled since the 90s) and more than two-thirds of all divorces are initiated by women. Even so, people routinely said, “I’m sorry,” when they heard about us. I get it; change can be scary and sad. I often responded, “Thanks, but it’s OK. We’re good.” (...)

I love living alone again, now in a modest city apartment: choosing my surroundings, knowing the fridge contents, sleeping uninterrupted. Feeling pared down but efficient. Coming home to solitude and, yes, unfolding.

I’m certainly not pro-divorce, nor do I think everyone should go our route. (Note: We haven’t legally divorced, for health insurance and tax reasons, but are otherwise fully separated.) A lifelong good marriage is beautiful, admirable, beneficial in many ways. And parting in midlife can devastate the unhealthy — or alone-averse. I’m neither, but tromping single around Paris or Maine, I’ve sometimes wished for someone to dine or hike with. I’ve spent hot Augusts and holiday weekends solo in Manhattan, watched divorced friends endure Christmas isolated and missing their kids. I needed my daughter to retrieve me post-colonoscopy, and I worry about injury or aging alone — though ultimately most women age alone anyway, since we live an average five years longer than men. (...)

I feel guilt about the children, who of course initially hated our separation. But kids are happier when their parents are happy — and they’ve seen that we still help each other and remain a family in many ways. We share a dog, and spend major holidays and occasional weekends together, often with Dan’s mother, whom I adore. (Dan’s girlfriend understands — after all, she has kids and an ex, too). My parents and sisters still consider him family. We text often in several family chats.

So overall, my experience has cemented my view that when wedlock no longer feels right or healthy later in life — and if, like us, you’re fortunate enough to have careers, adult kids and a willingness to do the work of a good split (not unlike being in a good marriage!) — then unlocking, becoming separate again, can be a fine option.

by Cathi Hanauer, NY Times |  Read more:

Image: Julia Forrest
[ed. It's interesting. I've found out in the last year or so that three couples I know have divorced - all in their late-60s and early 70s. I'm beginning to think this "gray divorce" thing might really be a thing. There's a saying that as couples age men get more sentimental and women more resentful. I don't know about that, but the splits in my small sample size have all been initiated by the wife (for what that's worth). Maybe financial security has a lot to do with it, maybe a feeling of time running out, or just a yearning for independence after a lifetime of compromise and negotiation.]

Logan Maxwell Hagege (b. 1980), Days Like This.
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Robert Glasper

K-Beauty Boom Explodes

On a recent Saturday at an Ulta Beauty store in midtown Manhattan, Denise McCarthy, a mother in her 40s, stood in front of a wall of tiny pastel bottles, tubes and compacts. Her phone buzzed — another TikTok from her 15-year-old daughter.

“My kids text me the TikToks,” she told CNBC, scooping Korean lip tints and sunscreens into her basket, destined for Christmas stockings. “I don’t even know what half of this does. I just buy the ones they send me.”

Two aisles over, a group of college students compared swatches of Korean cushion foundations. A dad asked a store associate whether a viral Korean sunscreen was the one “from the girl who does the ‘get ready with me’ videos.” Near the checkout, a display of Korean sheet mask mini-packs was nearly empty.

Scenes like this are playing out across the country.

Once a niche reserved for beauty obsessives, Korean cosmetics — known as K-beauty — are breaking fully into the American mainstream, fueled by TikTok virality, younger and more diverse shoppers, and aggressive expansion from retailers such as Ulta, Sephora, Walmart and Costco.

K-beauty sales in the United States are expected to top $2 billion in 2025, up more than 37% from last year, according to market research firm NielsenIQ, far outpacing the broader beauty market’s single-digit growth.

And even as trade tensions complicate supply chains, brands and retailers told CNBC the momentum is strong.

“We have no plans of slowing down and see more opportunities to penetrate the market,” said Janet Kim, vice president at K-beauty brand Neogen.

In the first half of 2025, South Korea shipped a record $5.5 billion worth of cosmetics, up nearly 15% year over year, and has become the leading exporter of cosmetics to the U.S., surpassing France, according to data from the South Korean government.

“The growth has been remarkable,” said Therese-Ann D’Ambrosia, vice president of beauty and personal care at NielsenIQ. “When you compare that to the broader beauty market, which is growing at single digits, K-beauty is clearly operating in a different gear right now.” (...)

The ‘second wave’

Over the past decade, there’s also been a rise in Korean entertainment in the U.S. — from pop groups such as BTS and Blackpink to this year’s Netflix hit “KPop Demon Hunters” —which has helped push South Korea’s cultural exports to unprecedented popularity.

“Korean culture has exploded on every front, and that has really shown up when it comes to K-beauty,” Dang said.

K-beauty’s “first wave,” which hit the U.S. in the mid-2010s, was defined by “glass skin,” 10-step routines, snail mucin, cushion compacts and beauty blemish creams. Most products catered to lighter skin tones, and distribution was limited to small boutiques, Amazon sellers and early test placements at Ulta and Sephora, beauty experts said.

“The first wave had some penetration, but nothing like today,” Horvath said. “It was mostly people in the know.”

The second wave has been bigger, faster and far more inclusive. It has spanned color cosmetics, hair and scalp care, body care, fragrances and high-tech devices.

TikTok is the central engine of discovery, especially for Gen Z and millennial shoppers, who account for roughly three-fourths of K-beauty consumers, according to a Personal Care Insights market analyst report. Posts tagged “K-beauty” or “Korean skin care” draw 250 million views per week, according to consumer data firm Spate. And viral products with sleek packaging often vanish from shelves faster than retailers can restock — particularly those that combine gentle formulas and low prices, Dang said.

“TikTok has changed the game,” Horvath said. “It’s easier to educate consumers on innovation and get the word out. Brands are deeply invested in paying influencers, and TikTokers talk about textures, formulas and efficacy.” (...)

The trend is visible across the Americas: 61% of consumers in Mexico and nearly half in Brazil say K-beauty is popular in their country, compared with about 45% in the U.S., according to Statista.

“Traditional retail and e-commerce remain important, but TikTok Shop is the standout disruptor,” said Nielsen’s D’Ambrosia. “It’s not just about the direct sales on that one platform; it’s about how it’s changing the entire discovery and purchase journey.”

But the second wave brings its own risks. A heavy dependence on virality could expose brands to sudden algorithm changes or regulatory scrutiny, D’Ambrosia said.

“When you have so much growth concentrated on one platform [such as TikTok], algorithm changes could significantly impact discoverability overnight,” D’Ambrosia said. “We’ve seen what happens when platforms tweak their recommendation engines. ... There are definitely some caution flags we’re watching.”

Rapid innovation

K-beauty’s staying power, Dang said, is rooted in an intensely competitive domestic Korean market. Trends move at breakneck speed and consumers spend more per capita on beauty than in any other country, according to South Korean research firm KOISRA.

South Korea had more than 28,000 licensed cosmetics sellers in 2024 — nearly double that of five years ago — creating a pressure-cooker environment that forces constant experimentation, said Neogen’s Kim.

“We develop about hundreds of formulas each day,” Kim told CNBC. “We build the library and we test results with clinical individual tests. ... Everything that’s very unique and works really well for skin care, we develop.”

Korean consumers churn through trends quickly, fueling a pipeline of upstart brands that can go viral and, in some cases, get acquired. For example, when gooey snail mucin, a gel used to protect and repair people’s skin, took off globally, skin care brand Amorepacific acquired COSRX, the small Korean brand that helped popularize the ingredient, for roughly $700 million.

The next wave of products, analysts predict, are likely to be even more experimental.

Brands are betting on buzzy ingredients such as DNA extracted from salmon or trout sperm that early research suggests may help calm or repair skin. They are also expanding into biotechnology.

“K-beauty is very data-driven. [Artificial intelligence] helps us get fast results for content, formula development, and advertising,” Kim said. “In Korea, they started talking about delivery systems. They’re very good with biotechnology.”

by Luke Fountain, CNBC |  Read more:

Image: Avila Gonzalez | San Francisco Chronicle | Hearst Newspapers | Getty Images