Dating Apps: Giving Men What They Want But Not What They Need

Dating apps were built on the bones of Grindr. I have been known to joke that everything wrong with dating apps is divine retribution for culturally appropriating them from the gays.

Gay men, specifically, that’s important - the overwhelming majority of people making apps are still men, and most of those are still straight men, and while I don’t exactly have insider knowledge on this, it couldn’t be clearer to me that some open-ish minded straight tech boy heard from one of his gay male friends about being able to summon sex partners to his bed from the immediate vicinity after filtering on a bunch of lewd photos and thought: “There isn’t a straight man alive who wouldn’t consider giving up his left hand to have this experience with women. I could make a billion dollars making straight Grindr.”

And thus Tinder was born. Blah blah blah lust and greed sullying the purity of romantic and sexual love; a direction I could go, but instead we’re going to talk about the ways that playing to male preferences in the short term can easily ruin their entire lives, even when it was men’s idea.

Dating apps aggressively reflect male preferences, sexuality neutral. They’re long on photos, short on text. They filter primarily on location, which has some usefulness, but is most useful if the question is “who’s geographically close enough to me that walking to my place for sex is a realistic option” .

Men love flipping through photos of people they’re attracted to - that alone drove much of the traffic to Facebook’s precursor, Hot or Not. This app is built to give men a sexual scrolling experience as soothingly magnetic as any social media site while providing enough mystery to feel less degenerate than porn (the better for large doses and intermittent rewards).

For women, it’s grim. Yes, they get matches much more often than men do (largely because these extremely male-centric UI decisions lure vastly more male users than women; what economist could have predicted this problem with a heterosexual dating app). They don’t enjoy using these apps, not nearly to the degree or as often as men do. For most women, sifting through men feels dehumanizing, and sorting on pictures feels painfully limited (the male equivalent might be having to swipe based on photos of a woman’s favorite outfit, laid out on her bed. Vaguely boring and frustrating to have to make important decisions with so little information about the things you care about).

This isn’t just because of blackpill stuff about how men aren’t hot to women - that topic has been covered to death, yes women find men physically hot but no it doesn’t always work in such a way that static photos capture, so men are impossibly screwed by efforts to appeal to women with photos alone. There’s also the fact that men suck at taking pictures, because the market for photos of people is overwhelmingly men as buyers and women as suppliers, with the demand being for sexually attractive photos of women. Looking at photos of men is like driving a Nissan truck: it couldn’t be clearer that it is not your specialty and significantly worse than other products that your entire factory line was designed for.

You might think that dating apps are bad for men because they lead to men experiencing significant rejection - even the way my post is framed up until this point sort of implies as much. That framework, like much about dating apps, gets the whole picture subtly, insidiously wrong in a way that leaves people who take them at face value much worse off. You know who takes things at face value most often? You’re not going to believe this,

No, the greatest deprivation created by dating apps is specifically denying women and men the opportunity for women to keep men around in a general capacity. (If this idea makes you freak out about the friend zone, I’m almost impressed with you because young people seem to do so little socializing that no one complains about the friend zone anymore. Pat yourself on the back for having friends if you’ve managed to develop a resentment complex around the friend zone).

Most women develop attraction to men via proximity and time. Force a woman to choose if she wants the option to sleep with a man the second she meets him, and she will default to no in almost every single case. For many men, this means that any men who enjoy the attention of women who are open to sleeping with them at first glance are the only men women authentically want. Respectfully, you’re thinking like a guy, and if you believe that men and women are extremely different, I’m going to need you to trust that women develop affection for men differently than men do for women, such that you’ll ruin your life trying to figure out why women don’t desire you in the exact same way that you desire them...

One of the worst things you can do if you date women is to push them into a choice of yes or no as early as possible. You are simply too much of a risk on too many axes to get something other than a no unless you look like Chris Hemsworth, and even that wouldn’t get you yeses from 100% of the women you might ask out (hot men can still be shitty in about a thousand ways, and women often aren’t willing to take risks even for hotness. Again. They are not men). You might think that your goal should be to look like Chris Hemsworth, or alternatively to despair that you don’t look like Chris Hemsworth and go sulkily into that good night, but that’s you thinking like a guy and assuming that how women feel has to match how you feel. Frankly, that’s what got you into this mess: by trusting tech men who told you that you could game heterosexual dating by giving you an interface that pinged all your dopamine sensors while curiously robbing you of a lot of opportunities to find and develop a fulfilling relationship. [...]

The major product provided by a dating app is the illusion of participating in dating at all - some time swiping through faces, and congratulations, you are “dating”, you Tried, you do not need to do anything scarier or riskier or less fun than this.

by Eurydice, Eurydice Lives |  Read more:

Image: uncredited via

Airports Are Too Safe: The Case Against Checkpoint Screening

If you take a plane in New York City, you must first perform a series of rituals. You set aside any liquids you possess, then you remove your shoes. You place your laptop and sometimes your phone into a plastic bin. You take off your belt and sometimes your shoes and place them into a plastic bin as well. You enter a machine that sees through your clothes. Only then may you board your plane.

If you take the subway in New York City, you swipe a card at a faregate and walk onto the train.

Put another way, airports have ‘checkpoint screening’: systematic inspection of every passenger and their belongings before boarding. Subways and rail stations do not.

Once we start thinking about this asymmetry, the stranger it seems. LaGuardia Airport hosted 32.8 million passengers in 2025, which averages roughly to 90,000 per day. Meanwhile, Penn Station processes more than 600,000 riders per day. Despite the fact that Penn Station has more than six times the number of passengers, no one verifies their identity, checks their bags, asks what liquids they are carrying, nor inspects their belts and footwear.

It’s not as if terrorist attacks on railways are unheard of. Madrid’s commuter trains were bombed in 2004, the London Underground in 2005, and Mumbai’s suburban railway in 2006, causing hundreds of deaths. And yet none of these now feature checkpoint screening. Indeed, the absence of checkpoints is regarded as a merit of rail and a demerit of air; there is no debate over just how many hours before one’s trip one should arrive at a rail station. Meanwhile, the USA’s Transportation Security Administration (TSA) employs over 56,000 people and spends more than $11 billion per year ensuring that no one boards an airplane with an unexamined shampoo bottle.

The asymmetry is so familiar that it barely registers as a choice. It feels like a law of nature: air travellers are screened but rail travellers are not. But it is a choice we’ve made, and the fact of that choice permits only two conclusions: either rail security is unconscionably negligent, or aviation security is irrationally excessive.

Our behaviour reveals which we actually believe.

A History of Violence

In the early days of commercial aviation there was no security at all. For a taste, watch Bullitt (1968) or Airport (1970), where it’s taken for granted that one can carry guns and bombs through terminals, onto the tarmac, or into aircraft without any mechanism for authorities to stop it, or even notice.

Those portrayals fall squarely within the so-called Golden Age of Hijacking, which began in 1961 when Antulio Ortiz, a passenger on a flight from Miami to Key West, threatened the pilot with a gun and demanded to be flown to Cuba. His was the first of 159 hijackings over the next ten years. After a 1972 incident where hijackers threatened to crash a plane into a nuclear reactor, in January 1973 the Federal Aviation Administration finally mandated that every passenger and their carry-on bag be inspected for weapons. Metal detectors appeared at airports that year.

The 1973 system had a clear purpose: prevent hijackers from bringing weapons aboard. Metal detectors caught guns and knives and, in principle, explosives carried by passengers, while X-ray machines did the same for carry-on luggage. This physical system to deal with hijacking complemented the social system, which was to cooperate. Acting on the theory that hijackers wanted hostages, not corpses, the doctrine for crew and passengers alike was to comply rather than resist. Going along with demands bought time for negotiation, which generally ended with surrender, or with the hijackers escaping the plane and being apprehended elsewhere without loss of life to those aboard the airplane.

This system, of metal detectors, X-ray machines, and cooperative passengers, persisted largely unchanged for nearly three decades. It was imperfect, but it addressed a real problem, and it worked reasonably well.

This was the model that the 9/11 attackers exploited. They carried box cutters on board the plane, which were seen as tools rather than weapons and as such were permitted. Once aboard, they relied on passengers and crew behaving passively. Lack of resistance meant they were able to carry out their attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Notably, Flight 93 did not carry out such an attack, because the passengers did resist. Having learned, via Airphone, that other captured flights were being deliberately crashed, the passengers on that plane understood their only chance of survival was to fight back. They attempted to overpower their captors, who destroyed the plane rather than lose control of it.

That shift on Flight 93, from compliance to resistance, has turned out to be a permanent psychological change. Richard Reid, the ‘shoe’ bomber, was subdued by passengers and crew in 2001. Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the ‘underwear’ bomber, was subdued by passengers and crew in 2009. In both cases, everyone else on the plane understood that the right move was to restrain the hijacker rather than submit to his demands. This means that one of the two vulnerabilities the 9/11 attackers used is now closed.

The other is closed as well. By April 2003, all commercial aircraft were required to feature hardened cockpit doors. The flight deck is now mechanically isolated from the main cabin, and will remain that way irrespective of what might happen there. To commandeer the aircraft, as the 9/11 terrorists did, now requires breaching that barrier. At a cost of $12,000 to $17,000 per door, plus annual extra fuel costs of $3,000, these doors make it more-or-less impossible for the cockpit to be captured, meaning that, in the future, any attacker’s bad acts will be confined to the cabin.

This means that the specific attack vector that made 9/11 catastrophic, using aircraft as guided missiles against ground targets, is now defended against by layers that don’t depend on checkpoint performance. Cockpit doors provide physical protection. Passengers provide active resistance. The weaponization-of-aircraft scenario requires defeating both. [ed. along with the presence of air marshals].

Despite these changes, checkpoint screening has become ever more elaborate in the post-9/11 era. After Reid’s failed shoe bombing in 2001, passengers were required to remove their shoes for X-ray inspection. After a foiled liquid-explosives plot in 2006, liquids were restricted to containers of 100 millilitres or less. After Abdulmutallab’s failed underwear bombing in 2009, full-body scanners were deployed. Each measure was a reaction to a specific plot. Each remains in place decades later, despite none of these measures having ever demonstrably prevented a subsequent attack.

Indeed the evidence that checkpoint screening catches any threat is weak. In 2015, the Department of Homeland Security red-teamed its own screening and found that screeners failed to detect threat items in 67 of 70 tests: a failure rate of 95%. We’re told things are better now, but I’m not aware of any subsequent published test, so there’s no public evidence to support the claim.

So if the 9/11-style vulnerability has been addressed by hardened cockpit doors and changed passenger psychology, what is the marginal security value of the vast post-9/11 checkpoint expansion? The 1973 system screened for guns and knives; perhaps that still serves a purpose. But the layers added since—shoe scanning, liquid restrictions, body scanners—what are they for? [...]

We maintain a regime whose costs are staggering (over $11 billion annually in direct federal spending in the USA, plus equivalent per-capita amounts in other nations, plus hundreds of millions of passenger-hours in queues globally) and whose marginal benefits are undemonstrated.

Let me pause to acknowledge a counter-argument: perhaps aviation checkpoint screening deters terrorists, who shift their attacks to softer targets like rail. The Madrid, London, and Mumbai bombings might be evidence of successful deterrence, with subsequent displacement. But if checkpoint screening merely displaces attacks from aviation to rail, the net security benefit is zero; we’ve spent billions and wasted millions of hours to move the threat from one set of passengers to another… implicitly, a set of passengers we think less deserving of our protection.

And the fundamental point remains: whether those rail attacks were sui generis or displaced from harder targets, they killed hundreds, yet we didn’t impose checkpoints. We revealed our preference.

The Security Ratchet

If that revealed preference is for the rail model of security, why doesn’t aviation security move in that direction?

The reason for the air vs. rail distinction is a separate asymmetry among political incentives. An official who maintains excessive security incurs no blame for doing things the way they have always been done. Passengers may grumble, but passengers always grumble. Conversely, an official who loosens security would incur heavy blame in the event of an attack, regardless of whether the loosened measures would have prevented it.

Put another way, any official who changes the system must first incur costs of time, attention, and effort. If things go well, they receive no benefit in return, because no one notices; but if things go poorly, the disbenefit they receive would be massive.

This incentive structure produces a ratchet. Security measures accumulate, but almost never recede. After the shoe-bomb plot, we started removing shoes. After the liquid explosives plot, we restricted liquids. After the underwear-bomb plot, we deployed full-body scanners. Each measure responds to a specific plot, but none is ever removed, at least not without a technological excuse. The only significant rollback in two decades came in July 2025, when the TSA eliminated the shoe-removal requirement… but only because new scanning technology could inspect footwear while still on people’s feet, not because anyone concluded the requirement was unnecessary.

There’s a strong tell that the system understands that checkpoint screening is theatre, namely TSA PreCheck.

by Andrew Miller, Changing Lanes |  Read more:

Image: Alist, Denver Airport Security Lines, 2008, Flickr, licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0
[ed. Finally, a voice of reason, no doubt shared by millions. I'd also add another reason for the asymmetry we see between air and rail travel: just the psychological aversion to falling (in a damaged aircraft) vs. smashing into something or being blown up. Nobody every said humans are totally rational.]

Situational Unawareness - The Rise of OSINT

In the leadup to the war with Iran—and in the harrowing days since—a dizzying number of tools like WorldView have appeared seemingly out of thin air, bringing the once niche hobbyist community of OSINT (short for “open source intelligence”) into the mainstream. With names like “World Monitor” or “The Big Brother V3.0,” these dashboards make “your own room feel like the CIA,” according to one observer. Though it sounds like the tradecraft of spies, at a basic level they simply visualize publicly available data: from conflict zone maps to air traffic to global market fluctuations. In theory, this information, when collected and aggregated in creative ways, can help the user make some surprising inferences.

That may be true for an actual intelligence analyst, but for most users, these snazzy dashboards cram a chaotic amount of information on screen, from which no sane person can draw logical conclusions. Instead of offering actionable intelligence, the illegible cacophony just leads to a type of hypercharged doomscrolling. “The amount of vibe coded ‘situation monitor’ slop being produced these days is absolutely astronomical,” one OSINT researcher complained. Another X user tried to impose some quality control by ranking several of these new dashboards in a post called “Monitoring the Situation Monitors.” For others, it’s a fantasy come to life: every person at the center of their own personal panopticon, the world stretched out before them as they omnisciently swivel their desk chair from cell to cell, screen to screen. [...]

It is tempting to think that anyone with an internet connection can pull a fast one on the world’s most powerful military or that you can bypass a presidential administration hostile to the very notion of an informed public simply by monitoring something as simple as airplane traffic. Even more seductive is the idea that everything is knowable. The digital age has blanketed the world in cameras and sensors, which generate dizzying quantities of data—in other words, noise. But in that vast noise, the OSINT thinking goes, are signals. You just have to know how to find and interpret those signals, and all will be revealed.

The OSINT revolution in many ways democratized the powerful capabilities to gather information traditionally associated with spy agencies and put them into the hands of intrepid citizens who have identified perpetrators of human rights abuses or exposed vast disinformation networks. These impressive investigations have elevated OSINT to a near-mythic status in certain corners of the internet. But the widespread misuse and abuse of these same methods have also spread conspiracy theories, incited internet mobs, and fostered the illusion that anyone can know anything—as long as you “monitor the situation.” [...]

Everyday people who may never have even heard the term “OSINT” have devised ingenious ways to help their communities. When Hurricane Beryl knocked out power for 2.2 million of his neighbors in 2024, one enterprising Texan opened his app for the beloved fast food chain Whataburger, which has a live map tracking the status of restaurant closures in his area—a near perfect proxy for the geographic distribution of power outages. Indeed, good OSINT abounds. “This is how real OSINT should be done,” declared The OSINT Newsletter, which described how Bellingcat “reconstructed the Minneapolis ICE shooting by syncing five different videos, mapping movements and analysing multiple camera angles,” adding: “No doxxing, no speculation—just sources and methods.” [...]

Take the Pentagon Pizza Report. In early January, after the U.S. military’s strike on Venezuela and capture of President Nicolás Maduro, one of their posts on X went viral. At 2:04 a.m. EST, as the Maduro raid was underway yet still unknown to the American public, the account posted a Google Maps screenshot with the caption: “Pizzato Pizza, a late night pizzeria nearby the Pentagon, has suddenly surged in traffic,” implying that the abnormally high traffic could be attributed to Defense Department staffers ordering food in anticipation of holing up in the Pentagon for a long night of handling a major international crisis the public has yet to know about. For the Pentagon Pizza Report, the surge occurring around the time of the raid was a vindication of their method. A similar project called the Pentagon Pizza Index, which “tracks potential correlations between late-night pizza orders and military activity,” even developed an alert system called DOUGHCON, a play on DEFCON, the U.S. military’s multitiered “Defense Readiness Condition” alert system. [...]

Even the Pentagon Pizza Index, which created Polyglobe, a marriage of OSINT and prediction markets—an industry not known for having an abundance of scruples—has its own “Operational Disclaimer.” The notice informs users that the dashboard is “for informational and educational purposes only,” and reminds them that “pizza consumption patterns should not be used as a basis for financial, political, or strategic decisions.” Though I only found it after scrolling to the bottom of the page, where it sat partially obscured by a banner overlay and a button entreating me to “trade geopolitics on Polymarket.”

In some cases, irresponsible OSINT cowboying can have darker consequences. After the Boston bombing in 2013, armchair investigators pored over videos and photos purportedly of the incident, swapping theories in online public forums. Within days, these OSINT cowboys thought they had their guy. When that suspect did not pan out, they thought another guy was their guy again. Every time the internet sleuths named a new “suspect”—which were overwhelmingly people of color—abuse inevitably followed. A similar pattern occurred following the January 6 Capitol riot and Trump’s assassination attempt in July 2024. [...]

These problems have only intensified as vibe coding makes it easier than ever to deploy trackers and dashboards that look sharp from a design perspective and therefore authoritative, as people tend to believe visual content that looks good. Incentives to feed the insatiable desire to “monitor the situation” have only grown more entrenched now that prediction markets are transforming global conflict into a competitive spectator sport, one in which the advantage goes to the player with the most reliable, real-time information.

Apophenia is the common tendency for people to detect patterns or connections in otherwise random stimuli. People see the face of Jesus in a piece of toast or a man on the moon because the human brain craves order and familiarity as it searches for meaning in a meaningless world. It is natural and understandable to try and establish some semblance of control in the entropy, even if that control is only an illusion. But the hard truth is no amount of public data nor hours logged monitoring the situation will give you the power to predict the future. This is as true in Tehran as it is in Kyiv or Gaza.

by Tyler McBrien, The Baffler | Read more:
Image: Nick Sheeran

The Last Useful Man

About halfway through Mission: Impossible — The Final Reckoning, Tom Cruise goes for a run on a treadmill. The treadmill is on the USS Ohio, a submarine manned exclusively by implausibly attractive people. One of those people is not who they seem: a cultist, radicalized by the Entity, the film’s AI antagonist. The cultist sneaks up behind Cruise and lunges with a knife. Things look dicey for a moment — until Cruise gains some distance and kicks him repeatedly in the head. While doing so, he imparts a few words of wisdom: “You spend too much time on the internet.”

What divides the heroes and villains in Final Reckoning is simple: the villains have to Google things, and the heroes do not. There are three bad guys, more or less. First, the Entity, a rogue AI halfway through its plan for global domination. Second, Gabriel, the Entity’s meat puppet. Third, a gang of surprisingly likable Russians who take Cruise’s team hostage in a house in Alaska. What unites the villains isn’t malice so much as it is uselessness. I mean that precisely. They are often effective, even successful. But never useful. [...]

This division between characters with embodied knowledge and those without runs through all of Cruise’s recent work. His own impossible mission is to teach the value of physical competence: not just knowing things, but knowing how to do them. In Final Reckoning, this idea finds its clearest form. [...]

Like Forster, Cruise and his long-time collaborator Christopher McQuarrie invent machines to dramatize the age they live in. Forster gave us the Machine; McQuarrie, the Entity. But unlike Forster, their imagination of technology is not apocalyptic but diagnostic — they aren’t warning us of the machine age so much as asking what it demands of us, and what it reveals.

This brings us to what looks, at first glance, like a paradox: How does a franchise so lovingly built on disguises, gadgets, and inventions of all kinds — from the eye-tracking projector that gets Cruise into the Kremlin to the single suction glove that lets him cling to the Burj Khalifa — end with a villain made of pure technology?

If you asked Cruise, his answer would be simple: technology is good when it roots you in your body and bad when it lets you forget you have one. That’s why Final Reckoning, for all its AI villainy and suspicion of the terminally-online, still treats technology with a near-Romantic sensibility. Hand-soldered pen drives, aging aircraft carriers, and vintage biplanes carry Cruise and his team on their mission to save the world. At times subtlety disappears altogether; the film’s most inviting location is a candle-lit Arctic hideout filled with analogue comforts: old books and gramophones, telescopes and soldering tools.

The same ideas return — turned up to eleven — in Cruise and McQuarrie’s two other collaborations this decade outside the Mission: Impossible franchise. The first, Edge of Tomorrow, in which Cruise relives the same day on repeat until he generates enough embodied knowledge to defeat an autonomous alien race, is, even for the purposes of this essay, too on the nose, so I’ll focus instead on Top Gun: Maverick.

The film opens with Cruise test-piloting an experimental stealth aircraft in a last-ditch attempt to save the program from cancellation by the “drone ranger,” an admiral who wants the budget for his autonomous fleet. For the program to survive, Cruise needs to hit Mach 10: a speed no vehicle has ever reached. As the team watches on, he delivers the impossible. Gauzy wisps of supersonic air stream across the cockpit windows as Maverick stares out into the black of space. He whispers softly to his dead best friend, “Talk to me, Goose.”

Soon afterwards, Maverick is sent back to Top Gun to train a new generation of pilots. He begins his first lesson holding up the flight manual for the F-18, which makes the Riverside Chaucer look like a novella, before throwing it in the bin. “I assume you know this book inside and out. So does your enemy.” What matters instead is the knowledge that can’t be written down: the things his students already know by instinct, but cannot yet express  “Today we’ll start with only what you think you know.”

The quest to ‘“know more than we can tell,”’ as Michael Polanyi put it, drives the rest of the film. The pilots even have their own version of the phrase, a near-religious catechism recited at almost every decisive moment: “Don’t think. Just do.”

Beyond the screen, the same principle applies. In the Mission: Impossible franchise, filming begins with no plot or script, only a commitment to figuring it out in the process. It’s most evident in each film’s tentpole action sequences, where the line between Cruise the actor and Cruise the stuntman blurs beyond recognition.

The art critic Robert Hughes once wrote of his love for “the spectacle of skill” — the thrill of watching an expert at work, whatever the discipline. Nowhere is this more evident than in Cruise’s increasingly daring plane sequences. In Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation, Cruise clings to a real Airbus A400M as it lifts off from an airfield in Lincolnshire. He sprints across the field, in that inimitable Tom Cruise style, mounts the wing with practiced ease, and seats himself by the cargo door. The plane taxis. So far, so cool. Then it lifts off. The perfect hair vanishes, blown back and forwards, alternating second by second between old skeleton and boy with bowl cut. His clothes are shapeless and billowing, pulled off him by the force of the air.

This is no country for sprezzatura, nor the embodiment preached by the wellness industry with its vocabulary of “balance” and “equilibrium.” Here, we are meant to feel the effort. To know yourself is to know your limits, and so push your body to the edge of failure. When they are about to perform stunts, Cruise often briefs his team with an unusual mantra: ‘Don’t be safe, be competent.”

At the end of Final Reckoning, Cruise plummets through the sky as his parachute burns to cinders above him. To film it, the stunt team soaked a parachute in flammable liquid, flew him to altitude in a helicopter, and pushed him out as it ignited. He did this 19 times. When he asked to go again, the stunt coordinator told him there were no parachutes left. This was a lie. McQuarrie was more direct: “You’re done. Do not anger the gods.”

It’s interesting to see this return to embodiment and strange to find myself drawn to it. Like many default clever people, I’d long paid lip service to Merleau-Ponty and his ilk while living as a dualist; my brain was the moneymaker, my body just along for the ride. It was only after having children that I began to understand what it meant to inhabit a body rather than simply use one.

In an essay for Granta earlier this year, the writer Saba Sams contrasted her son’s love of leaping from benches and walls with her own unease: “For them, the body is not a constraint, is not a ticking clock, is not something to be moulded or hidden. The body is the window to movement, and movement is a window to joy.”

Sams captures something larger. This renewed fascination with embodiment isn’t spontaneous, it’s a reaction to technologies so powerful and frictionless they’re impossible to ignore. Even the most grounded among us now move through the world not through our bodies but through screens, which is why so many make the negative case for technology, urging us, thankfully without a Cruise-style kick to the head, to spend less time on the internet.

What Cruise gives us is the positive case: not just resistance to disembodiment but a reminder of what is beautiful about being physical in the first place. The skilled things bodies can do are inherently satisfying. They can be thrilling, reassuring, even a little terrifying. But, as David Foster Wallace put it in his essay on Roger Federer:

The human beauty we’re talking about here is beauty of a particular type; it might be called kinetic beauty. Its power and appeal are universal. It has nothing to do with sex or cultural norms. What it seems to have to do with, really, is human beings’ reconciliation with the fact of having a body.

That’s the mission, if we choose to accept it. The target is not the recent bugbear of AI, but instead the more gentle conditions of modernity. When we use Google Maps instead of a printed atlas, or when CGI is used to sell a stunt instead of the performers doing it themselves, something is lost. It’s why the focus on AI can sometimes be misguided. It’s not so much a revolution, it’s simply the next step on the ladder of disembodiment: another in a long line of technologies to make humans a little less self-reliant. Why learn, if you can ask?

In the final biplane sequence, we watch Cruise commandeer a plane, fly it to another, board that plane midair, and take control of it — a feat so exhausting it beggars belief. Gabriel, the villain, in order to survive his defeat, needs only do something a hundredth as difficult: jump from the plane and deploy a parachute. He laughs. This is easy. But he doesn’t know the complexities of leaving a biplane with a parachute — the correct moment to release, the parts to steer clear from. He’s never bothered to learn. He frees himself, clips the rudder, cracks his skull open, and dies.

Here we see the real villain: not intelligence, but convenience. The mission so often feels impossible because we keep trying to do things without effort. Cruise’s answer is simple: Stop. Remember your body. Sometimes, it’s better to take the hard way.

Final Reckoning’s closing scene presents us with two intelligences and two bodies. One is Cruise, a 62-year-old body who we’ve seen, for the last two hours, run fast, dive deep, and hang from planes. The other is the Entity, trapped in a glorified USB stick: a golden nugget incapable of anything other than being flushed down a toilet.

One still moves. The other never could.

by Aled Maclean-Jones, The Metropolictan Review | Read more:
Image: Getty

Shoot the Messenger

Media criticism these days is usually focused on ideological bias. The right argues the media is full of left-wing hacks, and the left points out that many media moguls are right-wingers. But I actually find ideological bias to be less concerning than the more fundamental problem that the class of people who determine the boundaries of debate share a set of demographic and experiential traits that they don’t recognize as distinctive.

This class of people includes journalists, yes, but also people who work in the tech industry, academics, nonprofit leaders, influencers, and those who work in politics. From now on, I’ll refer to this group broadly as “the messenger class.”

The messenger class’s distinctive experiences — like living in downtown Washington, D.C., or living in one of the parts of New York highlighted in red — shape the boundaries of normal in ways harder to counteract than pure ideological or partisan bias.

The messenger class plays a fundamental role in any democracy. Democratic self-governance requires not just fair procedures for making decisions but an accurate and shared picture of social reality to reason about. That picture is revealed through the communicated experiences of citizens, filtered through the messenger class, which decides which experiences are urgent and require intervention.

But if our mediating institutions are all staffed by people drawn from the same narrow demographic band, then the picture they produce will be skewed in ways nobody intends and few notice. This isn’t about whether the messenger class is full of bad people — it’s largely not — it’s about whether it’s even possible to know when you’re acting as a mirror to society, or a spotlight on what you personally happen to care about. [...]

[ed. Examples: Gentrification; Opioid Epidemic; AI Job Displacement; Rising Unionization:]

The psychology of projection

There is a name for what’s happening here. Psychologists call it the false consensus effect — the tendency to overestimate how much others share your beliefs, behaviors, and experiences.

First established by Ross, Greene, and House in 1977, it has been confirmed in a meta-analysis of 115 hypothesis tests and found to be a robust, moderate-sized effect. Later research shows that it persists even when people are warned about it.

Neuroimaging research has shown that projecting your views onto others activates the brain’s reward centers; it feels good to believe everyone is like you. And a 2021 study found that social media use amplifies the effect: The more time you spend in an environment where your views are echoed back to you, the more convinced you become that those views are universal.

The false consensus effect is usually studied at the individual level. But what I’m describing is a class-wide and industry-wide version.

It’s not just that any one journalist overestimates how representative her experience is; it’s that an entire class of professionals shares a similar set of experiences, confirms those experiences with each other on the same platforms, and then produces a body of public knowledge that reflects those experiences as though they were the norm.

And even when people from nontraditional backgrounds join the fray, they are incentivized to conform through social media, company cohesion, editorial norms, and the normal human urge to get along with your peers and be taken seriously by the people you respect.

So many problems, so little time

Agenda-setting is zero-sum.

There’s only so much time elected officials, charities, nonprofits, or businesses have to respond to the public’s needs. So if something is getting more coverage than may be warranted, that means other things are getting less. And that means fewer solutions are being explored.

Remember that gentrification report? It found that 15% of urban neighborhoods showed signs of gentrification over 50 years, while 26% experienced substantial population decline.

The far more common trajectory for a poor urban neighborhood is not invasion by white yuppies — it’s continued segregation, disinvestment, and deteriorating housing stock. But that story doesn’t get told with anywhere near the same intensity.

The same asymmetry shows up in the AI conversation. The workers most likely to struggle if displaced by AI are not the ones getting the most ink.

A Brookings analysis found that roughly 6.1 million workers face both high AI exposure and low adaptive capacity — limited savings, advanced age, narrow skill sets, scarce local opportunities. Eighty-six percent of these workers are women, and they’re concentrated in clerical and administrative roles in smaller metro areas.

I’m not arguing that journalists are dishonest, that scholars are corrupt, or that the messenger class is engaged in some conspiracy to distort public reality. The people I’m describing are, by and large, doing their best to tell the truth about the world.

The problem is that they’re drawing on their own experiences, their own social networks, and their own platform ecosystems as raw material — and those inputs are unrepresentative in ways they have no easy mechanism for detecting.

Part of this could be resolved with an increased fluency with quantitative data. But that’s not actually enough. Many stories — like the opioid epidemic — are ones that require journalists to respond to anecdotes before the quantitative data has been assembled, analyzed, and produced by the academy.

by Jerusalem Demsas, The Argument |  Read more:

Image: Klaus Vedfelt via Getty Images

Politics as Bad Group Therapy

The [MAGA] rallies are set to return Saturday—the third such round in the past year—built around a slogan that suggests Americans are living under something closer to tyranny than democracy. It’s a striking claim for a country that fought a revolution to overthrow a king and hasn’t had one since. Still, it’s revealing. It reflects a broader shift in how political disagreement is understood—not as a clash of views, but as a struggle between victims and villains.

The U.S. remains what it has long been: a contentious, often frustrating democracy shaped by competing interests and imperfect leadership. But describing it in more dramatic terms raises the emotional stakes. It transforms ordinary political conflict into something more absolute—and more psychologically satisfying.

In my work as a psychotherapist, I’ve seen a parallel change in how people interpret their personal lives. Feelings are increasingly treated not as signals to examine but as conclusions to affirm. Discomfort is no longer something to work through but something to explain—often by projecting blame onto an external source. This mindset doesn’t stay in the therapy room. It has begun to shape political life, and the [MAGA] rallies offer a framework that favors affirmation over scrutiny: a clean moral narrative in which there are those who are wronged, and those responsible for the wrongdoing.

At their core, the rallies resemble bad group therapy—gatherings that offer validation, solidarity and emotional release. They feel good in the moment. Participants vent, find reinforcement among like-minded people, and leave feeling heard and aligned. The experience can seem productive, even clarifying. But like bad group therapy, it stops at validation. The feelings are processed but not challenged, reinforced but not examined. There is relief but little resolution, and the underlying problems remain. It offers the feeling of progress without the substance of it. [...]

This helps explain why disagreement in these settings can feel less like a difference of opinion and more like a breach of reality. That is part of their appeal. These gatherings offer not only political expression but psychological alignment—a sense of being among others who see the world the same way. The effect can be energizing but also insulating, as politics organized around shared feeling begins to drift away from shared fact.

The atmosphere often reflects this shift. Many rallies have taken on a performative, even theatrical quality, with costumes and exaggerated symbolism replacing direct political engagement. That approach lowers the stakes of confrontation but reinforces the idea that the primary goal is expression rather than persuasion. [...]

This style of politics rewards intensity over accuracy and certainty over nuance. It makes compromise difficult and disagreement suspect, shifting the goal from persuasion to affirmation. This helps explain why such movements can feel more effective than they are.

That cycle—expression, validation, temporary relief—can be powerful. It gives the impression that something meaningful has occurred. But without friction, challenge or genuine engagement with opposing views, little is resolved. Participants are left with a sense of involvement but few tangible outcomes.

As the rallies return, they will likely generate energy, visibility and a sense of shared purpose. But they will also illustrate a familiar trade-off: When politics becomes organized around emotional validation, it can feel more satisfying even as it becomes less effective.

Democratic systems depend on something more demanding: the ability to tolerate disagreement, engage with complexity and distinguish between what feels true and what is demonstrably so. That process is often uncomfortable. It requires restraint, patience and a willingness to confront ideas that don't affirm one’s own perspective.

The [MAGA] rallies, for all their intensity, transform frustration into clarity. They turn disagreement into moral certainty. In doing so, they risk turning politics into something that feels good in the moment—and accomplishes almost nothing.

by Jonathan Alpert, Wall Street Journal |  Read more:

Image: Scott McIntyre for The New York Times
[ed. Haha, psych! Substitute No Kings for MAGA and you have a classic case of delusional projection. You'd think that if the Wall Steet Journal wanted to platform some random psychotherapist in their Op-ed section, they'd be a little more careful about who they select and what he has to contribute. Apparently not.]

A Theory about Dishes

“Washing dishes” (1914) photograph by Harry Whittier Frees

In 2016, an article by Matthew Fray titled, “She Divorced Me Because I Left Dishes by The Sink” went viral. It begins by addressing the ridiculousness of the title.

It seems so unreasonable when you put it that way: My wife left me because sometimes I leave dishes by the sink.

It makes her seem ridiculous; and makes me seem like a victim of unfair expectations.

The author then goes on to talk about why his wife cared about the dishes he left and how it reflected her broader concerns about not feeling respected and wanting her partner to share the mental load of managing a house. Toward the end, he summarizes the real problem his wife and other women in her situation have.

The wife doesn’t want to divorce her husband because he leaves used drinking glasses by the sink.

She wants to divorce him because she feels like he doesn’t respect or appreciate her, which suggests he doesn’t love her, and she can’t count on him to be her lifelong partner.

In the end, it was not about the dishes but about a broader pattern of behavior that left the wife feeling unsupported in their marriage. The dishes are a symbol, an artistic flourish to represent one piece of the frustration many couples, especially straight ones, have when it comes to dividing household labor. But what if this is not the whole story? What if dishes have a unique ability to create resentment and domestic misery?

There was a group of friends I knew who decided to all live together after high school. When their lease was up, they did not renew and there were some bitter feelings. At least one person claims that the reason their setup did not work out was because of conflict over the dishes. Maybe the dishes were a symptom of a bigger problem related to communication or willingness of everyone to share in household labor. But what if we take this reason seriously? What if that household did fall apart because of the dishes?

Conflict over dishes is so common that I am willing to bet every person reading this has argued about dishes at some point in their life whether that be with their parents, their own children, their partners or their roommates. There are always dishes to wash and most people find washing them to be unpleasant. Over time after hearing about other people’s conflicts and dealing with my own, I have come to think much more seriously about dishwashing than any sane person should. I have read empirical research on the division of dishwashing labor and its effects on relationships (most of which, oddly enough, focus on sexual satisfaction). I have read multiple takes by Christians who argue that dishwashing is part of God’s punishment for Eve eating the apple. Then I explored the many articles whose title is a play on “everyone wants a community/village/commune but no one wants to do the dishes.”

My radical conclusion after reading the dishwashing literature is that who does the dishes is not a petty concern and the fact that people see it as petty is the main reason it can prove to be such a destructive force in households whether those houses consists of married couples, roommates, or income sharing commune dwellers.

Evidence for the Surprising Importance of Dishwashing

Out of the few scientific studies on the division of dishwashing labor, the most relevant is Carlson, Miller and Sassler’s (2018) study that compared how the division of labor of different household tasks affects relationship satisfaction (including its effects on sex). Out of all the tasks they included (preparing/cooking meals, house cleaning, shopping, laundry, home maintenance, and paying bills), the “most consequential to relationship quality” was washing the dishes. When women were doing much more of the dishwashing, there was lower relationships satisfaction, more reports of relationship troubles, higher likelihood of having talked about separating, and a higher likelihood of physical arguments. Dishwashing was unique in its ability to cause discord and unhappiness.

Unfortunately, most research on division of household labor does not separate out dishwashing from other tasks so the rest of my evidence is anecdotal. After Mathew Fray wrote the above mentioned article about his wife leaving him over the dishes, he became a relationship coach and wrote a book about how men can save their marriages. His article about dishes resonated so much that he spun it into an entire career. [...]

My Guesses as to Why Dishwashing is so Important

Compared to other household tasks, dishwashing is more constant and has less potential to be fulfilling. There are other tasks that are gross, such as cleaning the toilet or gutters, but those aren’t daily tasks. Other tasks that are daily, such as cooking, are ones that many people enjoy and even do as a hobby. No one washes dishes as a hobby. The closest task in terms of regularity and unpleasantness might be laundry. In households where one person does everyone’s laundry then it does become a daily task of often unnoticed drudgery. But in most households laundry is not a daily issue in the way dishes are.

My main theory is that the perception of dishwashing as a petty concern is the problem. Most of the comments under Mathew Fray’s article are in the vein of “in a healthy marriage people do not care so much about dishes.” The whole reason the article went viral is the ridiculousness of the idea that dishes could be so important. When an issue is considered petty then the onus is on the resentful person to let it go rather than force a solution that everyone is satisfied with but it’s hard to let go when the dishwasher is reminded of their resentment everyday, multiple times a day. Washing the dishes does not take long but those short bursts of annoyances adds up.

by Mia Milne, Solar Thoughts |  Read more:

Image: “Washing dishes” (1914) photograph by Harry Whittier Frees

Enneagram Types

via: AI search and the Enneagram Institute

[ed. If you read the post following this one which discusses personal "agency" (which I encourage you to do) this might be helpful.]

On Agency and 'Can You Just Do Things?'

Clara Collier: In the spring of next year, you have a book coming out called You Can Just Do Things. It’s about agency. I'm interested in agency as a buzzword, as a concept, as a Silicon Valley cultural phenomenon, as a thing I can exercise in my life — maybe even as a thing I shouldn't exercise so much in my life. So, to start: How do you define agency? And why did you want to write a book about it?

Cate Hall: I define agency as the capacity to both see and act on all of the degrees of freedom that life offers. So it has two components: One is noticing degrees of freedom, the other is taking action on the basis of them.

I think agency is a hot topic right now for a lot of reasons, but I personally care about it because I have been through periods of my life that were characterized by very low agency, which made me miserable. I think that there is a pervasive belief — in tech and in the Bay Area, but also in the the world at large — that agency is an inherent trait. I think that is really wrong. So I'm interested in talking, at a practical level, about how agency can be cultivated to make it more accessible.

Clara: There’s an interesting cleavage between the way that you think and write about agency, and agency as a tech world buzzword. Why do you think this concept is so popular now?

Cate: I've wondered a lot about this. Certainly at least some part of it is that different ideas just become fads, but it's hard to understand why things take off when they do.

However, I suspect that some part of what is driving this interest is a concern that people have that they don't really know what their future looks like. They desire to control or lay claim to their future in a way they hope agency will provide.

The idea that intelligence is not what matters — because intelligence is becoming cheap — is growing. So there has to be something else that we can rely on, as humans, to supply a sense of control or meaning to life. Part of the enthusiasm about agency emerges from that perspective.

Clara: One thing in this space that I find concerning is the idea of “just do what high agency people are doing”. I think that leads to inauthenticity, where people pursue something that they think they should do just because it seems to be “high agency.”

Cate: That seems like a valid concern. I am interested in a flavor of agency that has to do with freedom above all else. There's one version of agency that is primarily concerned with personal freedom. There's another version that is primarily concerned with personal ambition — the version of agency that I hear more often in tech circles. I think that LARPing [live action role play in gaming] as a high-agency person by following the playbook of a tech founder seems unlikely to be a true exercise of agency, and therefore is unlikely to confer the benefits of “true agency:” a meaningful life that, upon reflection, you are happy to have lived.

Clara: I like the term reflection there. I have a kind of Rawlsian definition of agency: doing what you would do at reflective equilibrium.

Cate: I think that makes sense to me. There's the concept of coherent extrapolated volition: What would you do if you had more information? I've always liked that idea. If you were a better version of yourself, wiser and more knowledgeable, what would you actually want?

Jake Eaton: Maybe we can narrow this down more by talking about your own experiences, Cate, because I think you define agency orthogonal to how it’s sometimes used in the Bay. When you were younger, you graduated Yale Law, you held several high-status, high-performing jobs — you were a supreme court attorney and you clerked for a judge on the Second Circuit. I think most anyone reading your CV would think: This person has high agency. But you talk about these accomplishments as if they were done before you had any.

Cate: Yeah, I think this points to where agency and ambition actually diverge. It seems fairly clear, at least to me, that you can be high agency without being highly ambitious. That might describe somebody who is highly agentic in shaping the kind of personal, emotional, or spiritual life they want, but who is not especially motivated to succeed financially or professionally.

You can also be highly successful and highly ambitious without being highly agentic. That looks like following a path with a certain kind of excellence and endurance that reliably leads to success, to accolades, to money. But you haven’t reflected on that path; it’s not a matter of you having decided, yes, this is the life path that I want to be on. And that is what characterized my life until around the age of 30.

Jake: Do you reject the use of the term NPC? [non-playing background character in gaming]

Cate: I really hate it. The one context in which I will not reject it outright is when somebody is using it to describe their own personal transformation. Otherwise, I have a very strong allergy to the term and find it morally repugnant. The idea that some people do not count because they are not thinking for themselves in the way that the speaker believes they should is, to me, really vile. I have a hard time even getting along with somebody who I know has used the term, I find it so offensive.

Jake: Yeah, our Slack is full of both of us ranting about everyone who uses it and how much we hate it too.

Clara: It's so horrible. I'm not against ambition. I like being around people who want to change the world. I like being around people who want to do unusual things. But the more time I spend in spaces that valorize these qualities, the more I tend to run into people who have this deeply dehumanizing view of others. How separable are these things?

Cate: My first instinct is that you're seeing some sort of selection effect, where sociopaths tend to do both. People who tend to view others in transactional terms are also people who are high agency, in the sense that they have never bothered to learn social scripts. They are very low in conscientiousness. And so, naturally, without any study, they are able to exude high-agency instincts. A large part of learning high agency is learning not to be so constrained in your view of the world and of what comprises possible action. The people who, for whatever reason, never learn those things in the first place are who we think of as naturally agentic — but they are also high in dark triad traits.

So this is a consistent concern that I also have: that it is probably the worst people that you can think of who are really high agency. Agency itself is not necessarily a good thing. It becomes a good thing as a toolkit, developed by people who are also high in conscientiousness, who want good things for the world, and who might otherwise be constrained by narrow perspectives on what counts as socially acceptable action.

Jake: What's your model for how someone actually gains agency? Where did it come from for you; what happened around age 30? My own experience, and that of others I’ve spoken with, is that you can read plenty about self-determination or self-actualization that simply doesn’t click, until, one day, it does. That experience feels to me much more like grace than something that can be deliberately chosen or affected.

Cate: I think that there are a few different types of situations which reliably prompt people towards this direction. The first one that I ever benefited from was LSD. Drug experiences can be really useful in extracting you from your ordinary environment and giving you a newfound perspective on how you’re living your life. I think if I had never tried LSD, I might plausibly still be a lawyer living in DC. So psychedelics in particular — maybe MDMA.

Another is something that I discuss in my TED Talk and in the book: desperation, or call it being in emergency mode. I was trying to escape from the very low-agency point of addiction. Sometimes life becomes unbearable, and that prompts you to take dramatic action. In addiction circles, this is called the gift of desperation. That can be a result of addiction, but it can also be a health scare, or any event that serves as a trigger to reevaluate how you are living.

The third category is exposure to high-agency people. You can osmose agency from your environment if you're exposed to the right kinds of people. I experienced this while at Alvea, my gig before Astera, where I was working with a couple of people who were radically high agency — total outliers in this sense. I saw how they operated in the world and how much they were willing to question. That was really instructive for me.

So psychedelics, desperation, exposure to high-agency people. I think those are the standard things. And then there is just grace. Sometimes people wake up one day and they're like, oh, I don't like the way that I'm living. And that happens. But it's less reliable for me.

Jake: From a predictive processing framework, it strikes me that a lot of what you're talking about is just finding some way to break your priors about what’s possible for yourself.

Cate: Totally.

Jake: How, then, does the book fit into the broader project of actually providing people with agency?

Cate: I guess I'm trying to provide a fourth pathway, which is: Somebody puts a book in front of you and gives you something to think about. Agency has a reputation for being an inherent trait, as opposed to something deliberately cultivated. I think that fairly describes how a lot of people pick up agency. If it's not inherent, then it can be a matter of luck — who they happen to meet, or life circumstances that call them to become higher agency.

But I think agency is something that can be deliberately cultivated by a lot more people. And the hope is that I'm able to describe a useful set of approaches to life that cause people to feel more free and able to do what they want to — as an alternative to taking acid or bumping into people, you know?

Clara: This is also something I've noticed in my own life. Moving to the Bay Area and ending up in a very particular community here was really instrumental in me deciding I could do things that had not been on my action menu before. On the other hand, it's always hard for me to tell. When am I doing something that is actually, again, high agency? And when is it something that my community considers valuable, or cool, or agentic?

Cate: Working in AI safety is a version of this too. There are certain scripts you can follow that seem radical from the perspective of somebody outside of the community, but within the community, they're just the way that things are done. It can be easy to delude yourself into thinking that you are doing something radical and creative as an expression of your own deep interests, when in fact you are doing what everybody around you is doing. This is not an indictment of AI safety, or anybody in particular. [...]

Clara: What do you think about the relationship between agency and risk?

Cate: There definitely is a relationship. It's interesting: a lot of what I view as high agency involves taking a chance on something that is uncertain, instead of sticking with something certain. For example: Going to work at a startup instead of taking a corporate job, or deciding to break up with your partner of two years who you aren't enthusiastic about marrying, knowing there's a chance you won't meet anybody that you are more excited to date.

I think that there is an openness to risk and uncertainty that seems to go hand in hand with agency. Beyond that, there's probably a sociological overlap: many of the groups especially drawn to agency discourse right now also tend to be risk-loving for other reasons.

Fundamentally, I believe that most people take too few risks and limit their results in life because of that. Embracing some degree of risk is probably part and parcel of a high-agency mindset. 

by Cate Hall, Clara Collier, Jake Eaton, Asterisk |  Read more:

Image: via Harper Collins Publishers

[ed. See also (from Ms Hall's substack Useful Fictions): How to be more agentic.]

"Mankeeping" and How Women Still Find Male Vulnerability Annoying

It wasn’t that long ago that I tended to hear a fair number of women complain that men weren’t “emotionally available” or sensitive and sharing or vulnerable enough regarding their feelings. Now, pretty much turning on a dime, the narrative has switched to “mankeeping” which, reading between the lines, basically suggests women are tired of all this male emotionality which, it turns out, is annoying.

I was always skeptical of the narrative women really wanted men to be more like women in terms of emotional expression. After all, if women really wanted that, they could have used sexual selection over generations to mate with the sensitive men and weed out the big lugs. Alas, that was not what women generally did. I generally figured all the “men should cry more” talk came out of gender studies classes but that young women would actually find it irritating if they got stuck with a dude who actually took the invitation seriously.

There are probably evolved reasons for this. In hunter gatherer societies, men generally evolved as risk takers for hunting but also for protection (quite often from other humans). Men are physically larger, more physically aggressive, have deeper voices, thicker bones, etc. In general, men have evolved to project strength and, not surprisingly, this has tended to reflect in behavior for good or for ill. By contrast, women are physically smaller on average, have higher-pitched voices, softer features, etc., and the argument is much of this was evolved to elicit protectiveness in males. And, again, this reflects in female behavior including a greater ease in emotional expressiveness including alarm.

But humans aren’t fully at the mercy of evolution and genetics and when women say “We want more male tears”, some suckers might actually think it’s true. Enter the mankeeping concept, as recently covered in the New York Times. There’s a lot of talk about “emotional labor” and how the breakdown of male friendship relationships has placed a burden on women to support men through their emotional problems (more or less the thing they said they wanted in the first place). The NYT article assures us “Mankeeping isn’t just emotional intimacy” but then fails to explain what the difference is.

The couple in the article, used as an example, mainly seem split on who should be making the decisions about how they spend their time. The lady in question does most of it, which she finds burdensome. The gentleman assumed that was what she wanted (which I am going to go out on a limb and guess it was until she got it).

The NYT also assures us “Rather than viewing ‘mankeeping’ as an internet-approved bit of therapy-speak used to dump on straight men, experts said they see it as a term that can help sound the alarm about the need for men to invest emotionally in friendships.” I dunno…do “experts” say this? I’m a licensed psychologist and I kinda think it sounds like a new way to dump on straight men. Was there a NYT poll for “experts” that I missed?

The funny thing about it is this very gripe…that one’s partner is too emotionally needy…was used by men against women for generations. Ultimately, it came to be seen as sexist and rightly so. So, it’s a little surprising to see it resurrected in reverse.

by Christopher J Ferguson, Ph.D., Grimoire Manor |  Read more:

Image: uncredited

The Downsides of Being a Billionaire

What Does Extreme Wealth Do to the Brain? The ultrarich divulge how money bent their reality (and whether they even noticed).

A former CEO with a high eight-figure net worth spent a recent morning searching online for cheap flights. He drives a sensible car. He wears $140 shoes, and he winces whenever he flips over the price tag on a Prada sweater. He owns a mere two houses. He knows exactly how much money he has — he can check his bank balance anytime — but it never quite feels like his. “I’m still not acclimated to being rich,” he told me. “I find even saying these words to you now a bit disturbing. It’s just not part of my identity.”

For two months, I interviewed people with extreme wealth, asking them how money had changed the way they think — how their view of the world shifted once financial constraints disappeared. How did becoming rich alter their perceptions of status, friendship, obligation, and maybe even reality itself?

I sent many requests, offering anonymity. Many said “no.” (“We’re going to pass this time,” said a rep for a well-known hedge-funder. “Not my jam,” replied a famous entrepreneur.) Even more just ignored me.

But some said “yes.” One founded a large company. Another had made millions on his own and then married into hundreds of millions more. Another multiplied his family inheritance many times over by buying into the investment firm where he worked. Another was Mark Cuban.

At first, few of them would tell me outright that wealth had changed their thinking. But almost none could say it hadn’t, either. They deflected and hedged and resorted to hypotheticals. The former CEO said his perspective “hasn’t shifted that much” but then admitted “I might be deluding myself.” An acquaintance of mine who married into old money joked that “other people I know might regale you with the various ways I have dramatically and reprehensibly transformed,” but he couldn’t name one.

Meanwhile, ask pretty much anyone without money what wealth does to people and the answer is usually more straightforward: It makes them worse. Resentment of the rich now powers politics both left and right for slightly different reasons but with the same math: A tiny few control staggering amounts of wealth while ordinary people struggle to pay for rent and groceries. The number of billionaires has tripled since 2010, and the most visible among them are often the most obnoxious, many of them building the very AI companies that threaten to automate everyone else out of a job and into a permanent underclass. Hollywood has received the memo; every prestige-TV show now seems to be about affluent people who are either evil or dumb or both and who seldom make it through an episode without cheating on a spouse, defrauding a business partner, or murdering a poor person with their bare hands. Then, in January, into this already charged atmosphere dropped 3 million pages of Epstein files, exposing hidden depths of our elites’ depravity and also how often they have dinner with Woody Allen. The reputation of the rich has rarely been lower.

But the people I spoke to didn’t seem evil or dumb. None of them had emailed with Jeffrey Epstein. These weren’t the billionaires building bunkers in New Zealand or trying to buy the U.S. Constitution. Anyone willing to have this conversation is, by definition, self-selecting and probably an unrepresentative sample. All were willing to engage with my occasionally awkward questions and to struggle, in good faith, toward some kind of honest self-accounting.

However reluctant they were to draw conclusions about themselves, the people who agreed to talk often had plenty to say. In several cases, I asked for a short phone call or Zoom and they went for an hour, sometimes two. What surprised me most was how many of them, despite undergoing one of the most dramatic life changes possible, told me they were discussing this topic for the very first time. “I’ve actually never talked about this with anybody,” one said. “And it feels strange to do it with you.” Said another, “These are things I haven’t really thought about. I probably should.”

Not everything they told me was a revelation. A lot of their thoughts were tentative, the kind of things a person comes up with when they’re working it out as they speak. People contradicted themselves, changed the subject, and started stories they couldn’t finish. A question about money would turn into an answer about marriage, then into a long silence. Only some of it resolved into clean, quotable points. Still, in the accumulation of half-formed ideas and accidental admissions, a portrait took shape.

Early on, one source warned me that writing this story may be difficult because there is no universal experience of wealth. “I know a lot of very wealthy people,” he told me, “and you see some who are just epicurean hedonists. You see some who try to pretend that they don’t have it and feel quite guilty about it. Then you find some who either find a balance or keep working because they want more.” And yet, he said, just as studies have shown that poverty creates a scarcity mind-set — shaping how people think about things like risk and time — there must be something like an inverse effect. “There are probably some behavioral trends that can be pulled out.”

What emerged was less a unified theory than a cluster of variations. Wealth seemed to work differently on different people, depending on who they were and how the money arrived. A software developer whose start-up sold to a tech giant for nine figures — making him very rich, if not quite ultrawealthy — told me that when he got his payday, his first emotion wasn’t happiness but something closer to vindication. “It felt like things were finally as they should be,” he said. He’d grown up with ADHD and struggled in school. The money wasn’t just about money. “It was about showing the world — and my high-school English teacher who didn’t like me very much.” His fortune felt like a kind of scale-balancing, as if the universe had belatedly recognized who he was and compensated him accordingly.

I heard stories like this mostly from the self-made. Inheritors tended to describe their money as a source of gratitude, guilt, or embarrassment but rarely a solution to cosmic injustice. The self-made often believed they could rebuild their fortunes from scratch if they had to. “If you lose all your money today and wake up on the streets tomorrow having nothing but the clothes you’re wearing,” said a European entrepreneur who is both self-made and the son-in-law of a centimillionaire, “knowing that you can yourself build the life that you have is a vastly different feeling than basically having everything thrown into your lap.” He compared it to driving a race car. The self-made person has earned his spot on the team and “can control every tiny movement in that car if anything happens. But if you’re just placed in this fast machine with no training, that’s scary.”

David Roberts was born into money. His maternal grandfather, he told me, made a fortune in oil in the 1930s. As an adult, Roberts grew his inheritance by using part of it to buy an ownership stake in the firm where he worked, which sold for $2.7 billion in 2023. Still, he puts himself in the inheritor camp. “The drive forged in self-made people,” he told me, “is of a different caliber” from his own. The sacrifices someone born to wealth is willing to make, he said, are rarely as challenging. “There’s a resilience you probably only get from confronting scarcity and defeating it.” He was candid about what he saw as his own limitations. “I don’t think I ever had the confidence and risk tolerance” to be an entrepreneur, he said. Even so, he had his own version of striving. As a young father, he remembers worrying about whether he would “ever make enough money to mimic the lifestyle I had been brought up in.”

Ed McCaffery, a tax-law professor at USC who advises wealthy families, told me that among inheritors, the psychology isn’t uniform. In his experience, it splits along gender lines. Female heirs, he said, more often treat the money as something to protect. Male heirs are more likely to invest inherited money in risky ways — active trading, crypto, hedge funds, some aggressive bet that lets them feel they’ve transformed the wealth into something earned. “The son wants to feel like it’s his money, so he’s going to do something with it to make it feel earned,” McCaffery said. “Take the money, put it in bitcoin, claim that you made a fortune in bitcoin.”

For all those differences, certain effects seemed to recur. One of the most common was isolation. For some, it set in almost immediately. The European entrepreneur remembers the exact moment. As a university student, he’d launched a business on his own, and one afternoon he sat in his dorm room refreshing his laptop screen as hundreds of thousands of dollars flooded his bank account. He would go on to make much, much more, but that first infusion was the most destabilizing. “I was like, Fuck, what do I do now?” he says. That night, he went to dinner with schoolmates and said nothing. “My friends would’ve called me a prick.” He also couldn’t tell his parents, who are hippie anti-capitalists. “I couldn’t say, ‘Hey, I made more money in literally one second than you do in years.’ I got what I wanted, but in that moment, I felt totally isolated.”

It became a pattern for him, especially after he married a woman who came from a much wealthier family. He noticed his wife talked less about herself with others than anybody he knew. “You don’t tell your friends in high school about all the exotic places you’re jetting off to because they’re going to be jealous. They’re going to tell stories about you,” he said.

For anyone already inclined toward solitude, money can make it easier to withdraw further. “I’m naturally very introverted, and I don’t like being around a lot of people,” said the software developer who sold his company to the tech giant. “Wealth allows me to just be a little more insulated and less dependent on other people,” which perhaps indicates he recognized that this was not entirely a good thing. “As you move up in terms of luxury and comfort, experiences are always going to be more private,” noted the European entrepreneur. “When you get a bigger house, your neighbors are further away. In a nice hotel, the people that service you are going to be more polite and less personal. And you don’t meet anyone in a private jet.”

Without honest company, even people who suspected that wealth had changed them didn’t always trust themselves to say how, likely because our brains are built to normalize whatever life throws at us. The European entrepreneur had studied psychology and knew the term for this phenomenon: hedonic adaptation, or the human tendency to adjust to new circumstances quickly no matter how drastic the change. “Our senses don’t work objectively,” he said. “We can only see light compared to dark. We can only hear loud sounds compared to quieter ones.” Happiness works the same way. It’s not a fixed target but the gap between what you expected and what you got. He understood all this in theory. Then his expectations rose anyway.

Most of my sources said that buying nice stuff gets old fast. “Having your new car — the anticipation of which model, which style, which color — it really got me excited,” said the European entrepreneur. “But after the first couple of drives, you don’t use any of the features. It is just like your old car, a way to get from point A to point B.” The software developer described something similar. Before he could afford them, he would occasionally splurge on $500 sneakers. “Now I buy myself those same $500 sneakers and I don’t get the same pleasure,” he says. It turned out the pleasure wasn’t in the shoes themselves but in the irresponsibility of the purchase. He said he recently invested a million dollars in OpenAI — and that did the trick.

Not everybody I talked to believed that money changes people in such complicated ways. I sent Mark Cuban a cold email on a Tuesday afternoon, and by that evening he was calling me from his car in Dallas.

Cuban grew up in a working-class family in Pittsburgh — neither parent had graduated from college, and his father never made more than $40,000 a year — and once slept on the floor of an apartment he shared with five roommates. Then, at 40, during the dot-com boom, he sold his company Broadcast.com to Yahoo for $5.7 billion. I asked whether becoming rich changed him, and he said “not really.” “It was an enabler, but not really a change factor,” he said. “If you were happy when you were broke, like I thought I was, you’re going to be insanely happy when you’re rich. And if you were miserable, that doesn’t change.”

So maybe wealth isn’t transformative; it’s an amplifier. It turns up the volume on whoever you already are. When you don’t have money, your personality runs up against friction all day long. You might be generous, but your generosity has a ceiling when you’re living on a fixed income. You might be anxious, but ordinary life forces you to confront your stressors often enough to keep them manageable. Money removes that friction, and whatever it was holding in check is free to run. The generous person can give amounts that change other people’s lives. The anxious person can design a life without any of their old triggers and then fall apart when the smallest thing goes wrong because their coping muscles have atrophied. This might sound reassuring — You’re still you! — but how many people really know who they are when there’s nothing pushing back on them? Plenty of billionaires probably seemed normal when their eccentricities were still bound by everyday constraints.

Even if money doesn’t change a person in major ways, it still introduces new asymmetries into everyday life. In many of my interviews, the conversation found its way to the same topic, usually before I could bring it up myself: the restaurant check. It might be the thing that makes the abstract strangeness of being wealthy feel most concrete. It’s a tiny war over status, pride, and generosity that happens every time the rich and non-rich sit down to eat together.

Here’s the situation: You’re a deep-pocketed person out to dinner with shallower-pocketed friends. The meal winds down. The check arrives. You could easily pay the whole thing and never think about it again. But paying might send a message you didn’t intend — that you think you’re better than everybody else at the table, or that you want to be thanked, or that you’re keeping score. Not paying, or splitting the bill, sends a message too — that you’re cheap or clueless or pretending to be modest. Every option sucks.

by Lane Brown, Intelligencer |  Read more:

Image: Zohar Lazar
[ed. Pity the poor billionaires. Let me remind everyone again struggling with basic math (me included), that a billion dollars equals one thousand millions. Sometimes the scale just overwhelms. For example, the national debt now stands at $39 trillion, so we pay $900 billion in interest each year servicing that debt. This idiot war in Iran is adding more to that (we used to increase taxes to cover our various military adventures, now we just issue bonds that further increase our debt) - still a small portion of what we'll pay over time when future veteran's benefits are added in (now in the trillions from previous wars and administrations). But, uh yeah... this was about billionaires.]

Iran's Gulf Gambit

It is perhaps a good day to remember that, despite the facial hair affinities, Iran is not Hamas. Its missiles are not home-made projectiles lobbed without guidance systems from the rubble of a collapsed UNRWA building. When an Iranian drone strikes the airport or the Fairmont in Dubai, it strikes them because someone in Tehran decided it should — a deliberate strategic choice, not an accident of indiscriminate targeting.

There is a clear strategy here. The question is whether it is a sound one.

Tehran’s desperate gambit is as follows: the Gulf economic model — the Emirates’ model above all — is built on the promise of the oasis of stability in a neighborhood of chaos: that capital flows freely, that tourists, businessmen, Russian oligarchs, and expats arrive safely, that the skyline is always glamorous. The GDP of the Gulf states is functionally a confidence index. Strike the airports, the hotels, the commercial districts of Dubai and Doha and Manama, and you strike the foundation on which the entire post-oil diversification project rests. Iran is clearly betting that the Gulf states’ extraordinarily low tolerance for economic volatility will translate into political pressure on Washington to end the operation before it achieves its objectives.

There are good reasons to think this bet could work, and Tehran is not being irrational in making it... The Iranian calculation is that a sustained campaign of economic disruption across the Gulf will collapse American political will before it collapses the Islamic Republic.

But this time Tehran may be miscalculating, and badly.

The difference is scale. Previous Iranian attacks were deniable, limited, and targeted — a drone strike on an Aramco facility here, a proxy attack on Abu Dhabi there — enough to send a message without forcing a strategic pivot towards cost absorption. What happened this weekend is categorically different. Iran launched ballistic missiles at the territory of Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain, and Jordan simultaneously, killing civilians in Abu Dhabi, striking hotels in Dubai, hitting airports, and targeting the economic and civilian infrastructure of every GCC capital except Muscat. The distinction between a calibrated signal and an act of war against the entire Gulf system at once is not a matter of interpretation.

And this, likely, changes the political logic entirely from the past episodes. When the threat was occasional and deniable, hedging made sense — keep channels open to Tehran, diversify partnerships, avoid being drawn into an American confrontation that might end inconclusively. When Iranian missiles are landing on your hotels, your airports, and your residential districts in broad daylight, hedging ceases to be a viable strategy and becomes a dangerous capitulation that poses greater risk to your future and stability.

The Gulf states did not choose this war, but Iran’s decision to strike their territory was not, as Tehran claims, merely retaliation against American assets on their soil. It was a deliberate strategy to weaponize Gulf economic fragility against Washington — to make the pain of the operation fall on the states most likely to demand its immediate cessation. The US bases merely provided the pretext, but the hotels, airports, and commercial districts are the actual targets, because those are what the Gulf leaderships cannot afford to see burning on international television. Tehran has just demonstrated, in the most visceral terms possible, that neutrality offers no protection against a regime that treats its neighbors as targets regardless of their diplomatic position.

My assessment is that the Gulf capitals are now far more likely to press Washington to finish the job — harder, faster, and more decisively — than to press for a premature ceasefire. [...]

The logic of the Gulf’s position is now effectively inverted from what Iran anticipated: the risk is no longer that the operation escalates too far but that it stops too soon, leaving a regime that has demonstrated both the willingness and the capability to strike the Gulf’s economic heart still standing and seeking revenge.

But Gulf tolerance, however firm in this moment, is not infinite. The Gulf leaderships are drawing down a finite reservoir of political and economic capital to absorb the costs of Iranian retaliation — and that reservoir has a floor, one that drops faster if Iran escalates from hotels and airports to critical infrastructure — desalination plants, power grids, the systems on which Gulf life physically depends. Every day that Iranian missiles continue to strike Gulf territory without a visible degradation in Tehran’s capacity to launch them is a day closer to the point where the calculus flips back.

Washington and Jerusalem are effectively operating on a clock set not only by their own military timelines but by the Gulf’s diminishing tolerance for this sustained punishment. The operation, thus, must demonstrably cripple Iran’s ability to project force across the Gulf before the political will that is currently underwriting it exhausts itself.

Tehran’s bet was that Gulf volatility intolerance would outweigh Gulf threat perception — a reasonable bet based on the precedent of past provocations that extracted disproportionate political concessions. But past precedent involved pinpricks, not salvos. Iran just showed every Gulf leader, in a single morning, exactly what the Islamic Republic does when it is cornered, and the answer to that demonstration will not likely be accommodation.

by Hussein Aboubakr Mansour, The Abrahamic Metacritique |  Read more:

Image: uncredited

[ed. Maybe, but Iran can continue pounding US military bases and communications sites, along with the occasional "errant" hotel strike, and still tank global oil markets with operations in the Strait of Hormuz. That capability won't go away. Yes? Update: this assessment appears to be spot on. See: Saudi Leader Is Said to Push Trump to Continue Iran War in Recent Calls. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman sees a “historic opportunity” to remake the region (NYT).]