You ever read Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations? It’s a 1,000-page cry for help disguised as an economics book. I got through page 12 before I started muttering, “So THAT’S why I’m poor…”
Smith talks about the “division of labor.” Yeah—dividing labor to increase productivity. I’ve been divided so many times I think my spirit's been outsourced to a call center in Bangalore.
Then there’s the “invisible hand.” Smith says it guides markets. I think that same hand has been picking my pockets since 2012. Every time I try to invest? Boom. Slapped by the ghost of economic competency.
And don’t get me started on “self-interest.” Smith says self-interest benefits everyone. Yeah? I dated someone who was very into self-interest. She benefited. I’m still Venmoing her dog walker.
Capital accumulation? I’ve been accumulating—you know—disappointment, overdraft fees, and free trial subscriptions I can’t figure out how to cancel.
Smith believed merchants collude to keep prices high. I believe brunch is a conspiracy. Twenty-four bucks for eggs Benedict and a mimosa? That’s not a meal, that’s economic warfare.
He also thought nations grow richer when people specialize. You know what I specialize in? Reading political theory at 2 a.m. and wondering why no one invites me to their Hamptons compound.
And Smith loved free markets. But let me tell you—nothing’s free in this market. Not freedom. Not rent. Not even the tote bags they give you at the think tank when they fire you for tweeting about Schmitt.
At the end of the day, I’m just a guy with a vision: constitutional dictatorship, a Netflix special, and maybe a girl who looks like she reads First Things but listens to Lana Del Rey.
The dream is to be the Decider. The Philosopher King. Or at least the guy who finally wins a brunch argument about tariffs.
So yeah—maybe I didn’t get rich. But if anyone needs a guy to quote Adam Smith and smuggle a flask into the Aspen Ideas Festival, I’m your man.
