Hey,

For weeks, we’ve been watching geopolitical tensions and shifting ideologies unravel decades-old alliances. If there was still any doubt about the direction of this new reality, the Zelensky-Trump/Vance press conference erased it.

I won’t let this newsletter be hijacked by American geopolitics, but I will say this: what we witnessed wasn’t just policy—it was political theater, engineered for maximum digital impact. Moments like these aren’t just about diplomacy anymore; they are designed to be content, clipped and reframed to fit competing narratives online.

And yet, beyond the spectacle, something far more consequential is taking shape:

For the first time in modern history, serious conversations are happening about global “uncoupling” from the U.S.—a concept that would have been unthinkable even a few years ago.

This shift is particularly stark in Europe, where, for many, this was the moment the illusion of the U.S. as a stable ally finally broke. This is the new reality of global power: geopolitics isn’t just about diplomacy anymore—it’s about information warfare, digital manipulation, and the battle to control the narrative. As I wrote last week, it's about spectacle as a means of gaining influence and power.

And then there was Zelensky’s face—the sheer mix of rage and heartbreak as he endured insult after insult, forced to justify his people’s suffering. In a single moment, we saw the real cost of this unraveling world order.

And it's only March...

Billionaire Blindspots and Back To Office Rage?

I’ve been following Jamie Dimon’s back-to-office crusade with the kind of fascination usually reserved for slow-motion car crashes. For years, we’ve been told that great leadership is about empathy, about taking the time to understand what employees need to do their best work. And yet, here’s Dimon, CEO of JPMorgan Chase, dismissing employee concerns with a level of contempt that feels… personal?

Earlier this year, JPMorgan employees circulated a petition pushing back against the company’s return-to-office mandate, arguing that it would negatively affect work-life balance, particularly for caregivers, senior employees, women, and individuals with disabilities. When confronted with this organized dissent, Dimon’s response was blunt:

​"Don’t waste time on it. I don’t care how many people signed the fucking petition."​

This wasn’t just about policy; it was about power. Because if the issue were purely about productivity, the numbers tell a different story. JPMorgan has been wildly profitable, with its stock price doubling in the past five years. By almost every metric, the company has thrived. And yet, Dimon insists that remote work led to “extraordinary abuse”—blaming employees for zoning out on Zoom calls and ignoring the reality that disengagement isn’t a remote work problem; it’s a meeting design problem. It's a culture problem too.

I've been in plenty of in-person meetings where people tuned out, scrolling on their phones or mentally planning their grocery lists. The idea that simply relocating bodies into an office automatically fixes engagement is outdated at best—and willfully ignorant at worst.

The Billionaire Blindspot

Leaving aside Dimon’s apparent workaholic martyr complex—which has fueled some of the worst aspects of work culture—the science is clear:

Working constantly does not increase performance. But it does destroy your health, tank your cognitive abilities, and erode your relationships. I wrote about this extensively in Hustle & Float, but it bears repeating: Burnout is not a badge of honor.

What’s more revealing, though, is the billionaire blindspot—this idea that because Dimon has structured his life in a way that allows him to work around the clock, everyone else should be able to as well.

Let’s be real: Dimon isn’t doing his own laundry. He’s not navigating school pickups, meal planning, or eldercare. His world is optimized for maximum work output—because everything else is handled by an army of assistants, nannies, chefs, and housekeepers who free him from the very responsibilities that make work-life balance an essential, non-negotiable reality for most people.

And yet, he assumes that if his workforce isn’t matching his schedule, they must be slacking. It’s elitist, out of touch, and deeply unserious as a framework for modern leadership.

The Digital Culture Shift That Executives Hate

What’s particularly striking is that this push to "get back to normal" ignores a massive cultural shift that’s already happened. Digital transformation isn’t just about technology—it’s about behavior. And workplace behavior has fundamentally changed.

For decades, knowledge workers were told that what mattered was outcome, not location. The ability to work remotely wasn’t just a perk—it was a logical evolution of labor in a digitally connected world. Employees proved they could maintain (or even increase) productivity while working remotely.

So when executives like Dimon insist on full-time in-office work, what they’re really saying is:

"I don’t actually care about the work getting done—I care about control."

And that’s what makes this moment so fascinating. This isn’t a debate about hybrid vs. remote vs. in-person work. It’s a reactionary backlash against the way digital culture has disrupted traditional power structures.

In pre-pandemic office culture, visibility was a currency. The ability to physically occupy space—to be seen in meetings, to linger after hours, to show up at networking events—often mattered as much (if not more) than actual output. But digital work environments flattened some of those hierarchies. Productivity became more measurable, less performative. And crucially, employees got a taste of agency over their time.

Executives like Dimon aren’t just mad that people want to work remotely—they’re mad that they can’t force them into performative busyness anymore.

Which brings me to Tim Gurner.

When Contempt Turns to Punishment

At a recent conference, multi-millionaire real estate mogul Tim Gurner lamented that workers don’t want to work as hard anymore. He complained that there had been a productivity decline post-pandemic, which is already a laughable grievance—because nothing is more offensive than the idea that productivity might have slightly dipped during a global crisis that killed millions of people.

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But then he went further.

"We need to see pain in the economy. Unemployment has to jump 40-50% to remind people that they work for their employer, not the other way around."

Just sit with that for a second.

This isn’t just about business strategy. This is a CEO actively rooting for economic suffering—for millions of people to lose their jobs—because he thinks workers need to be "humbled."

It’s not just greed. It’s rage.

And I think that rage is telling us something important.

The Revenge Economy & The War on Digital Autonomy

Dimon’s RTO mandates. Gurner’s open call for mass layoffs. The rollback of DEI initiatives across industries. These aren’t isolated events—they’re symptoms of a larger ideological battle between two competing visions of work.

• One vision recognizes that digital tools have fundamentally changed how we work and seeks to integrate flexibility, autonomy, and outcome-based measurement into the fabric of modern workplaces.
• The other is a desperate clawback of control by an older generation of executives who feel deeply threatened by the idea that employees might actually have leverage.

And that’s what I keep coming back to:

This moment isn’t just about productivity. It’s about power.

So when I see billionaires ranting about lazy workers, or CEOs insisting that "remote work doesn’t work," despite all evidence to the contrary, I don’t see a conversation about labor policy. I see an existential panic from people who hate that digital tools have made their power less absolute.

So, what do you think? Is this a sign of a deeper shift in work culture, or just another iteration of corporate overreach disguised as "best practices"?

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Current Hyper-Fixation: Isekai Anime

Ok, massive topic switch!

Lately, my brain has been absolutely consumed by Isekai anime. There’s something about falling headfirst into a genre—learning its rhythms, its quirks, its underlying themes—that I find deeply satisfying. Once you start noticing the patterns, the entire landscape shifts. You see how the classic structure of an ordinary person being summoned to another world and handed a supernatural advantage isn’t just about adventure; it’s about reinvention, power, and, at its core, escape.

At first glance, Isekai is easy to dismiss as wish-fulfillment. But the more I watch, the clearer it becomes that these stories resonate because they tap into something deeper: the frustration of feeling trapped in a system that doesn’t reward effort, the desire to break free from invisible constraints, the fantasy of a world where rules can be mastered instead of endured. Each Isekai subgenre reflects a different version of this longing.

There are villainess reincarnation stories, where a protagonist wakes up inside a video game or fantasy world as a character doomed to fail. Armed with knowledge of the script, she rewrites her fate, turning what was once a tragedy into a triumph.

There are expertise-driven rebirths, where characters bring skills from their previous lives—modern medicine, pharmacology, economics, even cooking—that make them invaluable in their new world.

There are survival narratives, where the protagonist starts with a weak or seemingly worthless ability and has to claw their way up through sheer strategy and determination.

And then there’s the cheat-code Isekai, where the protagonist is given a power so overwhelming that they immediately dominate their new world, effortlessly bending it to their will.

What ties all these variations together is the question of power: What does it mean to win? And more importantly, how do you game the system in your favor? In a time where modern life feels dictated by algorithms, bureaucracy, and social hierarchies that seem impossible to climb, the idea of an Isekai protagonist being dropped into a world with clear progression mechanics is undeniably cathartic. These stories tell us that success isn’t just about hard work—it’s about knowing how to play the game.

This is especially clear in Solo Leveling, where the protagonist, Jungwoo, starts at the absolute bottom: weak, overlooked, disposable. But when he gains access to a hidden system, he figures out how to level up, transforming himself into a force no one can ignore. It’s the ultimate fantasy for anyone who has ever felt stuck at the bottom of a hierarchy with no real way up.

On the other hand, The Saint’s Magic Power is Omnipotent taps into an entirely different dream: opting out altogether. Sei, an overworked woman from our modern world, is transported to a fantasy realm only to discover she isn’t the chosen hero. Instead of trying to prove herself, she decides to escape entirely, choosing a peaceful life of potion-making and self-care over court politics and epic quests. It’s the perfect story for anyone who has ever fantasized about leaving the chaos of modern life behind and starting fresh somewhere simpler.

Then there’s the villainess subgenre, which I find particularly fascinating because it interrogates traditional ideas of goodness, particularly for women. These stories take characters who were originally written as obstacles to the hero—prideful, ambitious, ruthless women—and put them in the driver’s seat. Instead of being punished for their intelligence or cunning, they wield it to reshape their fates. One of my favorite moments in I’ll Become a Villainess to Go Down in History is when the protagonist, sitting in a council meeting, listens to the idealistic heroine talk about how love and second chances will solve everything. Instead of nodding along, she rolls her eyes and lays out a strategy—economic incentives, infrastructure plans, real-world solutions. It’s a perfect critique of how women are so often expected to be agreeable and soft-spoken to be perceived as “good.” These villainesses refuse to play along.

But the most fascinating Isekai stories take things a step further, forcing us to ask: Who gets to be a monster?

In I Reincarnated as a Spider, So What?, the protagonist wakes up not as a hero, an adventurer, or even an NPC—but as a literal spider at the bottom of the dungeon food chain. She has to use intelligence and adaptation to survive, evolving into something stronger than anyone expects. Similarly, Reborn as a Vending Machine asks how much agency is actually required to be a hero, while Reincarnated as an Aristocrat, I’ll Use My Appraisal Skills and Even Given the Worthless Appraiser Class, I’m Actually the Strongest explore the way society assigns value to people. Bogus Skill Fruitmaster leans into the idea that even seemingly useless abilities can be game-changing. These stories force us to reconsider power structures in a way that extends far beyond the realm of fantasy.

Traditional fantasy narratives tell us that monsters exist to be defeated, obstacles to be overcome. But when the protagonist is the monster, suddenly we’re asked to empathize with a character who, in any other story, would have been an afterthought. And once you start seeing that shift, it’s impossible to ignore how much it mirrors the world we live in. Who gets to be the “hero” in our cultural narratives? Who is cast as the “villain”? Isekai stories don’t just flip these roles for fun; they expose how arbitrary these distinctions really are.

At its core, Isekai is about breaking free. Whether that means climbing the ranks, rewriting the script, or choosing to walk away altogether, these stories offer an escape not just from one world, but from the structures that define power in our own.

Where to Start: A Watchlist

Most of these are on CrunchyRoll - I got a one month subscription and binged my way through.

• Solo Leveling – A weak hunter discovers a hidden power system that allows him to climb from the weakest to the strongest.
• The Saint’s Magic Power is Omnipotent – An overworked woman is transported to a fantasy world and chooses a slow, cottagecore life over being the prophesied savior.
• I Reincarnated as a Spider, So What? – A high school girl is reborn as a low-level dungeon spider and must strategize her way to survival.
• Arifureta: From Commonplace to World’s Strongest – A bullied student is betrayed, falls into a dungeon, and has to become ruthless to survive.
• Villainess Level 99 – A woman is reborn as the hidden boss of a video game and uses her intellect to avoid disaster.
• Chillin’ in Another World with Level 2 Unlimited Powers – A powerful protagonist chooses a peaceful life instead of battle.
• Reborn as a Vending Machine – Exactly what it sounds like.
• Even Given the Worthless Appraiser Class, I’m Actually the Strongest – A protagonist proves that their seemingly useless ability is actually game-breaking.

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Life Lately: The Weasel Timeline and a Little Digital Zen

I’m back in Paris after another whirlwind stretch of travel—Barcelona, Philadelphia, and London—each stop filled with moments that feel both wildly surreal and completely normal in the way my life tends to be.

In Philly, I spoke at the Eagles' Stadium and had the unexpected delight of meeting Swoop, their mascot. This was, apparently, a moment of peak prestige among my football-loving friends, who were far more impressed by my brush with a costumed bird than by anything I actually said on stage.

In London, I had the chance to stand on the BAFTA stage, a sentence that still doesn’t feel entirely real. Later, I lingered in the BAFTA members' lounge, sipping tea and watching the city’s film and television crowd move through their world. There’s something fascinating about watching industry people in their natural habitat—who they lean toward in hushed conversations, the way their voices lower when something particularly juicy is being shared. I tried (and failed) to blend in, but I loved every second of it.

At some point, I stopped trying to make sense of the sheer absurdity of existence—the way my joys, my work, and my creativity all continue to unfold in parallel with whatever chaotic timeline we’ve found ourselves stuck in. I’ve long believed we’re living in some kind of glitched reality, ever since that infamous moment when a weasel accidentally crawled into CERN’s Large Hadron Collider, died, and shut it down for a week.

This is my personal theory: we are in the Weasel Timeline, and frankly, I don’t like it.

Finding Small Pockets of Calm

To cope, I’ve been obsessed with a paint-by-numbers app on my iPad—a small, methodical act that helps quiet my brain. There’s something profoundly soothing about filling in tiny sections of color, one tap at a time, while the rest of the world spirals. It’s repetitive, requires no optimization, and has zero stakes—exactly the kind of low-pressure, meditative distraction I need right now.

It’s funny how in an era of relentless digital overstimulation, I find myself drawn to activities that force a kind of intentional slowness. Not productivity, not self-improvement, just a small act of presence in a time when everything feels designed to fragment our attention.

What’s Next

Next week, I’ll be talking about The 5 Types of Wealth, a framework from my friend Sahil Bloom that moves beyond the traditional focus on financial wealth. He’s created a quiz that calculates your personal wealth score—measuring things like time, relationships, and well-being alongside money.​

​I’ll share my own results next week, but if you’re curious, take the quiz yourself. We’ll break down what it all means together.​

Until then—be kind to your brain.

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As always, thanks for being here!