Sharp opinions. Beautiful charts. Uncomfortable truths.
Everyone argues the self-driving-car trolley problem the fun way. The real question is who writes that line of code, on whose payroll — and whether anyone asked you.
The self-driving car's 'who does it kill' question is a decoy. The real one is who writes that code, on whose payroll — and 'the AI' decides nothing.
Boots told journalists AI had transformed it. It couldn't answer a WhatsApp. The AI isn't broken — it's just pointed at your wallet, not your eyes.
The Ross-and-Rachel 'break' debate isn't about a 1997 sitcom. It's a Rorschach test for the model of love someone carries — and whether they know it.
The cure for misdirected outrage isn't a better villain. It's a muscle: the small, awkward, unrewarded thing done in the one room where you have standing.
Britain runs a 1912 social contract on 2026 hardware. The cracks aren't bugs — they're the architecture. A view from inside the engine room.
Contempt for a category feels like a moral stand. It's actually the most comfortable seat in the room — the target is built so it can never answer back.
The housing crisis doesn't have villains — it has beneficiaries: ordinary homeowners defending a view and a pension, one polite objection letter at a time.
The British professional class has more capital and freedom than any second son of empire — and spends it arguing on Facebook. There's another option.
Rage at the private jet isn't the start of climate action — it's the substitute. Private jets are a rounding error. The lever is the norm on your own street.
An AI-generated Polish influencer runs a scam funnel on pure outrage. My instinct was to blame Instagram. That instinct turned out to be the actual problem.
Youth suicide rates have erased 30 years of progress. We thought mental health awareness would save them. The data suggests it might be part of the problem.
The case for algorithmic governance isn't as absurd as it sounds. Politicians hallucinate too—we just call it policy.