I had the title of this post sitting in “Drafts” for a couple months now, but Kris and Paul have given me good reason to actually write about it. These thoughts are largely off the cuff, but they do come from experience.

What is Agent-Based Modeling?

This is not actually as straight-forward question as one might think. If you define it broadly enough as, say, any model within which agents make decisions in accordance with pre-defined rules and assigned attributes, then the answer to the overarching question posed by this post becomes: well, actually, economics has been producing agent-based models for decades, but that answer is as annoying as it is useless.

Instead, let’s start with a minimal definition of an agent-based model:

1. They are composed of n >3 agents making independent decisions
2. Agents are individually realized within the model.
3. Decisions are made in accordance with pre-defined rules. These rules may or may not evolve over time, but the manner in which they evolve are themselves governed by pre-defined rules (e.g. learning, mutation, reproduction under selective pressures, etc).

If we stop at this minimalist definition, then the answer becomes only marginally less trivial, as essentially any dynamic programming/optimal control model within macroeconomics would meet the definition. This leads to what I consider the minimal definiton of an agent-based model as a distinct subclass of computational model:

1. Agents within the model are characterized by deep heterogeneity.
2. Agents exist within a finite environment which serves as a constraint in at least one dimension (lattice, sphere, network, etc).
3. Decisions are made sequentially and repeatedly over time

Now we’re getting farther into the weeds and beginning to differentiate from whole swaths of modern macroeconomics that either employ a “representative agent” or collapse agent attributes to the 1st and 2nd moments of distributions. But that doesn’t eliminate all of modern macro. If embracing heterogeneous agents in your models of macroeconomics, banking, etc, are of interest to you, there are scholars waiting to embrace you with open arms.

Which brings me to the final attribute that I believe fully distinguishes the bulk of the agent-based models and their advocates from modern economics:

1. Agent-based models exist as permanently dynamic creations, absent any reliance on equilibria as a final outcome, characterization, or prediction.

The departure from general or partial equilibria as outcomes or predictions is where the schism actually occurs and, I suspect, is where many purveyors found themselves with a research product they had a hard time selling to economists. Economics, perhaps more than any other social science, demands that theoretic predictions be testable and falsifiable. Agent-based models (ABMs) don’t always produce particularly tidy predictions that lend themselves to immediate validation. Which doesn’t preclude them from making a scientific contribution, but it puts them on unsteady footing for economists who are used to having a clear path from the model to the data.

OK, but really, why didn’t agent-based modeling happen?

As much as big, irreconcilable differences in scientific philosophy would make for a satisfying explanation, I suspect the most salient reasons are less sexy and, in turn, less flattering of the day-to-day realities of grinding out research in the social sciences. Here are a few.

Economics was already a “model” social science

One of the reasons mobile phones caught on faster in Africa than North America was an absence of infrastructure. The value add of going from “no phones” to “mobile phones” is far larger than going from “reliable land lines in every edifice” to “mobile phones”, making it easier to justify both investments in relevant infrastructure and bearing of personal costs. Such a thing occurred across the social sciences with regards to ABMs.

Rational choice and mathematical sociology always had a limited following. Evolutionary biologists were often alone in their mathematical modeling, computational biology barely existed, and cultural anthropologists were more excited about Marx’s “exchange spheres” than they were about formal models of any kind. For a PhD student in these fields, the first time they saw a Netlogo demonstration of an agent based model, they were seeing something never previously available to their field: the ability to formalize their own theories in a way fully exogenous to themselves. There would be no fighting about what their words actually meant, whose ideas they were mischaracterizing, what they were actually predicting. Their critics, be it journal referees or thesis committee members, would have no choice but to confront their theory as an independent entity in the world.

This advantage of formality, of independent objectivity, in agent-based modeling was not something new to economics. While critics have many (often correct) complaints about modern economics, it’s rare to air concerns that economics is insufficiently formal or mathematized.

Too many “thought leaders”, not enough science

Axtell and Epstein wrote their landmark book “Growing Artificial Societies” in 1996. In it they produced a series of toy simulation models within which simple two-good economies emerged. This wasn’t revolutionary in it’s predictions by any means (whole swaths of macro models were able to make comparable predictions for two decades prior), but the elegance through which minimalist computer code could produce recognizable markets emergent from individual agent decisions was just incredible. The potential to readers was immediately obvious: if we can produce such things from 100 lines of code, what could we simulate the fully realized power of modern programming?

What came next was…still more people evangelizing and extolling the power of ABMs to revolutionize economics. What didn’t come were new models. Forget revolutionary, its hard to even find models that were useful or at least interesting. The ratio of “ABMs are gonna be great” books and articles to actual economic models is disappointing at best, catastrophic to the field at worst.

There were a couple early models that got attention (the artificial Anastazi comes to mind), but after a few years everyone noticed that same 2-3 models were still be brought up as examples by evangelists, and none of them had meaningful economic content. As for the new models that did end up floating out there, there was also an oversupply of “big models”, with millions (billions) of agents and gargantuan amounts of code that intended to make predictions about enormous chaotic systems. Models, such as the Santa Fe Artificial Stock Market, tried to broadly replicate the dynamics of actually stock markets across a large number of dimensions. Such ambitions were greeted with skepticism by economics for a variety of reasons, not least of which the “curse of dimensionality”, which limits what you can learn about underlying mechanisms when the number of modeler choices exceeds your ability to test them or, for that matter, verify their internal coherence. For better or worse, these models felt akin to amateurs trying to predict a town’s weather 30 days out.

Bad models drove out good

The problem of too few good models was closely followed by the over-supply of bad models. Agent-based modeling, for good and for ill, is not a technique with high entry costs. A successful macroeconomic theorist is effectively a Masters-level mathematician, bachelors level computer programmer, and PhD economist. Netlogo programming can be learned in a week. You can get really good at programming agent-based models in a dedicated summer.

This isn’t unto itself a problem, but I can tell you this: in my first 5 years as an assistant professor, I was asked to review at least 100 papers built around agent-based models. I’m not sure if any of them were any good. I am sure that many of them were extremely bad. Most concerning is that I don’t think I learned anything from any of them. The costs of producing bad ABM papers is much lower than the costs of producing bad theory papers based on pure math. Bad science is often evolutionarlily selected for in modern science, a dynamic that in the case of ABMs was only amplified by a lower cost supply curve.

Now, here’s the thing: there was probably huge selection effects into what I interacted with. I doubt I was getting the best papers sent to me for review given my status in the field. But the quantity of bad papers was astonishing. They were just too easy too churn out. I suspect that some decent papers were lost in haystack of ad hoc pseudoscience and, in turn, some decent scientific careers probably got lost in the shuffle. More than once I had the thought “Editors are going to start rolling their eyes every time they see the term agent-based modeling if this what keeps coming across their desks.” Combined with the fact that ABMs are tricky to evaluate because you really need to go through the code to know what is driving the results, I think a lot good modelers got lumped in with the dreck.

[Not for nothing, it wasn’t uncommon for ABM papers to spend the bulk of the paper describing model outputs, while having nearly nothing about model inputs (i.e. rules, code, math, etc). These models were essentially black boxes that expected you to take their coherence on faith. I should note here that I haven’t really kept up with the field in the past few years. Hopefully transparency norms have improved, particularly in biological, ecological, and anthropological modeling, where ABMs have thrived to a far greater extent.]

The empirical revolution took hold of economics

I’ve save the biggest reason for last, but honestly I think it dwarfs the others.

The same rise in cheap computational power that gave rise to other forms of computational modeling, including ABMs, came along with the plummeting cost of data creation, storage, analysis, and access. By 2010 it was already increasingly clear that theory was taking a backseat in economics. Not because we were becoming an a-theoretic discipline (far from it), but because the marginal contribution of theory against the body of broadly accepted economic framings was small compared to those made by empirically testing the predictions of the existing body of theories against real data. The questions were no longer “How do we mentally organize and make sense of the world”, but instead “What is the actual measured effect of X on Y?” Theory gave way to statistical identification. Modeling technique gave way to causal inference.

Agent-based models are hard to empirically evaluate and test

Which gives way to a sort of subsidiary problem. It is more difficult for agent-based models to take advantage of the new data-rich world we live in. They don’t produce neatly direct predictions the way that microeconomic theories do, nor do they lend themselves to measured empirical validation in the same way as general equilibrium predictions of macroeconomic models. Empirical validation is by no means impossible, but it requires the matching of observed dynamics or patterns, which is generally a taller order. In this way, agent-based computational models are a bit of a throwback to the days of “high theory”, making for interesting discussion but of secondary importance when it comes to the assigning of journal real estate that makes and breaks careers.

Bonus story

I once presented my ABM paper on emergent religious divides, only to have an audience member become extremely upset, closing with the denouncement that “This isn’t agent-based modeling, this is economics!” That was my first exposure to the theme of ABMs as “antidote” to the hegemony of economics and all of its false prophecies. The idea that the destiny of ABMs was to unseat economics as the queen of the social sciences was probably an effective marketing strategy in many hallways, but not so much in economics departments (well, maybe at The New School).

So why should economists give agent-based modeling another shot?

That’s another post for another day. If you’re curious though, I did write about how and why ABMs are useful for economists interested in the study of religious groups and movements. The logic of that piece applies to anyone interested in studying the macroscopic dynamics characterizing social norms, group formation and decay cycles, and how social outliers can pull entire populations in interesting directions.

UPDATED 1/2/2026

I finally got around to writing the promised sequel post. If you got this far, decent chance you’ll find it interesting.

The Kyiv department of economics has created what appears to be a vetted and relatively efficient channel for donating to the care of the Ukraine people during this crisis. You can donate via credit card or crypto. This is very much one of those cases where I believe every little bit helps. Consider:

1. Russia planning and logistical failures mean a continuing heavy invasion may not be sustainable, leading instead to a long runing siege. If this is the case, then it becomes all the more important to get basic humanitarian resources in now in order to minimize the suffering caused by the siege and minimize the odds of Russian success.
2. Ukrainian resistance depends as much on morale as it does lethal resources. Knowing their families are fed and receiving basic healthcare is critical.
3. If the micro-returns protecting a Ukrainian soldier or feeding a Ukrainian family aren’t enough for you, here’s a macro one: if the autocratic leader of an increasingly fascist regime with the strategic advantage of a nuclear arsenal is rebuffed in the Ukraine by a heroic local resistance partnered by global economic sanctions, it will serve as a signal to every leader with similar aspirations that success is less likely than they previously estimated. If your donation can help force a Bayesian update on dangerous autocrats and strongmen everywhere, that seems like nothing less than a perfectly rational act of utility maximization to me.

The Ukraine is as of this writing holding its ground and cities against the invading Russian army. There are a host of reasons, from incredible Ukrainian bravery, unmatched global sanctions clamping down on the Russian economy, to tactical and military failure on the part of Russia. There is nothing I can contribute beyond the linked sources or the constant flow of information coming out in real time. What I would like to add is one bit of broad economic context.

Baumol’s famous “cost disease” idea works like this: as a society gets richer the opportunity cost of everyone’s time increases. This makes certain services, like getting a haircut, more expensive because there is no substitute for a person’s time, no technology to increase labor efficiency, when it comes to cutting hair. Economists never stop speaking of the opportunity cost of time, but I sometimes think we undersell the importance of the concept. Lives are finite, time is the only thing that matters. To say that the opportunity cost of time has increased is to say that lives have been made better. Baumol’s cost disease restated: Anything that improves a person’s life makes claims on their time more dear.

The same logic applies to risk and to armies. Military technology continues to advance, but there as yet remains no substitute for soldiers, particularly if you want to occupy territory (there are plenty of superior substitutes if you just want to take lives and scorch the earth, but thats a different story). While the “labor productivity” of soldiers as occupying forces has remained relatively stagnant, the lives of the soldiers themselves has improved with everyone else’s. As their lives improve, the bar for what they are willing to risk their lives (and their conscience) for gets higher. For Ukrainians defending their homes and families from invaders, the risk is more than worth it and they are awing the world with their bravery everyday. Russian soldiers, on the other hand, are surrendering, scrolling Tinder, and abandoning tanks.

When historians point to generals making the mistake of fighting the “previous war”, they are usually referring to the obsolescence of tactics by new military technology. What I would like to consider is the possibility of Putin trying to fight a war with the previous soldiers. The last time the Russian army marched into a country prepared to offer significant resistance was the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan (Crimea, to my understanding, was never in a position to offer significant miltary resistance). Russian soldiers and their families today have very different lives. Only a quarter are conscripts, and none are facing a life without options outside of the army. The state is not the sole means of earning a living. The Russian market may be fractured and corrupted by a kleptocratic regime, but it’s still a market, one which has led to tremendous improvements in the quality of life enjoyed by citizens. These aren’t men and women enlisted into a religious or philosophical crusade, let alone ordinary men and women fighting to keep their homeland. Soldiers have lives they don’t just hold dear for the sake of survival – they have lives in the modern world they actively enjoy.

There have been no shortage of pundits who, in the form of cliched memes and cosplay masculinity, have speculated that nations of the developed world would not sufficiently come to the aid the Ukraine, or any country invaded by a foreign power, for the simple reason that we have, in our modern decadence, grown soft. What they consistently fail to appreciate is that this is a great outcome. People holding their lives with greater value is the very definition of progress. What is most perplexing, however, is why this idea of softness born of wealth is not applicable to Russians. (As for the theory that the Ukraine would fold overnight because it doesn’t make enough babies, that theory looks less viable, even if Russia achieves any of their goals.)

Working down the supply chain

Now, let’s be clear: soldiers are soldiers, and they are still more likely than not to obey orders and carry out their duties, if nothing else then out of a sense of obligation to one another. The opportunity cost effects of improved private lives are no doubt dampened. But armies depend on a lot more than just soldiers.

Russia remains, relative to the West, a poorer country in terms of GDP per capita, but nonetheless a modern economy where individuals enjoy the luxuries of a developed economy: mobile phones, heat in the winter, food security, transportation, etc. History is filled with stories of wars won and lost because of lack for boots, gasoline, and coats. In the Soviet Union, the army may have been underprovisioned relative to their counterparts from wealthier market economies, but they weren’t beholden to the rules of a market economy. Exclusion from a global system of payments wouldn’t be able to immediately choke off resources. Even if the soldiers marching are entirely severed from their lives in the private market, the supply chains they depend on are not, and the civilians in that supply chain expect to get paid.

Did Putin expect that supplies would arrive while the Ruble plummeted? Did he expect middlemen to incur losses as the entire economy was frozen by global sanctions? Did he expect reliable logistical support from soldiers and civilians while their spouses lined up at ATMs during bank runs? You know what? Maybe he did. Or at least, maybe he thought that the Ukraine would capitulate before sanctions could become salient to the supplying of his army. I have no idea. What I want us to consider is that modern armies depend on more than soldiers to function. Without a monopoly on means for supporting a family or an omnipresent threat of the Gulag, armies depend on citizens who can look at the physical and economic risk they are taking on, and coming to the conclusion that “this is worth it.” I have a hard time believing any Russian citizen, wage earner or oligarch, is looking at what is already an economy-enveloping sinkhole borne of greed for historical infamy, and thinking this is worth it for anyone but Putin himself.

This context of war in a time of better lives places economic sanctions as a geopolitical tool in a new light. Most countries cannot hope to put together an irresistible military force without the resources of a modern developed economy. A modern developed economy will invariably lead to wealthier citizens with a greater opportunity cost of time and risking their lives. The military will, in turn, become more dependent on private citizens to provision their armies. Sanctions in this new world don’t just punish citizens and encourage some form of open revolt, they actually choke off the military from the economies they remain entirely coupled to and dependent on.

If Putin is repelled, it will more than anything be because of the bravery of 44 million Ukrainians who stood their ground and protected their homes. But the military lesson, the historical lesson, may very well be that men and women with good lives make for poor invaders. The best, most peaceful future might just be one where we all have too much too lose.

---

Brief Addenum: How this “cost disease” effect would impact the probability of a nuclear strike is complex and in no way clear to me. On the one hand, if Putin believes that he has no possibility of victory without a credible threat of a strike, then it raises the possibility of war, if only through greater chance of error admidst readiness. On the other hand, it’s not like there are no middlemen between Putin and “the button.” Each link in that chain may be more likely to be insubordinate if they view their modern life as too great a sacrifice. I just don’t know.

There’s a concept sometimes floated in academia of being “overqualified”. The story usually starts with a PhD in something either extremely narrow in focus or difficult to imagine having an application in the private sector, and ends with the subject either excluding the PhD from their resume or driving a taxi. The idea is simple – this advanced degree that took years of intense study and effort to acquire has negative signal value in the broader marketplace. It’s the most brutal anecdote highlighting the failure of the Labor Theory of Value I know of.

I think something similar happens with reality television stars. They acquire a level of public awareness and notariety a rung below classic celebrities, but still multiple orders of magnitude more than the average citizen. If they become sufficiently famous they can earn rents off this notariety, at least in the short run. In the long run, however, the source of their fame is external to them (i.e. the show they were featured in), but have no immediate means to keep generating the exposure and public interest. The real problem, however, arrives if they try to re-enter the traditional labor force. They have a huge gap in their resume that requires explanation and haven’t been building human capital in any classic trade (and I very much include acting as a classic trade). Fame makes for fleeting human capital. Fame as capital decays rapidly, while the associated notariety serves as a tax that persists long after that fame has dissipated. This tax most often takes the form of casual harassment, but also includes threats to their privacy and safety. They may find themselves presented with opportunities to appear at bars, concerts, or county fairs for small fees, but these financial stop gap solutions only serve to further maintain what is now costly notariety while still failing to invest in any human capital with long run value.

Which brings me, of course, to JD Vance.

https://twitter.com/EggerDC/status/1495391630668578819?s=20&t=MG7JgWlcefO-kxOBr4-gHw

Cards on the table, I suspect Mr. Vance is not particularly brilliant, but I also doubt he is a complete fool. What I do think is that he has trapped himself in a career path not dissimilar to a reality TV star. Much in a way that a lot of bachelors and bachelorettes think they can build a Kardashian-esque career, Vance thought he could be another Trump. He wrote a successful book and that was made into a film. He dabbled in venture capital and, much like Trump, probably failed (though I can’t really say). What he saw, like Trump, was a path from fame to a career being compensated for that fame. There’s a real chance that it’s not going to work, and forwards inducting from a failed political bid that has included consistently foolish proclamations in an effort to pantomime populist-Trumpism, he doesn’t like what he forsees. Being fame-trapped into a red state fairground fear-mongering stooge might be a way to make a living, but it’s not a living he is particularly excited about.

Fame is a zero-sum tournament, and like a lot of such tournaments the top prize is extremely lucrative. Unlike the basketball or golf, however, the losing here isn’t just costly, its potentially scarring. In this way, it’s a bit more like selling cocaine. You can live a very good life for a while, but if you lose you’re going to have a tough time succeeding at anything else down the line. JD is a shooting his shot, but I don’t think he’s making these sort of aggressive attacks on public figures because he’s excited about being a Senator so much as he’s scared of trying set up a quiet law practice in Ohio and spending the rest of his life explaining to folks he knew in high school what went wrong.

Headlines have moved on from the The Great Resignation to the The Return of Inflation, which is completely normal as far as news trends go. But I think it’s worth reflecting on how the two can be related.

I was privy to a conversation with a local food+retail business owner yesterday where she revealed she was no longer comfortable hiring teenagers for summer and after-school jobs. Not because they were inadequate to the task, but because they had to endure too much abuse from customers eager to take advantage of young people in a service position. She was confronted with a decision: either operate understaffed, increase prices to cover the cost of older employees, or completely reorganize her business model.

Behind the wave of Great Resignation articles and opinion pieces, there has been a subcurrent of related articles about increasing customer predilection for abusing employees. Whether the rate has increased or simply its observation is hard to say, but the phenomenon itself appears to be real and non-trivial. Working in retail and food service jobs has in many ways deteriorated in job quality. The first line of investigaton and blame is always management, but it looks like customers are on the hook this time as well. Karen-wants-to-speak-to-the-manager memes didn’t emerge from nothing, folks.

No shortage of ink has been spilled about stagnating wages, particularly for workers without college degrees. Such discussions, however, always exist within a framework that holds the work, and what it entails, constant. If the quality of life on the job declines without an increase in compensating wage differentials, then the true (net) wage compensation has actually decreased even when nominal or real wages remain ostensibly constant. Combined with a pandemic that made service industry work more dangerous, the precipitous increase in wages necessary to maintain a labor supply sufficient to production demands makes all the more sense. Did we really think we could live in a world where McDonald’s is offering $20/hr to start but prices would stay the same?

Now, let’s be clear, I’m not suggesting that current inflation is being driven by crappy customers eager to abuse anyone they can in a fit of narcisstic rage. But I am suggesting that it, and factors similar to it, is a non-trivial part of the recipe. The market is very good about pricing-in everything associated with the supply of a good, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t frictions and associated lags along the way. Employees and their lives are sticky, and sometimes it takes an exogenous shock to dislodge them from one equilibrium to the next. If we were so eager to accept the hypothesis that the stimulus checks and health concerns were sufficient to get people to quit, we should be no more surprised that they are returning with higher reservation wages than previously, and that these new reservation wages are getting priced into the market. Combined with an utterly flummoxed set of global supply chains and growing geo-political uncertainty, all on top of nearly $2 trillion in stimulus spending, growing prices seem a fairly natural outcome.

Returning to the original thesis: compensating wage differentials are as unavoidable as every other economic phenomenon borne of people making rational decisions given the information at hand. A generation of employees have discovered that bosses may be dour, insensitive, and obsessed with bottom lines at the expense of their employees well-being, but at least they need you. They have to see you at work tomorrow and reap the relationship they’ve sowed. There is an equilibrium of mutual respect and shared objectives to be reached there that is best for everyone, even if a lot of bosses can’t seem to get out of their way when building it.

Customer are a different beast altogether. It’s hard for us coordinate and there’s little we can individually do to punish those who opt to abuse the people serving us. We’ve got a common pool resource problem – a subset get all their gross benefit of being jerks while the cost is spread across everyone. Whether it’s refusing to wear masks, threatening violence, or verbally abusing young people, each and every one of those incidents gets steadily priced in, until one day we’re all just staring in shock at $6 hamburgers and asking what happened. I tell you what happened: the Karen Tax, and we’re all paying it.

I’m not delusional. I know we can’t boycott our family, co-workers, and acquaintences who abuse service workers. But maybe we can all agree to give them just a little more sideeye. Invite them to fewer lunches. Leave them out of the will. Because that’s the price that really needs to increase.

It’s time they paid the Karen Tax.

This tweet first reads as snarky, then insightful, but give it a few seconds and you’ll realize it’s pointing out a real problem.

The reason people were surprised the left did so poorly in the mayor primary is half of journalists under 40 in America live within these boundaries. https://t.co/rUy8qSxMDW

— Josh Barro (@jbarro) February 6, 2022

There are many reasons why an industry can become concentrated within a narrow geographic region. Externally generated increasing returns to scale i.e. a firm becomes more productive simply by being near other firms producing the same thing, is an observation that goes all the way back to Alfred Marshall. That’s the story of Hollywood and Silicon Valley, not to mention a million other micro-industries. The story of journalism, however, is different, because it is not the capital or labor market opportunities, but specifically the labor itself that is concentrated in a narrow location. The “Writer living in Brooklyn” Twitter/LinkedIn/Muckrack bio is a cliche at this point for a reason. But why are they all in Brooklyn? And why do I get the sense that I can summarize at least half of them as White children of the upper-middle class who paid full-freight for an English-adjacent degree from an expensive liberal arts college?

Wages in journalism have gone to hell while, at the same time, there has emerged an extreme upper tail whose public standing achieved escape velocity, allowing them to go independent via Substack and earn vastly higher incomes. These diverging trends have their origin in the same phenomenon: the skyrocketing potential of any one journalist to reach the masses. The power law scale of social networks means every article, post, or tweet has a chance of going viral, and with it the chance to reach tens of millions of eyeballs. Put another way, its gotten easier to reach people, but harder to get paid to reach people.

There is a status that comes with strangers knowing who you are, what you wrote, what your core ideas are. It is also a status that disproportionately recognizes itself. When prominent writers hang out with each other, recognizing the ideas that each carries and communicates to large numbers of people, they reinforce the status that comes with that reach. I’m getting out over my psychological skis a bit here, but I’m willing to wager it feels good, in a way not dissimilar to my research being recognized by my academic peers. With less risk to going beyond my own expertise, I’m willing to argue that the reach, imprint, pageviews, and followers; the eyeballs that your work generates, is the prinicipal source of status within the modern journalist community.

The problem isn’t that writing generates status, but rather that this status is grossly out of proportion to the wages they are earning in the market. Amongst other problems, this selects for people who value status over wages (often because they are independently financially secure). In this light it’s not surprising the community has become so geographically concentrated – there are enormous rewards to living with the people that most recognize and grant this status. This is not unto itself a problem until that concentration is part of greater demand for what is already some of the most expensive real estate in the world. I’d wager there are more than a few writers with non-trivial followings out there whose Brooklyn lifestyle is a net monetary loss every month. Thats bad, but honestly I think its even worse than it sounds.

1. Status skews even less equally than income

I’m tempted to say that status is a zero-sum game, but that’s not really true. A field or industry can grow in status as a whole, making all its members better off. The distribution of status, however, will tend to be even more skewed than the famously unequal distribution of income, an attribute likely to be all the more acutely observed in a field where attention begets attention – see Exhibit A, the power law distribution of retweets. If you think wage inequality puts people in a frothy rage of perceived unfairness, wait until a group of Brooklynites three drinks deep find out the friend they always hated got retweeted by Drake.

2. Status can’t pay the rent

Unlike wages, status is extremely difficult to directly exchange for goods and services. You need an intermediary, such as a person desperate to market their latest brand of protein powder or neo-fascist authoritarianism, who will pay you for access to your status.

3. Twenty-two year-olds will often accept status in lieu of wages

Makowsky’s law of career planning: never bet your entire future on doing something other people will happily do for free. If you’re curious why unionization has taken the journalism world by storm the last few years, you don’t have to look to politics or in-group signaling for an explanation, basic economics will get you all the way there. If you have an industry where amateurs can provide you the inputs you need at 60% of the quality level as professionals, but for 10% of the costs, the incumbent professionals in your labor force are going to have it rough. If those incumbents can close the shop via unionization and raise the mininmum wages within the profession, the balance will tip back to skilled professionals. You reduce quantity of labor supplied and end up with higher equilibrium wages for those who manage to get their foot in the door. Of course, this will only heighten the favoring of those who can get their foot in the $3200/mo Brooklyn rent door while dressing fashionably and using “semiotics” correctly in a sentence, but that’s neither here nor there.

4. Status rewards lead to homogeneity

Status rewards incentivize geographic concentration, which will in turn intensify herding behavior. If the bulk of your compensation is in-group status, you’re going to want to spend as much time with that group as possible. Your social life will become more important than ever. That also means, however, that anything that might risk disdain or ostracism within the group is to be avoided whenever possible. Opinions, particularly on subjects that don’t directly impact your life, will tend to become more and more homogeneous over time. It also means hypotheses born of motivated reasoning i.e. the next mayor will be super progressive or want to “defund the police” can acquire a life of their own and quickly evolve from idea spoken aloud in a Brooklyn cocktail bar to universally accepted truth within an insular community. This classic herding phenomenon is relevant to the broader world because this particular community spends its working hours delivering the news to us.

5. Homogeneity creates rewards to heresy

Even if you can survive off status and a monthly check from your parents at twenty-two, the same can rarely be said at forty-two. The mortgage needs to be paid, the kid needs braces, and you need to start putting away some money every month so you can die somewhere warm. The only thing you know how to do at a professional level is write, but you can’t find a way to get people to pay you well for what you’ve been writing.

Solution: write something that people will pay you for.

You need to find something that is undersupplied relative to demand. The answer lies in the very same homogeneity being created in your old neighborhood. You want to get paid: move to cheap suburb of a medium sized city and start writing heresy, the more inflammatory the better. Accusations of politicians and celebrities. Cheap pablum for frothing basement trolls and listicles of reasons never to let your kids leave the house. Election conspiracy theories and a new expose on why red wine and chocolate will cure Covid. Corporate public relations expressing the deepest committment of the NFL to protect everyone and only good from here on out. Anything that someone is willing to pay you to write because nobody else will write it for free.

So yeah, a bunch of writers live in Brooklyn and they are currently a hilariously homogeneous monolith of progressive cosplay, often producing little in the way of insight or information, surviving emotionally off the status returns of living in a bubble of mutual-affirmation and shared anxiety. It’d all be pretty innocuous if I didn’t worry that today’s progressive writer’s commune is also a breeding ground for tomorrows purveyors of reactionary fearmongering and misinformation.

I was listening to an episode of Planet Money and, as one does, thought of a completely brand new and in no way derivative idea that would make many billions of dollars for myself and my future investors. It was a very exciting drive home. Of course, the prospects and originality of idea did not survive first contact with Google.

The episode in question, “Of Boxes and Boats” was characteristically delightful and informative. TL;DR: the supply chain is a disaster, ports are backed up, and the US is experiencing an especially acute shortage of warehouse space. A moment that especially caught my attention was warehouse manager expressing that there was, in fact, empty space in his warehouse, but that the firm currently leasing that space wasn’t using it, and the warehouse had no means of offering that space to another client.

That’s interesting. That’s a resource that, in the moment, is suboptimally allocated, even if only for the hour, day, or week. That’s an arbitrage opportunity. In fact, this is exactly what AirBnB did: found real estate that was more valuable to potential short-term renters than current lease holders that could be temporarily exchanged between parties, and as a facilitator for that exchange AirBnB could take a cut. Someone needs to make Warehouse AirBnB! I’m a genius.

No, I’m not.

Meet “The Airbnb of Warehouse Space”

Sigh. I wasn’t even first to the incredibly obvious one-line sales pitch. But my fanciful dreams of buying an English (or at least Belgian) soccer team asside, I honestly can’t decide if I should feel better or worse knowing this idea is already out there. On the one hand, it’s good to be reminded how dynamic and responsive entrpreneurs are in identifying problems and offering solutions.

On the other hand, the supply chain is still very much a mess, warehouses are still out of useable space, and I see no evidence that there is in fact a rich secondary market in warehouse space allocations. Clearly something is getting in the way of the market responding. Is the market over-regulated? The Department of Homeland Security apparently makes entry into the shipping and warehouse business pretty costly. Maybe it’s under-regulated? Perhaps firms are squatting on warehouse space rather than sell it to potential long-term competitors. Maybe the intermediaries, real and hypothesized, are so inefficient that their additional costs as a middlemen are prohibitive. Maybe it’s <Insert Politician You Don’t Like Here>‘s fault. That idiot screwed up everything they touched.

The fact remains though that the idea itself was not the limiting factor, and I suspect it rarely is. I thought of it in ten seconds after listening to a podcast. For the people working in such a field, they probably come up with similar ideas daily. No, the limiting factor isn’t inspiration, or likely even perspiration. It’s being able to identify a path from idea to execution. A path that includes sufficient time, energy, capital, and personnel to make it happen. It’s about resources and risk. All of which is obvious. I’m pretty sure the “It’s About Resources and Risk” banner and bunting gets used more than “Happy Birthday” at your modal MBA program.

But it’s good to be reminded of the obvious every now and then. There are great ideas everywhere. When we’re thinking about any prospective policy regarding an issue we care about, it never hurts to think about whether it will be an aid or hindrance to others when they’re trying to solve the problems upstream and downstream from yours. Sometimes the best idea is to just stay out of the way.

I’ve long been a lurker on r/kitchenconfidential. I did a few brief tours in the service industry when I was younger and my partner used to manage a successful upscale restaurant. If you’ve spent anytime in a restaurant after closing in the last ten years, then you probably aren’t surprised by the continuing labor shortage in the service industry. Things have been bad for a while, with a pervasive sense that the industry was dependent on employees with weak outside options (i.e. a criminal record) or high exit costs (i.e. can’t afford to be on entry-level wages in a new career track). As I’ve written before, we’ve been eating on borrowed time: the pandemic game shifted the calculus for a lot of marginal employees who have left the service industry and likely aren’t coming back. The service industry is important, but not such that a great reorganization is likely to have catastrophic short term consequences for broader society.

Which bring us to nursing.

Nurses are burned out.

If the daily threads at on r/nursing subreddit are even mildly representative, the status quo in nursing is unsustainable. It’s not just that the job has become more dangerous, more tiring, and less rewarding. Tough jobs exist all over the place, with employees taking them on in return for higher wages than they might otherwise enjoy. No, the bigger problem in nursing is that it is not what these people signed up for. It has become dangerous and unrelentingly exhausting. It requires increasingly greater education and training that is highly specialized, with little in the way of outside options likely to reward that education and training. Can you think of a job with equivalent background requirements, that places the same physical demands on you, and forces you to interact at a personal level in the general population? I can’t, and if you did, I can almost guarantee that the pay is considerably higher.

The broad shortage of nurses in the US has gotten a fair amount of attention. That article points to a lot of causes, most entirely valid (the idea that travel nurses are a cause, rather than symptom, of the nursing shortage is silly, but we’ll let that slide- the broader point stands), but this is one of those cases where it seems to me the diagnosis is best kept simple: nursing has become a worse a job, in part because of the pandemic, and that has tipped the cost benefit analysis towards labor exiting.

While cooks and nurses decided that the pandemic was a good time to get out, let’s not make the mistake of ignoring one of the most martyred vocations in the US.

Teaching sucks, and this time they mean it.

You could go to r/teachers and read the resignation posts, but there isn’t a lot of new information to be gleaned. Everyone knows teachers are undervalued and underpaid. I was a public school teacher for two years, and I endured lots of third drink questions of “Why?” to go along with daily complaints about pay and “continuing education” requirementss with my colleagues. The rate of exit, was pretty predictable. More than half of teachers left the profession in their first 5 years, the rest stayed for life.

I’ll wait for the data to come out before I make broad pronouncements, but this wave of resignations could be different. If we lose a generation of teachers (>80% of those in their first 5 years), there really will be a massive shortage down the road. The pandemic is interesting because it’s taught us two things:

1. Online teaching is inferior
2. The value of schooling as “mass daycare” is hard to overstate

If we step into massive teaching shortage five years down the road, there’s not going to be a “scale education online” solution. The only solution will be to raise compensation for teachers and bring labor into the industry and, well, the failure to raise teaching salaries is maybe the single greatest of example of the divergence between what people publicly support and what they actually vote for. A mass teacher shortage would certainly given teachers unions across the country the opportunity to negotiate better pay scales, but I’m cynical enough to expect they will find a way to waste it on even more job security for their worst members while ensuring that the best teachers still never see a dime in extra compensation. But hey, prove me wrong, yeah know?

What do Cooks, Nurses, and Teachers have in common?

I can’t help but see what these three vocations have in common in the US labor market – a frequent sense of being trapped. Sure, working grill for $15/hour might not sound like something you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, but if you’re 34 with a high school diploma, a felony drug arrest, and a mortgage to pay, the intermediate stage between the status quo and something better might not seem so great. No, you did not enjoy being threatened by a patient who backed you into a corner and told you he “knows what you are trying to inject in him”, but you have a masters degree in nursing, which makes the pay gap between nursing and not nursing a miserable prospect, especially if you’re going to pay off the student loans that got you the job that makes you miserable. You know you essentially can’t be fired, but you’ve also seen the pay scale by seniority, and the prospect of teaching 5th grade for 25 more years fills you with a dark melancholy you did’t know possible. But your degree is in teaching, which essentially means you’d have to find a way to start from scratch at twenty-six. Or thirty-three. Or forty-one.

But then the pandemic happened and everything you already hated got even worse. So you did it. You quit.

But how many of you quit? How many of you are laying out your exit strategy? What will these industries look like in 2 years? We won’t know for a while, but I do think we’re going to learn which industries have been dependent on squeezing every ounce of juice out of trapped labor pools (with what you might call actual monopsony power), versus those industries where the standard “work sucks” complaints simply get more attention for whatever reason.

Personally, I’m betting on two out of the three, but I’m not telling you which two. Working in two of these industries is going to look very different in the wake of the pandemic, both in terms of labor characteristics and compensation. And one will just return to the previous normal, like it never happened.

It’s a debt we will never be able to pay back, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep trying.

This caught my eye.

Puzzle: the Large Hadron Collider cost $279 million per mile to build. It has 10,000 superconducting magnets, 96 tons of liquid helium for cooling, and is all custom made.

New York City's subway costs between $1.5 to $3.5 *billion* per new mile to build 🤯

5-13x more expensive pic.twitter.com/YGgS5K0ugJ

— Marcelo P. Lima (@MarceloPLima) January 8, 2022

This isn’t just expensive or inefficient. This is obstructive at a level only just short of an executive veto. Regardless of what sits at the top of your dream infrastructure list, this is the problem you have to solve first. Doesn’t matter if it’s high speed rail, the hyperloop, or offshore windfarms. Heck, maybe your big policy dream is universal healthcare or public education. If governments can’t build anything short of a 10X markup, then every large scale government provided solution has no value besides giving us something to argue over.

If I might put my even-more-cynical-than-usual hat on for a moment, the fact that this isn’t a top line item in every policy discussion is politically telling. This is relevant to the policy ambitions for everyone to the left of the politest anarchist you know. However, the urgency and relevance should increase exponentially as we move leftward across our political spectrum since those are the people most excited about the government actually building things. With a handful of exceptions, that’s just not what I am seeing, quite the contrary even.

Maybe it’s union indolence, conservative obstructionism, or just the quiet manifestation of all the reasons that public choice theory is actually more relevant as a left-wing school of thought than a conservative one. The fact remains that the incentives within modern politics and governance has brought us here, to a place where people want the same thing they always have: everything. And they’re willing to pay exactly as much as they always have: nothing. The difference is that our institutions used to give people incentive to bargain within the political marketplace and hammer out a deal where prices, both in dollars and political support, led to an an actual outcome where everyone ended up better off. Maybe it wasn’t as efficient as the private marketplace, but that’s almost besides the point. Sometimes the most important thing isn’t maximizing efficiency, but just managing to build the public good at all.

Instead, we seemed to have arrived at an equilibrium with enough legacy rent-seekers that the system is choking on them, with no one willing to flinch unless they continue to enjoy the previously established flow of benefits. We can try to blame this on conservative obstruction, but the fact remains that there just isn’t that much work for them to do. It’s a lot easier to tell voters they shouldn’t have to pay taxes when those taxes are disappearing into the suppurating maw of insatiable contractors, unfunded pension obligations, unplacatable union reps, and a menagerie of regulations that accomplish nothing but make a advocate 2 years removed from an overpriced BA in communications feel good about levying just one more papercut on a bloated corpse.

I have no idea if “supply-side” progressivism will gain anymore purchase than any of the other ad hoc attempts to coin a school of thought or political identity. But the idea stands, and I think it’s unescapable: if we want the government to be able to build stuff while leaving the 13th Amendment intact, they’re going to have to be able to pay market prices, and market wages, for it. Not much more, not much less.