Psychology

Unreliable Narrators Make a Story Sounds Too Neat

February 25, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

One of my favorite films is Rashomon (1950,) Akira Kurosawa’s masterpiece that gave psychology the term “The Rashomon Effect.” The film is famous for its structure: a single crime retold from multiple perspectives, each account contradicting the others. What emerges is not clarity but confusion, a reminder that memory, perception, and self-interest distort the truth. At its core, Rashomon is about unreliable narrators—characters whose versions of events are shaped as much by omission and self-deception as by fact.

Unreliable narrators transform messy realities into tidy, persuasive accounts. They smooth contradictions, omit inconvenient details, and present one interpretation as if it were the only truth. The result is a polished narrative that feels complete—even while concealing fractures.

This theme is hardly confined to Rashomon. Unreliable narrators and neat tales recur across cinema: Forrest Gump (1994,) The Usual Suspects (1995,) Fight Club (1999,) American Psycho (2000,) and Joker (2019) all show how fallible narrators can manufacture coherence and persuade audiences to accept a deceptively seamless version of events.

The problem lies in compromised credibility. Unreliability stems from self-deception, deliberate deceit, mental instability, or selective omission. These aren’t just stylistic quirks—they reshape the relationship between what is told and what actually happened. A neat narrative is rarely neutral; it reflects choices about emphasis and omission. Recognizing that neatness often signals construction is the first step toward resisting the illusion of completeness.

When a story feels too tidy, treat that neatness as a warning sign. Assume something is missing. Look for gaps in chronology, absent witnesses, sudden shifts in focus, or conveniently omitted facts. Silence itself can be evidence, and corroboration or alternative perspectives can turn absence into insight. Here’s how to read against the grain:

Treat neatness as a warning sign. If a story feels too tidy, assume missing information matters. Gaps in chronology, absent witnesses, sudden shifts in focus, or conveniently omitted facts all carry meaning. Seek corroboration, alternative timelines, and outside perspectives to turn silence into evidence.
Use inconsistencies as diagnostic tools. Contradictions reveal pressure points. Shifting memories, mismatched timelines, or actions that contradict stated motives expose where the constructed story begins to unravel.
Assess incentives behind the polish. Every narrator has stakes—reputation, sympathy, control, or self-preservation. Those stakes shape which facts are highlighted and which are buried. Read emphasis and omission as strategic choices, and weigh what the narrator gains from presenting a clean version.

These habits of skepticism apply well beyond film criticism. Separate observation from interpretation, test for internal consistency, and consider incentives before accepting a neat account. This approach does not guarantee certainty, but it replaces passive acceptance with disciplined questioning.

Idea for Impact: The neat story is often the most dishonest. Truth is ragged, and only a fool mistakes tidiness for accuracy. Beware the narrator who makes it all add up.

Look, Here’s the Deal: Your Insecurity is Masquerading as Authority

February 18, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

A rising trend in modern conversation reveals what I call “the hollow ring of assertive posturing.”

Phrases such as “look,” “here’s the deal,” and “here’s what you need to know” have become common preambles. Sometimes they’re harmless fillers, but often they’re micro-commands meant to seize the floor and project manufactured authority.

This isn’t persuasion—it’s performance. A quick scroll through YouTube offers highlight reels of career politicians trying to “level with you” or “look” you into submission while they stall for time.

At its core, this is linguistic puffery. These phrases act like verbal bookmarks, staking mental real estate before the speaker has earned it. When you lead with “look,” you’re issuing a command to the listener’s attention. It’s the conversational equivalent of chest-thumping—an attempt to project confidence that often exposes its opposite: insecurity.

These are power-seeking markers. A person truly confident in the weight of their ideas doesn’t need a siren or motorcade to announce them; they trust the substance to carry the room. Theatrical openers betray a fear that the point won’t stand on its own.

They also offer a shortcut to moral high ground.”here’s the deal” frames the speaker as the sole arbiter of truth, implying the listener lacks a grasp on reality. This doesn’t build consensus; it bypasses it.

And while preambles seize attention, closure phrases like “end of story” attempt to silence it. They don’t invite dialogue; they declare finality. Both moves expose the same insecurity: a fear that the ideas can’t withstand scrutiny.

The irony is that influence thrives on economy of language. Strip away the fanfare and you strip away the ego, leaving the listener to focus on the insight itself.

Idea for Impact: If your point holds weight, skip the theatrics. Speak plainly, and let the quiet strength of your ideas carry it.

Labubu Proves That Modern Luxury Is No Longer an Object, It’s a Story

February 11, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

Labubu Shows Luxury Is No Longer Objects but Compelling Stories

The collectible plush toy Labubu made headlines last week when British Prime Minister Keir Starmer visited China for a high-stakes diplomatic reset. Among the touted achievements was maker Pop Mart’s announcement of a massive Oxford Street flagship to anchor its European expansion. For the UK, this meant inward investment and jobs. For China, it was a soft-power masterstroke, proving that cultural relevance exports better through “ugly-cute” charisma than stiff officialdom.

The toys, with their serrated teeth, unsettlingly wide eyes, and chaotic nine-toothed grins, have ascended to global stardom. These small monsters have become exhibits in how we define value. Even adults now treat them like holy relics.

Labubu is intentionally “ugly.” Designer Kasing Lung drew on Nordic folklore to create something primal and mischievous, rejecting the sterile perfection of traditional dolls. But the “ugly-cute” aesthetic is merely the hook. The frenzy is propelled by curated rarity.

During COVID-19 isolation, the “blind box,” a sealed package concealing which character sits inside, became a vital dopamine delivery system. You aren’t buying a toy; you’re buying a high-stakes gamble. With rare editions commanding premium prices on secondary markets, a $30 impulse purchase transforms into a high-yield asset and a badge of persistence, community status, and luck.

The phenomenon shows that luxury is about signaling, not objects. When a Labubu dangles from a celebrity’s $25,000 Hermès Birkin, it broadcasts pure counter-culture: wealth to afford the bag, playful confidence to subvert its seriousness. It bridges high-brow luxury leather and low-brow plush toys, creating a “clued-in” status symbol. The pairing isn’t a clash but a narrative upgrade.

Idea for Impact: Labubu is proof that luxury is the story. People crave not objects, but the stories they enable. A $30 toy becomes priceless through scarcity, surprise, and status, demonstrating that value is psychological, not material.

Are White Lies Ever Okay?

February 6, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

White Lies and Moral Trade-Offs A lie is rarely noble. A truth without tact is often cruelty dressed up as virtue.

White lies highlight the constant trade-off between honesty and kindness. They’re not grand betrayals, but they’re not harmless either. They’re situational; they demand judgment: when to spare someone needless pain, and when to speak plainly to protect trust.

Radical honesty sounds admirable until you actually try living with it. Daily life depends on small acts of social harmony. A polite compliment about a questionable outfit avoids pointless conflict.

Yet kindness can slide into cowardice. Too many white lies create a trust deficit, shielding incompetence or excusing behavior that deserves correction.

Kids are often taught the Five-Minute Rule to encourage mindful judgment. If a flaw can be fixed in under five minutes—like food on the face, a shirt tag sticking out, or a typo in a slide deck—say it. If it can’t be changed immediately—like a haircut, a pair of shoes, or their personal style at a party—choose kindness.

Candor without compassion is cruelty. Compassion without candor is complicity.

Idea for Impact: A white lie should be a courtesy, not a cover-up.

We Trust What We Can See: James Dyson Builds for That Instinct

February 2, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

James Dyson has always occupied an unusual place in the world of engineering. This British inventor understands that people don’t just want a machine that works; they want a machine that shows them it works. Competence alone rarely wins a market. People look for proof.

Before the arrival of the Dyson G-Force in 1986, vacuum cleaners relied on bags that doubled as filters. As the tiny pores in the fabric or paper clogged with dust, airflow choked off and suction inevitably dropped. Dyson’s cyclone technology replaced this failing system with centrifugal force—spinning air at over 900 mph to fling dust out of the airstream and into a bin. The machines no longer lost suction, but the mechanical breakthrough was only half the story.

In the older bagged models, everything disappeared into an opaque sack, leaving users to guess whether anything meaningful had happened. A cleaner carpet served as confirmation, even though the process itself remained a mystery. The entire experience rested on a kind of polite assumption between consumer and manufacturer.

Dyson broke that arrangement. While the Cyclone system improved physical performance, the transparent bin changed the psychological relationship between user and machine. Suddenly the process wasn’t concealed; it was visible. The user didn’t have to trust the manufacturer’s claims because they could watch the results accumulate in real time.

The effect was unexpectedly emotional. Dust whipping around inside the chamber gave people a visceral sense of momentum and progress. The machine wasn’t just removing dirt; it was giving the user a front-row seat to the labor. That visibility created a specific form of satisfaction—a personal “proof of work”—that had been missing from the category entirely. In behavioral science, this is known as the Labor Illusion, where people value a service more when they can see the effort being exerted.

This preference for demonstrable action runs through all of Dyson’s later innovations. The Airblade doesn’t simply dry hands; it reveals the sheer force doing the job. The Air Multiplier fan turns the absence of blades into a visual feature rather than a technical quirk, using the Coanda Effect to multiply airflow. The Supersonic hair dryer delivers a controlled stream that feels precision-engineered rather than improvised.

Across the lineup, the pattern stays consistent: make the mechanism legible, and people will appreciate the craft.

Dyson’s career underscores a broader truth about human nature. We respond more strongly to what we can witness than to what we’re told.

Idea for Impact: Much of human satisfaction comes not from the accomplishment itself, but from the unmistakable evidence that something has been accomplished.

Elon Musk Insults, Michael O’Leary Sells: Ryanair Knows Cheap-Fare Psychology

January 23, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

Michael O'Leary Shaped Ryanair Into Bold Reflection of His Combative Persona Ryanair’s CEO Michael O’Leary has long been one of my most admired businessmen. His achievements speak for themselves, but what has always impressed me even more is the consistency of his communication and the clarity of the philosophy that underpins everything he does.

O’Leary never wavers. He never dilutes his message. Every interview, every press question, every throwaway comment—he’s hammering home the same point: keep costs low, run tight, and don’t pretend to be something you’re not. He has essentially cloned himself into a corporate entity, crafting a pugnacious and brash airline that mirrors his own combative nature and provocative disregard for the status quo.

I met him once, one-on-one, and despite the famously sharp public image, he was remarkably courteous. People who’ve worked with him echo that impression: behind the bluster and profanity is someone family-oriented, grounded, and genuinely pleasant to deal with, even if he stays tough as nails in business. That mix of discipline, bluntness, cunning, and unexpected warmth is exactly what I’ve always respected about him.

This week’s confrontation with Elon Musk only reinforced all of that. What began as a disagreement about Starlink has already turned into one of the most entertaining corporate feuds of the moment, and O’Leary has turned every bit of it into a masterclass in opportunistic publicity.

It started when O’Leary called Musk an “idiot” during a Newstalk interview, explaining why Ryanair won’t be installing Starlink on its planes. His reasoning was pure Ryanair: the equipment would cost €200–€250 million, add weight, burn more fuel, and provide a service passengers don’t actually want to pay for. On a ninety-minute flight, most travelers are thinking about their holiday, not paying extra to check email. And even for those who might want Wi-Fi, the hassle of setting up payment for an hour of browsing hardly seems worthwhile.

Ryanair Turns Elon Musk Feud Into Flash Sale and Publicity Goldmine

This Frugality Is Classic Ryanair

Ryanair has always understood something fundamental about its passengers: the vast majority simply want to get from A to B cheaply, quickly, and safely. Everything else is secondary. With that understanding, the airline became remarkably adept at turning negative publicity into an asset. As long as headlines didn’t question the cheap fares, turnaround times, or safety, they caused no real damage to the brand—often they actually helped.

Endless articles painting Ryanair as ruthless, miserly, or cold-hearted kept its name circulating and, more importantly, reinforced a single underlying idea: this airline cuts every possible cost and passes the savings to passengers. The public absorbed that message, consciously or not. Outrage over Ryanair’s latest supposed scandal often faded within hours—only for the same critics to find themselves browsing its website the next day, hunting for the cheapest flight they could find.

So when Musk fired back online this week, calling O’Leary an “utter idiot,” the situation was practically a gift. While Musk vented on X and teased a potential buyout—polling his followers on whether he should “restore Ryan as their rightful ruler” by taking over the company—O’Leary did what he does best: he turned the noise into marketing gold. Ryanair launched its “Big Idiot Seat Sale,” a flash promotion that mocked the feud while offering tens of thousands of seats for under €17. Millions of subscribers received emails featuring caricatures of both men perched on a plinth labeled “Big Idiots,” and the airline’s social media team gleefully encouraged customers to “thank that big IDIOT @elonmusk” for the cheap fares. It was classic Ryanair—irreverent, self-aware, and ruthlessly effective.

Ryanair Knows a Well-Timed Insult Is the Cheapest Publicity

O’Leary even staged a press conference on Wednesday to address Musk’s latest online outburst—a tirade in which Musk labeled him an “insufferable special-needs chimp.” The spectacle guaranteed cameras would roll and headlines would multiply.

For a man who has built an empire on ruthless efficiency this kind of free global publicity is priceless. Industry observers weren’t surprised; O’Leary has long understood that controversy when met with humor only sharpens Ryanair’s image as the scrappy sharp-tongued champion of low fares.

Ryanair vs Sabena: Brussels Statue Ad Sparked 2001 Fare War Spectacle His flair for humorous controversy goes back years. During a 2001 clash with Sabena, Belgium’s then-national carrier, Ryanair ran an ad featuring Brussels’ Manneken Pis statue with the line, “Pissed off with Sabena’s high fares?” Sabena sued and won, forcing an apology—which O’Leary delivered as a gleefully sarcastic “We’re Sooooo Sorry Sabena!” complete with even more fare comparisons. The real masterstroke came outside the Brussels courthouse, where Ryanair had encouraged people to show up, voice their support, and walk away with ultra-low-fare tickets. A massive crowd turned out, turning a legal reprimand into a street-level spectacle. This wasn’t just symbolic; Ryanair had literally set up on-the-ground promotions across Brussels. It was early proof of O’Leary’s formula in perfect sync: humor, provocation, and free publicity feeding off one another.

The frugality isn’t just marketing—it’s woven into the company’s DNA. A former Ryanair pilot once recalled that the airline used to charge staff for tickets to their own Christmas party, and supposedly not at a discount. He was convinced the company actually turned a profit on the event. It’s the same mindset that drives decisions like rejecting Starlink: if it doesn’t keep fares low, Ryanair won’t pursue it.

In the end, Musk may have satellites, rockets, and a global social media platform, but O’Leary has something more potent in this moment: the ability to turn a petty argument into a worldwide advertisement for Ryanair’s unbeatable prices, reliable service, and no-nonsense approach. The airline emerges from the feud looking cheeky, confident, and completely in control—exactly the way O’Leary prefers it.

What Appears Self-Evident to One May Be Entirely Opaque to Another: How the Dalai Lama Apology Highlights Cultural Relativism

January 12, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

Dalai Lama Apology Highlights Cultural Relativism and Context-Bound Moral Judgments In 2023, a video of the Dalai Lama interacting with a young boy at a public event in India ignited global outrage. The footage showed him kissing the child on the lips, then extending his tongue and telling the boy to “suck my tongue.” The reaction was immediate and visceral; across cultures, people found the moment disturbing and profoundly inappropriate.

His office issued an apology and invoked cultural context. Defenders pointed to a Tibetan custom in which sticking out one’s tongue is a gesture of respect, an old practice tied to the 9th-century tyrant Lang Darma, whose black tongue became a symbol of malevolence. After his death, Tibetans briefly exposed their tongues to show they were not his reincarnation, a gesture that evolved into a sign of sincerity.

But the phrase uttered in 2023 had no connection to that tradition, and there’s no “sucking” involved in the Tibetan practice of sticking out one’s tongue in greeting.

And even if the Dalai Lama, an elderly spiritual figure known for his playful demeanor, intended the moment as harmless warmth, intention could not neutralize the optics. As a global leader, his “place” is no longer a monastery; it is the global stage, where every gesture is interpreted through a worldwide semiotic field. The incident became a lightning rod for debates about cultural relativism, the limits of intention, and the way symbols mutate across borders.

More importantly, the harm was not abstract. The optics themselves caused real damage to the child’s dignity, to public trust, and to the moral authority of a figure whose influence extends far beyond his tradition. No contextual explanation could override the intuitive recoil. Some behaviors, regardless of cultural lineage, trigger near-universal moral instincts.

The episode exposes the friction between divergent cultural operating systems in an interconnected world, but it also reveals the limits of relativism. Morality may be shaped by upbringing, but its foundations are not infinitely elastic. When a gesture crosses a line most humans recognize instinctively, tradition cannot serve as a shield.

Idea for Impact: Tradition excuses nothing. Morality may shift from one society to another, often amounting to little more than the habits a culture has chosen to bless. But that variability has limits. Not every strange or unsettling act can be waved away with appeals to heritage or upbringing; at some point, tradition stops being an explanation and becomes an evasion.

You Need to Stop Turning Warren Buffett Into a Prophet

January 5, 2026 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

The new year marked Warren Buffett’s formal handover of the reins as CEO of Berkshire Hathaway to his chosen successor. The transition was deliberate and orderly. It signaled to shareholders and markets that Berkshire’s culture of discipline, patience, and long-term capital allocation is meant to outlive the man who built it.

Over the decades, Buffett has risen to an unusual cultural altitude, especially among devoted adherents of value investing. He’s part financial oracle and part homespun philosopher, dispensing deceptively simple wisdom with the aura of someone blessed with a Midas touch.

His most ardent admirers don’t merely study his methods; they venerate them. His shareholder letters are treated like sacred texts, his offhand remarks are parsed for hidden meaning, and his investing principles are elevated to universal law, supposedly immune to context, nuance, or time.

When Admiration Hardens into Uncritical Reverence

This isn’t to say Buffett’s philosophy lacks substance. His long-term mindset, focus on intrinsic value, and preference for durable businesses over speculation have shaped modern investing. Yet his most devoted followers treat these principles as commandments, overlooking the historical conditions that enabled his extraordinary success.

Buffett began in an era of lower valuations, thinner competition, and scarce financial data. He also enjoyed access to insurance float—an immense reservoir of low-cost capital ordinary investors can’t replicate. Many disciples still believe that faithfully applying his playbook in today’s very different market will produce the same results.

Buffett’s carefully cultivated public persona only deepens this loyalty. His down-home Midwestern charm isn’t accidental; it functions as armor. His accessible soundbites reinforce a comforting worldview in which patient investors always win, markets always recover, and disciplined value investing always triumphs. These narratives glide past inconvenient realities such as Japan’s post-1990 stagnation or the U.S. market’s lost decade from 2000 to 2010. His followers rarely ask for clarification. They don’t notice the cherry-picking or the broad-brushing. They accept the story as delivered.

Even his critiques are selective. Buffett often condemns the high fees charged by hedge funds and asset managers, yet his own early partnerships were structured with lucrative fees and equity stakes. They looked far more like the models he now derides than the mythologized image that surrounds him. He shifted toward long-term business ownership only after securing a substantial percentage stake in Berkshire Hathaway through those early arrangements. His admirers conveniently overlook the contradiction.

Buffett’s Wisdom Should Be Engaged With, Not Obeyed

None of this diminishes Buffett’s stature as a great investor or a compelling role model. His principles will remain valuable, and his track record is undeniable. But unchallenged hero worship is dangerous, especially when it replaces critical thinking with unquestioning allegiance. Many followers repeat his words, absorb his lessons, and apply his ideas without examining whether the underlying assumptions still hold. Markets evolve. Conditions shift. Rigid adherence to any single philosophy can become a liability.

Buffett’s ideas deserve scrutiny, not sainthood. His principles should be examined, not obeyed. Markets reward independent judgment, not intellectual submission. Thinking critically about those we admire isn’t disloyal. It’s essential.

Idea for Impact: Mistaking admiration for devotion that substitutes for analysis is a costly error. Real understanding requires scrutiny, adaptation, and the courage to rethink what once felt certain.

‘Mrs Brown’s Boys’ Teaches That the Most Sincere Moment is the Unplanned One

November 28, 2025 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

The Most Sincere Moment is the Unplanned One (Lessons from Mrs Brown's Boys)

I’ve been binge-watching the Irish-British sitcom Mrs. Brown’s Boys. It’s a refreshingly unpolished comedy—equal parts pratfall, dry wit, and show-business bravado. The series delights in on-air flubs and live-studio gags. Beneath the chaos lies a shrewd grasp of character and timing.

The show has deservedly received poor reviews from critics and TV audiences, but it thrives where traditional comedies hesitate—embracing the messy and unscripted with gleeful abandon.

One of the show’s hallmarks is its reliance on ad-libbing. During sketches, actors bait Brendan O’Carroll—who plays the indomitable Agnes Brown—with off-book quips, and he returns the favor by springing surprises on them. This give-and-take sparks real mishaps: actors flub lines, snort with laughter, or break character outright. These unscripted gaffes often hit harder than the written punchlines and lend the series a raw, stage-play immediacy.

That anything-goes spirit comes from an unconventional ensemble. Most of the main cast are family members and lifelong friends. They’ve grown up with these characters—on radio, in touring stage shows, and on TV. That loyalty infuses each scene with genuine warmth, turning flubbed lines into endearing inside jokes. In Mrs. Brown’s Boys, even the mayhem feels like a home movie you’re invited to sneer at—and secretly applaud.

Rather than hiding its seams, Mrs. Brown’s Boys tears them wide open. It winks at the camera and revels in live-show unpredictability. These fourth-wall breaches aren’t gimmicks—they’re invitations. Viewers aren’t just watching; they’re in on the joke, complicit in every pratfall and punchline. This collapse of artifice invites a question: what do we value more—crafted dialogue or unscripted reality? Mrs. Brown’s Boys discards polish in favor of spontaneous combustion. When an actor snorts mid-scene, it’s not a mistake—it’s a reminder that we’re witnessing something real. And that vulnerability—that glorious unsteadiness—is its greatest asset.

Messy and divisive, the show thrives on human unpredictability. It doesn’t just deliver punchlines, it invents them live. You’re not merely laughing at the jokes; you’re watching them take shape in real time. That, perhaps, is the show’s slyest joke.

At its core, Mrs. Brown’s Boys is more than slapstick anarchy—it’s a case study in presence. In work or in life, we’re tempted by flawless facades. But real moments emerge only when we risk imperfection. The show’s unscripted humor reminds us that when control slips, authenticity rushes in—and those unguarded flashes are often the funniest, and most human, of all.

Idea for Impact: Often, irreverence—when wielded with wit—is the finest antidote to cultural pomposity.

A Taxonomy of Troubles: Summary of Tiffany Watt Smith’s ‘The Book of Human Emotions’

October 1, 2025 By Nagesh Belludi Leave a Comment

Some books aren’t designed to be read front to back. Tiffany Watt Smith’s The Book of Human Emotions (2016) is a perfect example. It’s a compendium, a literary grab bag where readers can open to any page and uncover a curious nugget about the strange terrain of human feeling. Whether it launches a dinner-table debate or sends you into a cultural rabbit hole, its charm lies in its delightfully unsystematic approach.

Smith, a cultural historian focusing on the history of emotion, offers a colorful tour of the emotional spectrum. Some entries are instantly relatable; others are wonderfully obscure. The format is encyclopedic, ranging from single-sentence definitions to multi-page explorations. There’s basorexia, the sudden urge to kiss, and iktsuarpok, the anxious anticipation of someone’s arrival. Smith notes in the introduction that the modern idea of “emotions” didn’t appear until the 1830s. Before then, feelings were blamed on faulty souls or imbalanced bodily fluids like bile or phlegm.

The book is more than just a glossary; it’s threaded with sharp cultural insights—when a language has a specific word for a concept, it often indicates that this concept is culturally important, frequently discussed, or central to how people interact and understand their world. Smith touches on the aggressively enforced cheeriness of American customer service, a strange mandate for mandatory happiness that somehow leaves everyone slightly gloomier. She also highlights curiosities like awumbuk (from Papua New Guinea,) the oddly specific feeling of emptiness after guests leave, and the Dutch concept of gezelligheid, capturing the warmth of shared companionship.

Recommendation: Leaf through The Book of Human Emotions. Though the concept occasionally feels stretched, perhaps suggesting the author discovered that emotions alone might not justify an entire book, it remains engaging throughout. Smith writes with clarity and wit, avoiding the heaviness of academic prose. This is the kind of book that earns its place on the coffee table. It’s best enjoyed in fragments, one curious entry at a time, gently reminding us how language and culture shape what we feel and how we understand each other.

Psychology

Wondering what to read next?

Wondering what to read next?

Wondering what to read next?

Wondering what to read next?

Wondering what to read next?

This Frugality Is Classic Ryanair

Ryanair Knows a Well-Timed Insult Is the Cheapest Publicity

Wondering what to read next?

Wondering what to read next?

When Admiration Hardens into Uncritical Reverence

Buffett’s Wisdom Should Be Engaged With, Not Obeyed

Wondering what to read next?

Wondering what to read next?

Wondering what to read next?