Is economic growth a goal or a means? If a policy raised human wellbeing while lowering GDP (Gross Domestic Product), would that be good economic policy? The general argument in favor of policies that boost the GDP is that when you make the pie bigger, there is a bigger slice for everyone to enjoy. The other metaphor that is often used is that a rising tide lifts all boats. Effective economic policy, thus, is one that creates economic growth, so that everyone within a nation can benefit from that new economic activity. However, the pie getting bigger does not guarantee that your share will change for the better. America’s GDP grew by 2.2 percent in 2025, but how was that growth divided amongst the American people? Well, here is a breakdown by the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities: What we find is that, since roughly the last 50 years, the distribution of new growth is mixed. On the income side, we see some growth for those in the bottom 20 percent, but it is dwarfed by the huge gains of the top 1 percent of income earners. The middle portion, so income earners who are between the 20th and 80th percentile, had the slowest growth, at a mere 73 percent increase since 1979, much lower than the other groups. What does this data tell us? It tells us that when GDP increases, the growth mainly consolidates at the top. And this data is not even considering wealth accumulation, where the differences between the various income classes are even more stark. Right now, I am not making a value-based assessment on whether this is a good or bad thing. Growth, even if unequal, can benefit everyone — just not at the same levels. However, how the pie is divided matters for those who are experiencing the economy. If you are a middle-class American and you see the economy grow, but none of those benefits trickle in for you in the form of wage growth or wealth, then are you really better off? As prices rise, are wages keeping up in a manner where middle-class Americans feel that they can afford the basic necessities of life? The answer to this question is subjective. Absolute poverty is measured in dollar terms. It asks how much money you have, and whether, objectively, you are poor or not with that amount. The World Bank, for example, defines absolute poverty as living on less than $3 a day. Relative poverty asks something different; it asks, given the society you are part of, do you have the ability to enjoy the things that the median person around you can? Thus, according to this definition, the greatest poverty is found in the relative difference between your wealth levels versus your peers. Let us use an example. Say you had $50,000 a year to live on, and you lived on a tight budget in an urban area like New York City, Chicago, or Washington, D.C. Given the cost of living and rent, perhaps what you have is enough to live in the city, if you budget well. But going to Broadway shows, the cinema, the bar, or other fun events is difficult because you don’t have much free time or room in your budget to do these things. Your friends, coworkers, and acquaintances, however, are richer. They earn upwards of $150,000 a year, and they often go to these social events, which you cannot attend because of your budget and time constraints. Thus, you find it difficult to interact with your friends because you are left out of key social gatherings or fun things to do. Now you feel like you are in an isolated bubble. You earn enough to live, but not enough to thrive, and it feels — even if it may not be reality — like everyone around you is having more fun. How would that impact your well-being? I would argue that this form of relative poverty can have negative impacts on people’s lives. It creates an in-group and out-group system, and as such, a sense that we cannot enjoy the things in life that others can so easily take part in. Poverty, therefore, should not just be defined by whether you can survive, but by the choices you have before you, and your relative connection with those around you. Take this same $50,000 salary, and live in an area where everyone is earning the same amount as you or less, and the equation changes. Because now there is parity, the cost of living is lower, and you and your friends can enjoy things together, even if the things you enjoy are “cheaper” in terms of financial costs. It could be as simple as sharing a meal with a friend, playing sports together, or other activities. Put simply, the cost of economic inequality is not necessarily financial. It is the social isolation that comes with it. The data backs this up: (Source: Thamara Tapia-Muñoz et al.) An analysis by Tapia-Muñoz et al shows that older adults aged 50+ “living in countries with higher income inequality were more likely to report loneliness”. The U.S. is one of the worst high-income countries performing at this scale, as shown by the above chart, measuring inequality — using the well-known Gini index — against predicted loneliness probability. All this to say that the effect of inequality, and an exacerbated level of relative poverty, has adverse social effects. And so, the question remains: If a policy raised human wellbeing while lowering GDP, would that be good economic policy? I would argue that theoretically the answer is yes. There could be a framework where you provide some benefits to the poor and middle class, even reducing GDP growth, that could still boost long-term wellbeing. What matters is whether you care about absolute or relative poverty. GDP growth is an excellent way to address absolute poverty over time, and we see this when comparing wealthy versus poorer countries. However, if
By Vaibhav Sinha
LinkedIn as Late-Stage Capitalism LinkedIn is easy to mock because it often feels ridiculous. Feeds are lined with posts of people claiming corporate prestige with saturated jargon that no one really understands. Layoffs become “new chapters”, and desperation is portrayed as being “open to new opportunities”. Ordinary employment is narrated as a moral awakening, with those who can’t follow the cryptic lexicon as being simply not on their level. The language is so polished it begins to feel inhuman, as if every post is passed through a motivational filter and carefully stripped of any real insight. But the absurdity of LinkedIn is not the most interesting thing about it. The surface-level jeering about its content and audience, while amusing, overshadows the more serious question of whypeople feel compelled to perform this way at all. In the United States, work has never been just a job. One’s profession has been treated as evidence of character, discipline, education and personal worth. LinkedIn takes this philosophy and gives it a platform and a name. It repackages the worker into a public profile, an SEO project, and hosts a space to permanently market employability. It seems the point is not just being suited or capable for the job, because having the right requirements and a well-established CV is outdated in this age of corporate recruitment. Instead, you need to accompany this with a digital, legible mandate with at least 500 connections, or else who are you? The platform is the epitome of late-stage capitalism. It not only connects people to jobs, but it also teaches people how to behave in a labour market where employability itself is theatrical. In 2025, LinkedIn reported 1.2 billion members globally and $17.8 billion in revenue, a staggering amount in any case. Following suit with many other social platforms, they have introduced new AI tools for job seekers, hirers and sales. This is important because not only do you have to perform within this stagnant job market, but you are also judged on this by AI. Reuters reported that LinkedIn’s AI hiring agents were projected to bring in $450 million annually by “helping” recruiters identify suitable profiles across the network. This shifts the focus entirely. In this respect, the game is no longer about experience; it’s about SEO and corporate literacy. The worker is not simply applying for jobs. They are processed as a signal, not a human; transformed into a set of keywords, a network, and a history of ambition within the confines of AI-approved jargon. The introduction of AI in workplaces across the U.S. has undeniably reduced job openings and is now cutting into the recruitment sector. Not only did you lose your job to AI, but you were denied your next one because you didn’t meet the lexical quota. To Karl Marx, this advent is unsurprising. He argued that capitalism turns labour power itself into a commodity: the worker must sell their capacity to work in order to survive. LinkedIn expertly shows how far that logic has travelled, and how conceited the job market has become. The worker is no longer selling only time, skill or effort. They are expected to sell personality, resilience, digital consistency, network capabilities, and a narrative of constant self-improvement. One becomes part of the package. This commodification is the real poison of the platform. It makes the crisis of work, or lack thereof, a flaw of self-presentation. If you cannot get a job, the implied solution is to optimise your profile. If nobody replies, message better. If you are invisible, post more. If none of the above work, you can buy an “affordable” subscription of around $40 a month to help boost your presence. The subscription becomes even darker when it’s realised that visibility has become monetised. Of course, capitalism and the ruling class have always understood this premise, as has society. But LinkedIn has attempted to remove these barriers in a way that fills its own pocket instead. The premium advertises AI-powered tools for job searches and profile optimisation, InMail, profile view numbers, personalised insights and access to “top applicant” jobs. There is something dystopian about a labour market in which workers are already forced to compete for attention, then offered, as a necessity, a plethora of paid tools to become more visible in the competition. These class politics are not subtle. Despite LinkedIn’s attempts to profit from class visibility, they present as a neutral space for opportunity. They reward those who already understand the architecture of professional culture, have polished profiles, institutional confidence, internship language and established networks. A working-class person may boast intelligence, be capable, reliable and perfectly suited for a role, yet still be punished for not knowing how to read themselves in the approved style. Pew Research Centre found that LinkedIn use in the U.S. is sharply divided by education. In 2024, a reported that 53% of Americans with at least a bachelor’s degree said they use LinkedIn. This compares sharply to the 28% who have a college education, and 10% of those who have high school degrees or less. This disparity paints an illustrative picture. If LinkedIn becomes part of how opportunity is accessed, then paradoxically, the unequal access to LinkedIn’s culture becomes yet another class barrier. This is why LinkedIn is not just bad, it’s an active obstacle for those trying to find work in modern society. It is bad because it reveals a labour market that increasingly demands shallow performance. It is bad because it asks people to translate fear into marketable self-growth and instability into ambition. It turns structural insecurity into an expensive subscription. The cruellest part is that opting out becomes even harder. Online resources are more essential than ever for American job seekers. Pew found that as early as 2015, a large majority of recent US job seekers had solely used online resources to look and apply for work. The point is that digital presence has become increasingly difficult to
By Adia May
Most citizens of America are well aware of the seemingly obscure opinions of RFK. Yet, RFK is just one tip of the “natural health” iceberg. The natural health trend, seemingly reminiscent of antivaxxing, is a movement surfacing on the internet which implies the claim that natural alternatives are highly capable of being superior to modern medicines. Although this movement may seem unproblematic, it carries some deeper meaning. The natural health trend oftentimes serves as a promotion of overhauling modern healthcare altogether — unless extremely necessary. This includes mental health medications, and even ADHD medications for children. Many of the creators which make up this movement claim that things such as herbs can replace the need for medicinal interference. They criticize things like preservatives in food, and resort to drinking raw milk and consuming unsafe cuts of meat. At some points, natural health creators go as far as to claim the entire pharmaceutical industry is a scam. Some natural health creators have attempted to push back against this narrative. An expanding number have used their profiles to demonstrate realism, showing their processed foods and pills, alongside their herb gardens and teas. This calls into question the nuance that separates radical primitivism and rich tradition. Natural health isn’t in itself harmful. In fact, it was reported under the Harvard Medical School’s blog that herbal teas such as ginger and chamomile can have positive effects like decreased risk of heart disease death, or even cancer protection (https://www.health.harvard.edu/diet-and-nutrition/the-health-benefits-of-3-herbal-tea). However, even on their blog does it say that these teas should not be used as a substitute for medicinal care. Arguably, having a nice cup of tea before bed, or encouraging fibrous diets is not inherently bad. Still, we should be wary about how natural health can quickly become natural extremism. As a society we are responsible for distinguishing between the two.
By Megan Fincher
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