Welcome to Davos, the annual high-altitude circle-jerk where the world’s self-appointed 'saviors' gather to solve problems they spent the previous eleven months creating. It is a nauseating spectacle of private jets, fifty-dollar lattes, and the kind of aggressive networking that makes one wish for a localized avalanche. At the center of this year’s vanity fair, we find Emmanuel Macron, the President of France and the self-styled 'Jupiter' of European politics. Macron, a man who views himself as a philosopher-king trapped in the body of an investment banker, took to the stage to address the latest tantrums emanating from the White House. It was a performance of such labored gravitas that it almost obscured the utter emptiness of the rhetoric.

The catalyst for this particular bout of diplomatic posturing is Donald Trump’s latest obsession: Greenland and the looming threat of tariffs. Because nothing screams 'global leadership' like threatening to cripple the French wine industry because you weren't allowed to buy a sovereign landmass like it was a bankrupt casino in Atlantic City. Trump’s approach to international relations remains consistent: it is the philosophy of a playground bully with a nuclear football and a vocabulary that would make a dictionary weep. He wants Greenland; he can’t have it; therefore, everyone’s cheese and luxury handbags must suffer under the weight of trade barriers. It is a logic so profoundly moronic that it bypasses standard criticism and enters the realm of avant-garde performance art.

Macron, ever the theater kid of the European Union, couldn’t resist the opportunity to play the 'adult in the room.' He warned against 'useless aggressivity,' a phrase so drenched in Gallic condescension it’s a wonder the microphone didn’t melt on the spot. He claimed France prefers 'respect to bullies.' It’s a touching sentiment, really, if you ignore the fact that Macron’s own brand of 'respect' usually involves telling his own citizens they are 'nothing' unless they are successful tech entrepreneurs. The irony of a man who has spent his tenure navigating the wreckage of the Yellow Vest protests—often with a heavy hand—lecturing anyone else on 'useless aggressivity' is a chef’s kiss of political hypocrisy. It is the classic Macron maneuver: using refined language to mask the same neoliberal ruthlessness his opponents use with a sledgehammer.

Then we have the mention of the 'Board of Peace'—an entity that sounds like it was dreamed up in a corporate retreat for people who find Hallmark cards too intellectually challenging. The idea that these global elites, who profit from the very instabilities they decry, can sit at a table and negotiate 'peace' while the US President is using trade policy as a blunt-force instrument is laughable. It’s the diplomatic equivalent of rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, except the deck chairs are made of ivory and the Titanic is the global economy. These meetings at Davos serve no purpose other than to provide a backdrop for these grifters to feel important while the world continues its slow-motion collapse.

Trump’s tariff threats are not just a policy; they are a symptom of a world where the most powerful nation is governed by a man who views the entire planet as a series of real estate transactions. He sees a map and thinks it’s a brochure. Macron, on the other hand, sees a camera and thinks it’s a mirror. Between the two of them, we are treated to a masterclass in the utter futility of modern governance. One side offers us a crude, transactional nightmare, while the other offers a polished, intellectualized version of the status quo that is just as hollow. It is the choice between a chainsaw and a lecture on why chainsaws are aesthetically displeasing; either way, you’re still losing a limb.

What we witnessed at Davos was not a defense of international order; it was a clash of egos between two men who are fundamentally terrified of irrelevance. Macron isn’t defending 'peace'; he’s defending the right of the European technocracy to be exploited in a more polite, predictable manner. He wants the 'respect' of the bully, not because he opposes the bully’s goals, but because the bully is being too loud about them. He would much rather we all return to the quiet, dignified extraction of wealth that doesn't involve embarrassing headlines about buying Arctic islands.

The tragedy, of course, is that the public is expected to take a side in this pantomime. We are told to cheer for Macron as the defender of liberal values or for Trump as the disruptor of a corrupt system. In reality, they are two sides of the same debased coin. One is the grease on the wheels of global capital, and the other is the sand. Neither cares if the machine actually goes anywhere useful for the average person. They are both grifters, just operating at different frequencies. One speaks the language of the boardroom, the other the language of the wrestling ring, but they both want your money and your submission.

As the snow falls on Davos, the elites will retreat to their fondues and their 'impact sessions,' convinced they have done something meaningful by listening to Macron’s perfumed insults. Macron will feel he has stood his ground, and Trump will feel he has successfully rattled the 'losers.' Meanwhile, the rest of us are left to watch this tedious play, waiting for the curtain to fall on a civilization that thinks a 'Board of Peace' is a substitute for actual leadership. It’s not just depressing; it’s boring. And in the world of Buck Valor, being boring is the ultimate sin.