There is something uniquely nauseating about the current cultural compulsion to turn the 'dismal science' into a serialized drama for people who think a 401k is a type of marathon. We have reached a point of intellectual exhaustion where the average citizen can no longer process the reality of their own exploitation unless it is presented in 4K resolution with a haunting cello soundtrack. Enter 'Pluribus,' the latest Apple TV+ offering that is being heralded by the usual collection of desk-bound mid-wits as a 'revelatory' look at economics. It is a show produced by the most successful corporate behemoth in human history, designed to teach you about the very systems that allow said behemoth to own your digital soul. If the irony were any thicker, we’d all be suffocating on it.

The premise of 'Pluribus'—to the extent that anything on streaming services has a premise beyond 'please don’t cancel your subscription'—is a thinly veiled allegory for the fragmentation of the modern worker. It suggests that we are no longer singular beings but a collection of economic functions. Groundbreaking. Truly. It only took several thousand years of civilization and the invention of the iPhone for us to realize that the person who flips the burger is not the same person who cries in the shower. The 'lessons' being extracted from this show by economic pundits are even more pathetic. They speak of 'incentives' and 'market equilibrium' as if these are mystical forces revealed by a screen writer’s room rather than the cold, mechanical gears of a machine that is currently grinding the middle class into a fine, grey powder.

The Left, predictably, has latched onto 'Pluribus' as a subversive critique of late-stage capitalism. They sit in their sustainably sourced chairs, clutching their titanium devices, and nod sagely at the 'critique' of corporate hegemony. It is a performance of virtue so hollow it creates its own vacuum. They love the idea of a show that 'exposes' the system, conveniently ignoring that their monthly $14.99 is going directly into the pockets of the very system they claim to despise. There is no subversion here; there is only branding. You aren't watching a revolution; you are watching a product designed to make you feel like you’re part of one while you remain safely tethered to your charger.

On the other side of the aisle, the Right-wing commentators are likely already fuming about 'Pluribus' being some form of 'woke' psychological warfare. To them, any depiction of a corporation that isn't a benevolent father figure is a Marxist conspiracy. They lack the cognitive bandwidth to understand that Apple is the ultimate capitalist success story—a company that has turned the human desire for status into a closed-loop ecosystem. The Right wants to defend a version of the economy that hasn't existed since the gold standard was a thing, while the Left wants to 'dismantle' it from within the VIP lounge. Both sides are staring at 'Pluribus' and seeing a mirror of their own idiocy, missing the point entirely: the economy isn't a story, and it isn't a show. It is a math problem that has already decided you are the remainder.

What 'Pluribus' actually reveals about economics is that the field has become so abstracted from reality that we now require fiction to explain it to us. When we can no longer look at our stagnant wages, our crumbling infrastructure, or the skyrocketing cost of existing without needing a 'hit Apple TV show' to provide a 'useful lesson,' we have effectively surrendered our intellect. We are treating the mechanics of our survival like a fandom. We analyze the 'lore' of the market instead of demanding to know why the people at the top are hoarding all the oxygen. The economists praising this show are like priests who have forgotten their god and are now worshipping the stained glass windows because the colors are pretty.

In the end, 'Pluribus' will do what every other piece of prestige television does: it will be discussed for three weeks, it will win a few awards made of gilded plastic, and it will leave the viewers exactly where they started—confused, broke, and waiting for Season 2 to tell them why. We don’t need a television show to reveal the truth about economics. The truth is written in the fine print of every user agreement we click 'Accept' on without reading. The truth is that the market doesn’t care about your 'lessons' or your 'narratives.' It only cares that you keep watching, keep paying, and keep mistaking entertainment for enlightenment. It’s a tragedy, really, but at least the cinematography is nice.