The 'dismal science' has finally found a lubricant for its grinding, rusted gears: gin. According to the latest revelation from the high priests of the ledger, economists are being encouraged to embrace the bottle. How utterly predictable. After a week of watching the global markets behave like a toddler with a blowtorch, the experts have concluded that the only way to make sense of the chaos is to ensure their vision is as blurred as their projections. It’s the ultimate admission of defeat, wrapped in the thin, transparent veil of 'social lubrication' and 'stress management.' We are meant to believe that a martini isn’t just a drink, but a tactical intervention for the soul of the macro-economy.

Let’s look at the 'martini' specifically—the economist's weapon of choice. It is the perfect metaphor for the modern economy: mostly clear, incredibly bitter, and designed to make you forget that you’ve lost your house. It is a drink that requires 'balance,' much like the fictional budgets these people propose, yet it is almost entirely comprised of high-proof regret. The gin is cold and sterile, mimicking the hearts of those who decide which industries live and which die based on a decimal point. The vermouth is a mere suggestion of something better, a ghost of a flavor that never quite manifests, much like the 'trickle-down' prosperity we’ve been promised since the Reagan administration. It is a drink for people who enjoy the aesthetic of precision while being functionally incapacitated.

The Left will undoubtedly decry this as 'toxic substance culture,' or perhaps they’ll demand that the gin be ethically sourced from non-binary juniper bushes. They’ll write think-pieces about how the 'alcohol-industrial complex' is a symptom of late-stage capitalism, while simultaneously sipping eighteen-dollar craft cocktails and wondering why the working class hasn't embraced their latest plan for a universal basic income funded by the sheer power of positive thinking. The Right, meanwhile, will see this as a triumph of the free market, a 'freedom to imbibe' that proves the nanny state hasn't won yet. They ignore the fact that the only thing actually trickling down is the spilled vermouth from a hedge fund manager’s trembling hand as he watches the Nikkei tank. Both sides are, as usual, missing the point: the people in charge are drunk because they know the math doesn't work.

The martini doesn’t just 'steady the nerves,' as the headline suggests. It numbs the realization that the entire global financial architecture is a series of interconnected hallucinations. We live in a world where the price of a carton of eggs is dictated by bird flu, geopolitical posturing, and the whims of a guy in a fleece vest in Connecticut who has never actually seen a chicken. Yet, we are supposed to take comfort in the fact that these architects of our collective misery are finding solace in a glass of botanical-infused ethanol. It’s almost poetic, if you find poetry in the sight of a man in a thousand-dollar suit weeping into a pimento-stuffed olive because his algorithm failed to account for human stupidity.

Historically, we’ve always known these people were sniffing something stronger than the air in a Davos conference room. From the tulip mania of the 1630s to the subprime mortgage collapse of 2008, the 'experts' have consistently proven that they have the foresight of a blindfolded mole in a minefield. The only difference now is that they’re being told it’s okay to be honest about their coping mechanisms. Why bother with complex algorithms or stochastic modeling when you can just look at the bottom of a bottle and see the same level of accuracy? The ancient Greeks looked at goat entrails to predict the future; our modern augurs look through the bottom of a rocks glass. The results are largely the same: disaster, but with a better garnish.

The hypocrisy is the most delicious part of this cocktail. These are the same people who lecture the public on 'rational actors' and 'incentive structures.' Apparently, the incentive structure for a PhD in Economics is a high-functioning dependency on alcohol. They treat the global economy like a machine that can be tuned with the right interest rate hike, but when the machine starts smoking and the gears start flying off into the faces of the peasantry, they don't reach for a wrench. They reach for the shaker. It’s a performance of intellect masking a core of pure, unadulterated panic. They aren't 'steadying their nerves'; they are drowning the evidence of their own irrelevance.

Ultimately, we are all just passengers on a bus driven by someone who is trying to calculate the fuel efficiency while simultaneously downing shots of tequila. The Right thinks the bus should go faster to stimulate growth; the Left thinks the bus should be painted a more inclusive color to promote equity. Neither of them notices the cliff. And the economist, sitting in the back, is just happy that the gin is cold. It’s not a 'rollercoaster week' for them; it’s just another Tuesday in the terminal decline of a species too stupid to survive its own math. So, by all means, pour another. Let’s see if we can hit the bottom of the bottle before we hit the bottom of the canyon. It’s the only 'growth' we have left to look forward to.