weekly Go Flip Yourself

That can explain why things always seem bad and why things always seem like they’re getting worse. Which is exactly what we see in the data: every year, people say that humans just aren’t as kind as they used to be, and every year they rate human kindness exactly the same as they did last year.

If I’m right, people’s colorful theories of the End Times come second. What comes first is the conviction that the world’s problems are brand-spanking-new. And that conviction is stunningly consistent across time.

“Happiness is all gone,” says the Prophecy of Neferty, an Egyptian papyrus from roughly 4000 years ago. “Kindness has vanished and rudeness has descended upon everyone,” agrees Dialogue of a Man with His Spirit, written at around the same time. “It is not like last year […] There is no person free from wrong, and everyone alike is doing it,” says the appropriately-named Complaints of Khakheperraseneb from several hundred years later. And some unknown amount of time after that, the Admonitions of Ipuwer reports that actually things just started going to hell. “All is ruin! Indeed, laughter is perished and no longer made.” Worst of all: “Everyone’s hair has fallen out.”

There is a new lifestyle imposed on almost the entire world, (...) which somehow affects all ordinary people: a consumption-oriented life. Fast consumption, constant consumption, more consumption.

My wish is not for more founders like Yatú but for more founders to realize that they can approach their own work in a similar way to Yatú — to give themselves freedom to explore their own ideas to the fullest extent, with humor, creativity and ambition.

Rolf Haubl, sociologist and psychoanalyst, insists that the role of objects is to carry memories. The real meaning of the thing then is within its mnemonic value. In a way, the chair becomes a sort of transformational object, gaining more significance after the passing of its owner. Granny Puckett’s essence and memory have been absorbed into it, especially for those left in her wake, who recognize the chair as an experience of remembrance.

We depend on the chair to bring back memories of Granny Puckett. Those who knew or heard stories of her experience the chair in different ways that deepen our connection to her. These stories create a history around the object, signifying the biography of the object itself, which “is no longer simply a dead or inanimate thing,” as Clive Dilnot proposes. “It possesses—or we attribute to it in our imaginations—sentience and power.”

By their nature, heirlooms tend to carry extra significance. The chair as a family heirloom is now a device that conjures memory and connection across time.

The biography of an object should not be restricted to an historical reconstruction of its birth, life and death. Biography is relational and an object biography is comprised of the sum of the relationships that constitute it.

To me, having my own website, even one I run as a business with my friends, gives me a degree of freedom over my own work that I’ve never had before.

Not only do we have useful research that breaks the rules; we also have useless research that follows the rules. You can develop theories, run experiments, gather data, analyze your results, and reject your null hypotheses, all by the book, without a lick of fraud or fakery, and still not produce any useful knowledge. In psychology, we do this all the time.

Being a “member” means that you belong to the place, and the place belongs to you.

“They have to try on every single piece in the store,” Green said. “See where it’s made, what it’s made from, learn why it costs what it costs, the fit, the stitching, the trims, so they can talk about it all.”