Cryptocurrency isn’t the future of banking, it’s a financial fad only kept alive by the excitement of a new idea. 

Cryptocurrencies are digital currencies powered by encryption algorithms, unlike the traditional currencies upheld by governments or banks. A collection of cryptocurrencies can form a ‘digital wallet’ allowing users to make payments through online systems. This means that cryptocurrency (or crypto) is not the central currency of any government’s monetary system but is simply worth whatever the market is paying at any given moment. 

For this reason, crypto is unreliable as a monetary medium. Putting real money into crypto may resemble investing in foreign currency, but it lacks the safety mechanism that foreign currency is legitimized through governments, making it more volatile and speculative. 

It doesn’t help that an investment in crypto has no real-world connection or value. There’s nothing tangible or easily definable with a crypto investment. Traditional currency is tangible through cash, which is monopolized by governmentally legitimized central banks which have reserve funds for all other banks in a nation. Cryptocurrency, on the other hand, isn’t investing into anything real at all. 

On top of its already unreliable nature, the crypto market is full of scams, and even prominent influencers have taken part in fraudulent crypto-related practices costing their trusting fans large sums of money. 

So why invest in cryptocurrency at all? For many, the stories of the lucky few who invested in the right cryptocurrency at the right time are enough to inspire confidence in this unstable market. After all, if these ordinary individuals became millionaires through this relatively new investment system, perhaps it’s worth a try. 

But this idea just adds to the many lives that are ruined by crypto. Trusting an entirely digital, unlegislated currency – a currency with a value entirely dependent on the belief that one day it will be in wide use – is like investing in people’s future beliefs, yet the money that users can lose on this investment is real. 

Crypto hasn’t gained popularity because it’s a solid idea. Despite what many will suggest, crypto is not the future of commerce. It simply sells a fiction that appears realistic. Because money is mostly represented virtually, an entirely digital currency may seem like a logical next step – but if it could ever compete with national currencies, the government would take it over, regulate it to death or ban it altogether. 

The reason crypto remains a topic of conversation is because of its claim to be the currency of the future. 

It’s exciting to see a fresh idea that could revolutionize human civilization. In 2007, the original iPhone normalised smartphones and changed the way humans think about communication. The prospect of bringing currency into ‘the future’ is an exciting one because it makes us think about the future of commerce. 

As human beings, we’re always on the lookout for the next big thing. Neuroscience suggests that humans are always looking forward and are often unhappy with what they have in the moment. With cryptocurrency’s promise of being the future of commerce, it’s no wonder that it’s turned heads – especially when a few individuals have managed to strike it rich with crypto. 

But a few lucky individuals and a bold promise aren’t enough to actually revolutionize the world. To do so, an idea has to prove why it’s an improvement over the former method; it had to show why it’s worth switching to for the average consumer.  

Cryptocurrency doesn’t have this benefit. In a world increasingly reliant on technology, crypto is just an idea so tech-minded that it seems like it must be the way forward, even if it’s confusing and makes no sense to adopt whatsoever. 

Cryptocurrency isn’t the currency of the future. It’s simply companies’ attempts to modernize commerce and to fix what isn’t broken. 

It might be fun to share your star sign or take interest in its origins, but in reality, it has no impact on who you are as an individual. 

It’s become a common trend to ask others what their star sign is. While some might do this for fun or simply in hopes of starting a conversation, others hope to learn about an individual’s characteristics based on their star sign alone.  

Unfortunately for them, they won’t find much. 

A 1985 study developed alongside 28 leading astrologers gathered a number of participants’ times and places of birth and personality tests. The astrologers then attempted to match a series of personality tests with each person’s time and place of birth, a task they failed to accurately complete. 

This is just one of many historical tests disproving the claims of astrology, which makes claims that have been debunked for a long time. There’s a reason why scientists refuse to accept astrology as a type of science, unlike astronomy. 

If years’ worth of studies aren’t enough to convince you, observe the objective errors that exist within the modern understanding of astrology. 

Because of a phenomenon known as axial precession, the Earth’s axis is constantly rotating, albeit incredibly slowly. The Earth’s axis completes a full rotation once every 25,700 years, creating a ‘wobbling’ effect. This rotation causes the northern and southern poles to change the direction in which they point, meaning the stars in the sky appear to change over time as well. This also affects the zodiac as its constellations appear in different areas of orbit. 

The problem lies in the fact that modern humans use the same star signs outlined by ancient Babylonians. Since the Babylonians’ time, axial precession has caused the Earth’s orientation to shift, meaning that constellations appear elsewhere in the sky compared to their positions thousands of years ago. This means that each person’s ‘true’ star sign is the one before the one used by astrologers. In other words, each person’s given star sign is inaccurate based on the Sun’s true position. 

Things only get worse from here when the 13^th star sign is introduced. 

In between Scorpius and Sagittarius is a constellation on the zodiac that is often forgotten, called Ophiuchus. Of course, this constellation was present during the Babylonians’ time, but because there are 12 months in a year, they chose to arbitrarily ignore this constellation despite its position on the zodiac.  

Those born between Nov. 29 and Dec. 18 should actually be using this star sign, but astrologers choose to ignore it. 

This proves that there’s nothing factual about astrology based on the position of constellations, the Sun or the Earth. Even if astrology held any merit, it wouldn’t be based on the objective positions of the constellations on the zodiac, it would be based on whatever the Babylonians deemed worthwhile to include. 

Everything that astrology claims to offer can be scientifically explained, such as planets in retrograde. Planets do not actually move backward in their orbit; rather, the Earth simply passes by them making it temporarily appear as though they are moving backward. 

Picture this: you’re sitting in a car and looking out the side window as you drive down the highway. If there is a truck in the lane next to you moving in the same direction as your car but at a slower speed, it will appear as though that truck is moving backwards as you race past it. In reality, the truck is still moving forward – it just looks like it’s moving backward from your perspective. 

There’s nothing spiritual about this effect. It’s an optical illusion. 

Some might wonder why their star sign’s attributed personality traits still apply to them if astrology holds no merit. This can be explained through the Barnum effect. 

The Barnum effect is a psychological phenomenon in which individuals believe that a given set of personality traits specifically apply to them, when in reality, are intentionally vague and generic enough to apply to pretty much anyone. This same effect is used by fortune tellers and aura readers. If a personality description is broad enough, it can apply to almost every person, yet individuals will still feel like it’s specifically tailored to them.  

Your star sign doesn’t define you; its characteristics are just so generic that it can describe just about anyone with some degree of accuracy. When that set of characteristics is given to an individual as if they apply specifically to that person, they’re simply more likely to believe it. 

Every element of astrology can be debunked, either astronomically or psychologically. There is no truth to astrologers’ claims, just clever manipulation of an individual’s sense of self. 

Star signs can be a fun conversation starter or icebreaker, but those who let astrology dictate their lives would be wise to search for guidance elsewhere. 

Scab shaming has become a tactic of the post-COVID labour movement that levies social media to spread condemnation. The fact is, it works. 

Midway into September, TV personality and liberal commentator Bill Maher announced that he was going to be starting up his show Real Time with Bill Maher on HBO despite the then-ongoing Writers Guild of America strike. The backlash online and in the media was substantial enough to make Maher reconsider his choice. Coincidental to that, talk-show host Drew Barrymore was looking to bring back her own titular series in September despite the writers’ strike. Faced with similar backlash, Barrymore also pulled the plug while profusely apologizing.  

One thing has been made clear on what some call the post-COVID labour movement is that the general depoliticization of the public that underscored the ‘90s, aughts and 2010s is no longer in play in the 2020s. Not even star power makes you immune to not showing solidarity for workers who are dealing with increasingly precarious employment and a heightened cost of living.  

Still, enlightened centrists like Maher have played tongue-in-cheek with thinking that the striking writers don’t have legs to stand on morality-wise. In early September, before the controversy of starting up Real Time ensued and the subsequent cancelling of the show, Maher spoke on a podcast with comedian Jim Gaffigan claiming “they [WGA] kind of believe that you’re owed a living as a writer, and you’re not. This is show business. This is the make-or-miss league.”  

It’s not hard, then, to see that people like the pre-cancelling of his show version of Bill Maher in early September would view scab shaming as some form of cancel culture or wokeness run amuck. Maher himself has been a vocal opponent of cancel culture and wokeness more generally, as can be seen by segments from years ago. An example is when Ben Affleck was treated as a woke hysteric for objecting to co-guest Sam Harris’ belief – which Maher backed up – that the Quran was a book that in many ways codified the terrorist actions of extremist Islamic groups in the pre-and post-9/11 world.  

But is scab shaming just woke virtue signalling?  

Wokeness generally denotes the idea that one wears the mask of progressivity, typically in online spaces such as Twitter (or “X”), to appear morally superior to their political rivals. However, when the rubber meets the road, the woke don’t care much for the people they’re arguing for as much as their own reputation for having outstanding moral clarity.  

To be clear, this phenomenon does exist, and it reaches absurd points when, for example, leftist influencers argue that abortions all the way up to the ninth month of pregnancy should have no base of authority – medical or legal – beyond the pregnant woman’s choice to terminate or not. Here, even as an ardent supporter of Planned Parenthood, one can acknowledge that at the final month of gestation, there should be rules determined by doctors around viability in place regarding the conditions for terminating that late of a pregnancy.  

It’s important to note, then, that wokeness is more of an epiphenomenon of social media and brand creation instead of a driving force that undergirds the 21^st century Left, as Maher wants his viewers to believe.  

The pink tide movement in Latin America, for example, has seen an ascendance of economic populist left leaders like Lula da Silva in Brazil and Evo Morales in Bolivia who haven’t a single lick of woke rhetoric behind them. Yet, these leaders have been responsible for the uplifting of millions out of poverty in this century alone as well as the expansion of civil rights to the neediest in society.  

This is why scab shaming, even when done by effete liberals who dwell on Twitter all day, is not wokeness. Wokeness doesn’t care about material circumstances at the end of the day. Scab shaming is about what happens to the material security of striking workers when their employers and scabbers decide to continue production without them. Scabbing is a direct attack on their security and ability to negotiate a deal with their employer which allows them to survive and continue to do work.  

Therefore, scab shaming is not only effective but also necessary.  

Netflix’s Squid Game: The Challenge has a fun concept at first glance, but it ultimately misses the entire point of the original series. 

When Squid Game released on Netflix in 2021, it quickly became a global sensation. The South Korean action-drama was released to critical acclaim and drew eyes from across the world thanks to its highly interesting concept. 

In the show, citizens affected by poverty and debt are invited to participate in a series of children’s games with the hopes of winning a massive cash prize. What the 456 contestants do not realize is that each eliminated player throughout the six games is killed, meaning the winner of the cash prize will be the sole survivor. 

Contestants are put through grueling physical and psychological challenges that test not only their will to win the money, but to survive. The games are played for the entertainment of rich VIPs who place bets on contestants. The storyline got the international world invested in the series, leading Squid Game to become Netflix’s most-streamed show within 28 days of release. 

However, the series is more than an interesting drama about surviving children’s games. The show is supposed to be a critique of capitalism and a commentary on the power imbalance between the poor and rich within society. This is perhaps best evidenced through the lavishly wealthy VIPs laughing and placing bets as they watch contestants kill one another in order to survive. With his power and status, the game’s creator invented the competition as a source of entertainment, exploiting the poor by dangling money over their heads like a carrot and stick. 

The show makes a powerful message that leads viewers to question the society they live in and whether they societally align with the players or the VIPs. Watching the show with a surface-level perspective can provide a highly entertaining drama, but deeper reflection reveals the show’s true messaging. 

The show’s creator, Hwang Dong-hyuk, got the idea for Squid Game through his personal economic struggles as well as the financial inequality in South Korea and capitalism as a whole. Finding these messages in Squid Game isn’t a matter of reading into it too deeply, it’s critical thinking about the exaggerated reflection of our world that the show creates. 

This makes it even more painful that Netflix has not only ignored the messaging behind its own program but is making efforts to turn Squid Game into a giant franchise through the same capitalist mentality that the show warns us about. 

It’s worth noting that Squid Game wasn’t written to become a long-running saga. Hwang wrote the original series in 2009, but he couldn’t find a production company to work with on the project until 2019. He never had a clear idea of where the series might go if it continued, but with its breakout success, Netflix is ready to turn it into a monopoly. 

“The Squid Game universe has just begun,” said Netflix chief content officer Ted Sarandos during an earnings interview. It’s interesting how Hwang’s nine-episode series, originally conceived as a one-off, has now been propelled into its own “universe.” 

And he wasn’t kidding. Squid Game now has its own line of official merch, ready to line the pockets of the Netflix team who are working on making the franchise even larger. 

Naturally, Squid Game has been renewed for a second season, currently planned for release in 2024. Only a few months after the show’s release, Hwang was already talking about the potential for a third season. 

Perhaps the most damning example of Netflix’s corporate greed can be seen in their upcoming release of Squid Game: The Challenge, a real-life game show adaptation of the children’s games played within the series. 

In the series, 456 players will compete for $4.56 million, the largest cash prize in the history of reality television. Players will be forced to make use of strategies, alliances and betrayals to win the game, a psychological battle not far from that within the original series. The key difference, of course, is that eliminated players are not going to be killed; they’ll simply walk away without the life-changing prize. 

The problem couldn’t be more clear. The original series depicted those in unfortunate circumstances going to war with each other for the benefit of the rich. Netflix’s response to the series’ success is to pit real people against each other in a similar fashion, forcing them to engage in mental and physical warfare over a jaw-dropping pool of cash. Note that this is to grow the franchise’s popularity, further lining the pockets of the Netflix executives calling the shots. 

If Netflix was hoping to create a game show that parallels the original series, they’ve done so successfully – in all the wrong ways. 

It’s saddening that the Netflix team seems to have forgotten the original messaging behind the show’s creation in favour of seeing mass money-making opportunities. However, it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise – after all, it’s exactly what the show warned us about. 

Squid Game: The Challenge will surely be an entertaining experience for those who enjoyed the surface-level plot of the original series, and it’s entirely understandable to want to revisit Squid Game by enjoying this new show. But for those who enjoyed the show for its deeper meaning, Netflix’s new spinoff is a betrayal to the series’ purpose.  

It’s unfortunate that those who gave us the original series are now abusing its messaging by becoming its villains. 

YouTuber Kwebbelkop has destroyed his reputation due to his reliance on artificial intelligence (AI), and it’s a sad sight to see. 

Jordi Maxim van den Bussche, known online as Kwebbelkop, has amassed a staggering 15-million subscribers on his YouTube channel. He rose to fame over the last decade, gaining much of his popularity from the group he formed with his friends Jelly and Slogo, known as Robust. 

The trio would play video games and compete in challenges together, and their friendship became integral to their joint online growth. Their videos were evidently made for children and had a significant impact on the viewers who grew up watching them. 

In 2020, Kwebbelkop exited the group, citing mental health issues as the reason for his departure. While this move would be a blow to many fans of the trio, many seemed to understand the rationale behind Jordi’s decision. After all, mental health is incredibly important, and it was clear that Jordi was simply doing what’s best for him. 

Things looked to be improving for Jordi, but no one could predict the downfall that his channel soon experienced. 

In the years after departing the group, Kwebbelkop would primarily create surface-level gaming and reaction content. His new videos presented nothing of substance or value and, based on the plethora of commenters asking for Jordi to return to Robust, it’s safe to assume that many of his remaining views came from people hoping to see what had happened to their once-beloved creator. 

Jordi’s viewership dropped to abysmal levels, with his videos usually attaining a fraction of his former views. Over the last year, his view count dropped even lower, with many of his videos struggling to reach even 100,000 views. This is an especially odd sight when juxtaposed with his subscriber count, which remains sky-high thanks to his days of notoriety. 

It was clear that something needed to change, so Jordi altered his approach – and somehow, he made things far, far worse. 

On Aug. 1^st, Kwebbelkop released his first video starring “Kwebbelkop AI,” a fully AI-generated version of Jordi. The video shows a cartoon-style version of Jordi “playing” a Minecraft challenge. The animation’s physical likeness and speech are generated by code analysing Jordi’s past behaviour, meaning that the real Jordi is nowhere to be found in the video. 

Needless to say, the video is completely soulless. Without any element of human touch, there is no reason for any of Jordi’s fans to watch it. They’d just be watching a simulation of what a computer thinks Jordi is like, not the creator himself. 

This approach to content creation – if you can even call it that – shows everything wrong with AI in the current technological landscape. Jordi’s strategy is lifeless, lazy and misinformed about why people watch content creators in the first place. It’s mind-boggling that Jordi expected anyone to enjoy this. For someone that was once a YouTube powerhouse, this move illustrates how out-of-touch he is with any audience on the platform. 

Naturally, fans and critics alike were outraged by Jordi’s strategy. As he continued uploading new videos starring his simulated doppelganger, angry comments about the nature of Jordi’s so-called “content” began to flood in.  

Jordi has taken to X, formerly Twitter, to defend his use of AI, calling it a “tool for creators” that will “enhance storytelling.” He expressed excitement over the influx of views on his AI videos, when in reality, these views are primarily coming from people wanting to see the absurdity of an “AI creator” for themselves. 

Once Jordi got the message that viewers were not happy with his content shift, his response was to introduce a new, more realistic iteration of Kwebbelkop AI. This new version is a scarily accurate depiction of Jordi that is difficult to tell apart from his real self. While he can never actually replace himself with AI, he’s doing a convincing job of making it seem that way. 

Jordi has started posting about his “AI girlfriend,” a troubling sign of a man who’s replacing more and more aspects of his life with AI. It’s a sad tale, but one that can hopefully prevent others from following in his footsteps. 

Kwebbelkop’s behaviour displays his utter disconnect with the world around him as he slowly moves into a comfortably simulated existence. His misunderstanding of content creation shows the beginning of his detachment from humanity, and this is something he’s unintentionally made quite clear through his own words. 

“I think the issue is that a lot of creators and brands have pushed the narrative that creators are all about having a connection with them [and their] personalities,” Jordi posted. “It’s not that deep. It’s just about having a good time when watching a video; [it] could be for any reason.” 

While his program is certainly technologically impressive, it’s downright terrifying for the future of content creation given the fear that he and his AI counterpart are essentially non-differentiable. What this holds for the future of content creation remains to be seen, but it can only be hoped that Jordi’s ideas do not pass on to other creators. 

Cancel culture is a destructive movement that often turns discussion online into a hivemind. It should be replaced by a philosophy that favours forgiveness and, in many cases, second chances. 

For those unacquainted with the term, “cancel culture” refers to the shared mentality amongst many Internet users that celebrities and organizations should have their notable status removed for certain transgressions, whether that be a statement, action or implication of some sort. To have a career “cancelled” is exactly what it sounds like: the Internet makes a joint effort to shut down a celebrity’s status by collectively turning against them. 

There have been attempts to disprove the existence of cancel culture, with some believing it to be an “accountability measure.” This asserts that cancel culture is a way of holding celebrities accountable for their behaviour and the subject should use it as an opportunity to apologize and own up to their actions. 

While this argument isn’t completely wrong, its oversimplification of cancel culture misses the mark in a few key ways. 

Once a celebrity has been cancelled, it’s often too late to apologise in any way that won’t be ruthlessly mocked and criticised. Cancellation is the active attempt to vilify a person, and apologising often won’t stop this. 

Take the classic cliché of the YouTuber apology video. More often than not, when a YouTuber apologizes for their actions, their apology doesn’t actually make a difference when it comes to their public image. Instead, their video is placed under an ideological microscope and over-analyzed in an attempt to find anything wrong with the video. 

Worse yet, sometimes an apology is considered “bad” solely because of the action that preceded it. 

Take this list of the “13 worst YouTube apology videos ever,” and notice how it includes all sorts of different people, apology formats and wording. Interestingly, though, many of the critiques on the list come down to ‘well, you should have seen this coming.’ 

MatPat is a YouTuber featured on the list, and the apparent reason his apology is one of YouTube’s worst is because of his initial mistake. “At least he addressed it but the damage has been done,” reads the article. “He should have known better.” PewDiePie and Tana Mongeau get similar treatment in the article. 

The issue here is that this complaint fails to actually address the apology itself, still focussing entirely on the action that spurred the cancellation to begin with – yet still dubs the apology as one of YouTube’s worst without any legitimate critique on the video.  

Those who engage in this mentality love to pretend that they know what an appropriate apology should look like. What they fail to recognize is that the format and wording of an apology is irrelevant if the preceding action is still considered offensive enough. 

Another issue with cancel culture lies in the seemingly immediate belief that the accused is at fault without waiting for evidence or corroboration. False accusations can ruin lives and cancel culture only contributes to this possibility. 

An excellent example of this is in the 2019 cancellation of Jared “ProJared” Knabenbauer, whose reputation was completely destroyed by child grooming and cheating allegations until he responded and cleared up the lies that had been set against him. 

The truth is, there’s something fun about joining a mob and sharing a common enemy. Feeling like part of a group and jumping on the bandwagon can be exciting and motivating, but it’s not okay if it’s at the expense of another person, their career and their mental health. 

There is certainly a place for accountability, and there always will be. 

There are situations in which it’s entirely appropriate to lose respect for a person. When serious allegations have evidence and display an individual’s true intentions and behaviour, it’s entirely understandable to no longer wish to associate with them. Certain individuals who openly spew hate are also not worth providing the benefit of the doubt, such as Andrew Tate, who actively causes harm to society through his misogynistic influence on young men. 

But cancelling someone purely because it’s what everyone else is doing without proper evidence to support allegations is destructive. It creates a hivemind excited to destroy an individual’s life and reputation, rather than encouraging critical thinking and empathy. 

Accountability can be a difficult subject because of the variety of factors it involves, such as the seriousness of the allegations, the individual’s response and the situation’s context and evidence. Ultimately, it’s up to you who you choose to believe and who you give your respect to, – but mindlessly cancelling people because it’s the popular thing to do isn’t helpful or constructive in any way. 

It’s time to replace cancel culture with an empathetic mindset that favours accountability over ignorant hatred. 

Coca-Cola’s new Y3000 limited-time flavour is perplexing, and ultimately disappointing. But the idea that led to its creation leaves much to anticipate in the future. 

My discovery of this temporal nectar occurred while mundanely strolling toward the self-checkout at Walmart. The Y3000 bottle’s retro-futuristic label design caught my eye; bright splashes of pink and cyan sprawl across the bottle, reminiscent of an ‘80s fever dream, yet with a strangely timeless quality. The logo has a spiral-distortive effect letting you know it’s from the future. What truly intrigued me was the description section on the label that boldly claimed the cola to be “future-flavored.” Intrigued and somewhat skeptical, I bought the Coca-Cola Y3000, while my girlfriend opted for the zero-sugar version. 

Upon my first sip, Y3000 seemed almost indistinguishable from regular Coke. I confess I was underwhelmed and left wondering if I had fallen for a repackaged sham. However, it was only after a few more sips that the complexity of this beverage began to unravel. 

Words like strawberry, lemon and bubble gum swam through my mind. I still think bubble gum is the best way to describe the flavour, but Y3000 is a taste all its own. Y3000 has a sweet pseudo-fruitiness but lacks the recognizable citric tang of your typical fruit-flavoured drink. One thing I certainly did not taste was the “future.” Despite the label’s claim, the overwhelming flavour of Y3000 is your standard Coca-Cola. Even the iconic dark caramelesque colour is identical. 

My experience with Y3000 zero sugar is a different beast entirely. The dominant flavour of zero sugar is undeniably vanilla, with almost no resemblance to the regular Y3000. Zero sugar has its own creamy texture, devoid of any distinct fruitiness. As far as I can tell, they are completely different Coke flavours sold under the same name. 

While the Y3000 flavour pallete may be intriguing, it begs the question: Is this truly what the future tastes like? For a drink labeled “future-flavoured,” it left me craving more innovation and audacity. A true future-flavored Coke, in my imagination, would transcend the boundaries of consumer brand awareness. The drink might be clear or a different colour entirely. The flavour should be far removed from the familiarity of classic Coke. 

Then again, these musings belong to an optimist, and as we’ve all learned, the future often falls short of our idealistic dreams. It’s often a reconfiguration of the old, presented in unexpected but ultimately familiar ways. 

While researching what the flavour of Y3000 was supposed to be, I learned that the limited-time Coke was co-created using AI-generated responses and human input. Coca-Cola used AI to decide on the ratio of flavour profiles meant to evoke the taste of a “positive future.” Y3000 is only part of Coca-Cola’s Creations line of limited flavours being released this year. 

After learning Y3000 was made using AI, things started to make sense. Y3000 tastes less like an original creation and more so a formulated concoction of existing flavours masked by the signature Coke flavour. The use of AI in this way is a mistake and ultimately sacrifices the advancement of Coca-Cola’s brand, which seems to be the point of Y3000. 

Coca-Cola’s handling of their AI-generated Y3000 flavour speaks volumes. Y3000 aims to encapsulate what the year 3000 will taste like, yet the decision to make it closely resemble the classic Coca-Cola flavour suggests a resistance to fully embracing AI-generated innovation. Humans ultimately prefer human input and would rather stick to the status quo rather than be subject to an inhuman creation. 

Nevertheless, I cannot deny my fascination with Y3000. Despite its failure to live up to the grandiose promise of being “future-flavoured,” it held my attention. Each sip reignited my curiosity about its mystery and complexity, much like my ongoing fascination with the unknowns of the future. 

Y3000 may not be the groundbreaking revolution I hoped for, but it encapsulates the essence of our evolving world; disappointing at times yet brimming with potential. In this sense, Y3000 serves as a perfect metaphor for my outlook on the future. It might not be drastically different from the present, but it’s the subtle nuances and small changes that keep me optimistic. Y3000 leaves me underwhelmed but ultimately hopeful about the evolving flavours of tomorrow. 

Earlier this month, the “unconventional” billionaire and CEO of Patagonia, Yvon Chouinard, declared that he would be giving away the billion-dollar company, and its revenues, to a non-profit organization that is dedicated to mitigating the impacts of climate change and advocating for the environment.

Although Chouinard’s actions seem altruistic, it’s important to consider if the transfer of profits is truly a good thing, and whether or not this is an act of greenwashing to create more traction for the outdoor clothing company.

To fully analyze their most recent announcement, it’s worthwhile to think of the values and actions that the company has stood for and put into practice since the inception of the brand in 1973. If one goes to Patagonia’s website, they put various resources discussing their transparency and sustainability practices on the forefront of the site, to ensure that customers can check on the brand’s environmental footprint, their commitment to durable and repairable fashion, and their contributions to the “1% for the Planet” alliance.

In contrast, the 2021 Fashion Transparency Index, which carefully reviews and analyzes the policies and practices that large fashion brands put into order, gave Patagonia a score of 51 to 60 per cent out of 100, due to their inability to ensure a living wage across all stages of production, and presenting no proof of efforts towards combatting deforestation during the clothing manufacturing process. Despite this, Patagonia is still recognized as better than the most recognizable fashion brands in the market.

Another interesting aspect to consider after Patagonia’s announcement is that the non-profit organization where 98 per cent of Patagonia’s shares are going to go, The Holdfast Collective, can ensue donations for political causes. Because The Holdfast Collective is categorized as a 501(c)(4) organization, this means that donations can be made towards political causes, which in the case of other companies, such as Tripp Lite, has entailed donations towards controversial issues such as anti-abortion efforts in the United States.

Likewise, the choice to donate profits to The Holdfast Collective, rather than exploring the option of selling the company itself, might have been financially motivated. The decision of donating Patagonia’s revenues to the non-profit organization entailed that Chouinard would owe over $17 million in taxes for the donations, which is considerably a lot less than what he would have owed if Patagonia was sold. In that case, Chouinard would have had to pay a hefty $700 million, as well as a gift tax and estate tax. On the other hand, in Chouinard’s statement, he claims that the possibility of selling the company was explored, but he feared that a new owner would not uphold the values that he and his family have always strived for.

Another area of concern is that Patagonia has not clarified yet what The Holdfast Collective truly even does. On Patagonia’s website, they briefly clarify that the collective “…will use every dollar received to fight the environmental crisis, protect nature and biodiversity, and support thriving communities, as quickly as possible.” Other than this short description, there is not any information posted that describes how the collective will mitigate the environmental crisis or any links to their previous work.

Funnily enough, if one tries to look up the non-profit, nothing of substance comes about. The first website that comes up after a quick Google search, is a different non-profit organization of the same name, which has since posted an announcement on its homepage clarifying that they are not the company that Patagonia is working with.

For the time being, it is difficult to determine the outcomes that Patagonia’s transfer of profits will cause, or determine if the environment will see any benefits from the company’s corporate decisions.

One thing to be said though is that it is foolish to think that the production of new goods, as sustainable as they might be, can truly benefit the environment, considering the global issue of clothing waste. At the very least, we can hope that Patagonia’s decision will encourage more conversations about the state of the environment, and the role that companies play within it.