Well, after decades of feverish talk about “economic diversification,” the grand result on the Gulf Coast seems to be… a couple of Mega Disneylands ringed by tax havens so indulgent they make the Cayman Islands look like a parish co-op, all topped off with a property bubble so bloated it’s practically a Zeppelin. And now, after all this pageantry, the penny drops: real diversification would require trusting their own population and unleashing actual entrepreneurial ingenuity.
That, of course, is a bridge too far. Trusting the population? What an obscene suggestion. So they retreat to the one thing that has always worked: sucking hydrocarbons from the ground and trading them for air-conditioned opulence and imported Ferraris. As long as there’s oil beneath the sand, they can keep their gilded terrariums running, these shimmering fantasy worlds built on geological luck and migrant labor.
When the oil runs out, the whole thing collapses like a soufflé left out in the desert sun. Problem solved, right? Well… almost. There’s still shale, and there’s the small matter of a global recession breathing down everyone’s neck, and oil stubbornly refusing to climb above two digits despite the most crisis-ridden planet since the Second World War. The music will stop eventually—but for now, the band keeps playing in the desert ballroom.