Latest news with #Slate
Yahoo
15 hours ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
We Saw Two Sides of Trump Last Week. Who Knows Which One We'll See This Week.
Sign up for the Surge, the newsletter that covers most important political nonsense of the week, delivered to your inbox every Saturday. Hello and welcome back to the Surge, Slate's weekly real-time effort to write a prequel to the 2024 movie Civil War. I'm Ben Mathis-Lilley, and I'll be filling in until Labor Day for Jim Newell, who has taken a temporary leave of absence after seeing that Donald Trump has installed two 88-foot flagpoles on the White House grounds. 'I'll be danged if I can't make a million-foot flagpole,' Jim said, retreating into his garage, where a great deal of clanging, banging, and typing 'how to build a flagpole' into the YouTube search bar has since been heard. God bless America! This week we have, well—frankly, we have some bad stuff. The situation is pretty no-good out there, ranging from extrajudicial-ish harassment of elected officials to the senseless murder of elected officials to Kristi Noem having a mysterious medical event. But first: A potential international catastrophe involving nuclear weapons. (I warned you it was all bad!) Just over a week ago, Israel launched an attack against Iran using missiles, aircraft, and drones. One ostensible purpose of the attack was to set back Iran's nuclear program, which Israel says could soon be capable of producing a nuclear weapon. Another consequence might be the fall of Iran's government. U.S. intelligence analysts, though, disagreed with Israel about Iran's nuclear timeline, and the State Department—which has been conducting ongoing negotiations with the Iranians regarding nuclear issues—said in a statement that the U.S. was 'not involved' in the offensive. Trump, who has now run for president twice on the premise that he is an isolationist who deplores the idea of America becoming entangled in foreign wars, reportedly told Israeli leader Benjamin Netanyahu that the whole thing was a bad idea. (Because of, you know, the potential to turn the entire country into a civil war nightmare zone that incubates brutal terrorism. Not that the United States would know anything about that.) Thank you, Mr. President? Not so fast, actually! Just as it seemed the American ship of state was sailing away from Netanyahu's Folly, Trump suddenly demanded Iran's 'unconditional surrender' in a social media post and began musing about having the U.S. drop a bomb on one of its nuclear facilities. He soon explained to the press, directly contradicting his top intelligence adviser, that he's decided the Iranians actually are close to building a WMD—so close that he wants to abandon the negotiation process that he was committed to until a few days ago. What's the deal? As best as anyone can figure out, Trump got so excited about Fox News' war coverage that it made him want to jump in on the whole war thing himself—and, according to the New York Times, he's now started claiming that he was pushing Netanyahu toward attacking the ayatollahs' regime all along. So, as far as whether the United States does or does not currently support Benjamin Netanyahu's effort to destroy the Iranian government … stay tuned! (This kind of uncertainty about what constitutes national policy on a given day, by the way, is not at all unprecedented in the current White House.) Last Saturday, an estimated 5 million Americans demonstrated across the country at coordinated 'No Kings' rallies. (By the way: This is why the rallies were called that.) It remains to be seen how much this broad activation of liberals, leftists, and people who simply do not like the cut of Trump's jib will translate into political power; the rallies were nonpartisan, and some Democratic officials wary of the possibility that protests could turn violent have kept their distance. That's not true for all Democrats and all expressions of opposition, though. On Tuesday, New York City comptroller and mayoral candidate Brad Lander attended a federal immigration court hearing with the intent of escorting its subject out of the building past Immigration and Customs Enforcement personnel. (ICE agents under Trump have begun waiting outside immigration hearings to snatch individuals whose cases get dismissed by judges at the behest of federal attorneys. Lander and others characterize this as a bait-and-switch tactic that deprives individuals seeking legal status of their due process rights.) The ICE agents, several wearing masks and none bearing visible identification, responded by pushing Lander against a wall, handcuffing him, and detaining him for more than three hours on (dubious-seeming) accusations of 'assaulting law enforcement.' (He was released without charges.) It was the third time in the last month or so that an elected Democrat has been manhandled and handcuffed by federal personnel. On Wednesday, the Supreme Court issued a ruling in United States vs. Skrmetti, one of the most high-stakes cases of its current term. Chief Justice John Roberts wrote the decision, which states that Tennessee's law prohibiting trans minors from receiving 'gender-affirming' medical treatment is constitutional. The most conservative wing of the court seemed to want to do this while further opening the gates to legalized discrimination against transgender adults across the country. Roberts did not go that far—but in order to walk that line, he had to argue Tennessee's law against receiving medical care that accords with one's gender identity does not have anything to do with gender identity. Trans rights advocates were furious, comparing the ruling to Plessy v. Ferguson, which created the 'separate but equal' doctrine justifying Jim Crow; state-level legislative efforts to strip rights from transgender adults, meanwhile, will continue. As Slate legal eagle Mark Joseph Stern puts it, the Roberts decision is an attempt at compromise that will do nothing to settle the issue, instead inviting more bitter conflict. Sound familiar? Like, say, most of what has happened in American politics since roughly Obama's inauguration? On Saturday morning, a 57-year-old Minnesota man who acquaintances have described as having right-wing Christian views apparently decided, like so many other Americans in recent years, that he needed to kill some liberals. He then allegedly shot two Democratic state legislators and their spouses in their homes, killing one—state Rep. Melissa Hortman—and her husband. On Sunday, MAGA Republican Utah Sen. Mike Lee posted on Twitter/X that the deaths were an example of 'what happens when Marxists don't get their way' (?) and shared an ostensibly humorous (?) meme referring to the shootings as 'Nightmare on Waltz [sic] Street.' (Democrat and former vice presidential candidate Tim Walz is Minnesota's governor.) Lee eventually deleted the posts after being confronted about them in Congress by Minnesota Sen. Tina Smith. But this, unfortunately, will probably not be the last time a right-wing elected official's first reaction to a deadly attack on one of his colleagues is to use it as fodder for glib, misleading online juvenilia. If it seems like this newsletter has been a bit slanted against the Republican Party, that's only because the GOP has been responsible for the bulk of recent headlines; there are plenty of snarky and deeply disillusioned things we could say about Democrats, too, if given the chance! And we do have one good chance this week in the person of Ken Martin, a former DNC vice chair who became head of the Democratic National Committee in February. (Martin, coincidentally, is also from Minnesota.) The idea behind picking Martin instead of younger, buzzier Wisconsin state party chair Ben Wikler was that he had the kind of longtime insider relationships that would allow everyone in the party to get moving forward quickly without any unnecessary friction or factionalism. Unfortunately, factional friction is pretty much all that Martin has presided over since. His tenure was sent sideways immediately by a controversy over now-former DNC member and Parkland shooting survivor David Hogg's efforts to fund primary challengers against some Democratic House incumbents; this week, news broke that two major labor leaders have resigned their DNC roles over conflicts with Martin whose nature is unclear. This week, Politico and the Times and the Post all published stories in which Martin's various critics in the party dumped on him, mostly anonymously, for being weak and ineffectual. Does any of this matter for 2026? Probably not, given that Republicans are currently pursuing a sort of super-trifecta of unpopular disaster policies. But it does not necessarily give one confidence that the Democratic Party is going to be capable of getting the American national project back on track the next time it holds power. In the midst of Lander's confrontation with ICE, the fallout from the murders in Minneapolis, and Trump getting all coy and playful about whether or not he is going to have the world's largest conventional bomb dropped on some nuclear stuff, news started circulating that the U.S. secretary of homeland security (Noem) had suddenly been rushed to a Washington hospital. What the hell, we thought. Sometimes we can't even with all of this. It turned out, according to DHS, that Noem had just experienced an 'allergic reaction' (to what, they didn't say) and is fine. Nonetheless: Sometimes we can't even with all of this!
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Health
- Yahoo
Some people are turning to nicotine gum and patches to treat long COVID brain fog
Some people with long COVID are turning to an unlikely remedy: nicotine gum and patches. Though typically used to quit smoking, nicotine is now being explored as a possible way to ease symptoms such as brain fog and fatigue. One such case, detailed in a recent article in Slate, describes a woman who found significant relief from debilitating brain fog after trying low-dose nicotine gum. Her experience, while anecdotal, aligns with findings from a small but interesting study from Germany. The study involved four participants suffering from symptoms related to long COVID. The researcher administered low-dose nicotine patches once daily and noticed marked improvements in the participants' symptoms. Tiredness, weakness, shortness of breath and trouble with exercise rapidly improved – by day six at the latest. For those who had lost their sense of taste or smell, it took longer, but these senses came back fully within 16 days. Although it's not possible to draw definitive conclusions on cause and effect from such a small study, the results could pave the way for larger studies. Get your news from actual experts, straight to your inbox. Sign up to our daily newsletter to receive all The Conversation UK's latest coverage of news and research, from politics and business to the arts and sciences. While some people slowly recover from COVID, others remain unwell for years, especially those who became sick before vaccines were available. Between 3% and 5% of people continue to experience symptoms months, and sometimes even years, after the initial infection. In the UK, long COVID affects around 2.8% of the population. Brain fog and other neurological symptoms of long COVID are thought to result from a combination of factors – including inflammation, reduced oxygen to the brain, vascular damage and disruption to the blood-brain barrier. Research continues as there is still a lot we don't know about this condition. The researcher in the German study thinks that long COVID symptoms, such as fatigue, brain fog and mood changes, might partly be due to problems with a brain chemical called acetylcholine, a neurotransmitter. This chemical is important for many functions in the body, including memory, attention and regulating mood. Normally, acetylcholine works by attaching to special 'docking sites' on cells called nicotinic acetylcholine receptors, which help send signals in the brain and nervous system. But the COVID virus may interfere with these receptors, either by blocking them or disrupting how they work. When this happens, the brain may not be able to send signals properly, which could contribute to the mental and physical symptoms seen in long COVID. So why would nicotine potentially be useful? Nicotine binds to the same receptors and might help restore normal signalling, but the idea that it displaces the virus directly is still speculative. Nicotine is available in different forms, such as patches, gum, lozenges and sprays. Using nicotine through the skin, for example, with a patch, keeps the amount in the blood steady without big spikes. Because of this, people in the study didn't seem to develop a dependence on it. Chewing nicotine gum or using a lozenge can cause spikes in nicotine levels, since the nicotine is absorbed gradually through the lining of the mouth. But unlike a patch, which delivers a steady dose, the user has more control over how much nicotine they take in when using gum or lozenges. There are mixed results on the effectiveness of nicotine on cognitive functions such as memory and concentration. But most studies agree that it can enhance attention. Larger studies are needed to gauge the effectiveness of nicotine specifically for long COVID symptoms. Despite its benefits, nicotine is not without risks. Even in gum or patch form, it can cause side-effects like nausea, dizziness, increased heart rate and higher blood pressure. Some of these stimulant effects on heart rate may be useful for people with long COVID symptoms such as exercise intolerance. But this needs to be closely monitored. Long-term use may also affect heart health. For non-smokers, the risk of developing a nicotine dependency is a serious concern. So are there any options to treat long COVID symptoms? There are some studies looking at guanfacine in combination with N-acetylcysteine, which have shown improvement in brain fog in small groups of people. There has been at least one clinical trial exploring nicotine for mild cognitive impairment in older adults, though not in the context of long COVID. Given that anecdotal reports and small studies continue to draw attention, it is likely that targeted trials are in development. The main recommendations by experts are to implement lifestyle measures. Slowly increasing exercise, having a healthy diet, avoiding alcohol, drugs and smoking, sleeping enough, practising mindfulness and doing things that stimulate the brain are all thought to help brain fog. For those grappling with long COVID or persistent brain fog, the idea of using nicotine patches or gum might be tempting. But experts caution against self-medicating with nicotine. The lack of standardised dosing and the potential for addiction and unknown long-term effects make it a risky experiment. While nicotine isn't a cure and may carry real risks, its potential to ease long COVID symptoms warrants careful study. For now, those battling brain fog should approach it with caution – and always under medical supervision. What's clear, though, is the urgent need for more research into safe, effective treatments for the lingering effects of COVID. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article. Dipa Kamdar does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Time of India
5 days ago
- Politics
- Time of India
Operation Iran a flop: Trump's boastful Tehran strike may have completely missed the mark despite precision
The United States' attack on Iran was a striking display of US military power , but in reality, they may have missed the most crucial target, according to a report. What was hailed by US president Donald Trump and his aides as a decisive blow to Iran's nuclear ambitions now appears far less effective than initially claimed, as per a Slate report. Operation Iran: Powerful Strike, Uncertain Impact While, the US operation relied heavily on seven B-2 stealth bombers that dropped massive bunker-busting bombs on Iran's Fordo uranium enrichment facility, which is almost 300 feet deep inside a mountain, according to the report. Even satellite images showed that the bombs struck their target, even breaking through ventilation shafts, as per a Slate report. But experts now doubt whether the bombs penetrated deep enough to completely destroy the underground nuclear site in Iran, according to the report. ALSO READ: NYC Primary 2025: Who will win the NYC mayoral primary? Millions bet live on Zohran Mamdani and Andrew Cuomo in tight mayoral race Iran's Uranium Possibly Moved Before US Attack Adding to the uncertainty, Israeli officials suggested that Iran may have anticipated the strike and moved much of its enriched uranium before the United States military even attacked it, as per the Slate report. Before the attack, satellite images reportedly showed that 16 cargo trucks were visible at Fordo, raising the possibility that Iran was evacuating its nuclear material, as per reported by Slate. The director of the International Atomic Energy Agency, Rafael Mariano Grossi, revealed that there was a possibility that the Iranian trucks might have been removing the uranium from Fordo, as per the Slate report. While, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Dan Caine, pointed out that the goal of the attack was to 'severely degrade' Iran's nuclear capability and that it was 'way too early to comment' on how much damage the bombs had inflicted, as reported by Slate. Live Events ALSO READ: Military officials feared Trump would leak Iran strike — so they faked him out with decoy plans Mystery Over Uranium's Location According to the Slate report, officials have also now admitted that the exact location of the uranium is not yet known, and it is also unclear how Israeli or US forces have planned to find the highly enriched uranium. Iranian Retaliation on US and Escalation Risk After the US strike, Iran also launched several missile attacks on the United States air base in Qatar, which is the largest American military facility in the Middle East, reported Slate. This has led to speculation that Trump has the potential to launch another attack on Iran, which will deepen the United States' involvement in the ongoing war between Israel and Iran, according to the report. ALSO READ: Shocking accusation: JD Vance hints Iran hid Uranium after alleged tip-off — from Donald Trump? Mixed Messages From Trump Administration on Goals and Retaliation While, US vice president JD Vance and secretary of defense Pete Hegseth had tried to protect against a large-scale retaliation, as they said that this had been a one-off measure, and pointed out that the US president wanted to bring the war to a swift end, and that the only goal of the attack was preventing Iran's nuclear ambitions, not 'regime change,' as reported by Slate. However, Trump posted a different message on his social media site Truth Social, as he said, "It's not politically correct to use the term, 'Regime Change,' but if the current Iranian Regime is unable to MAKE IRAN GREAT AGAIN, why wouldn't there be a Regime change??? MIGA!!!," as quoted in the report. FAQs Did the US attack destroy Iran's nuclear program? It's unclear. While bombs hit the target, experts doubt they destroyed the underground facility fully, and Iran may have moved much of the highly enriched uranium before the US strike on the Middle Eastern country. Why do officials think Iran moved its uranium? Satellite images showed trucks at the site just before the strike, suggesting Iran could have evacuated the highly enriched uranium, as per the report.
Car and Driver
5 days ago
- Automotive
- Car and Driver
2027 Slate Truck EV vs. 2025 Ford Maverick: How They'll Compare
As big trucks continue to get bigger and more expensive, some room has opened up at the other end of the pickup spectrum for manageably sized haulers. Ford has proved this with the success of its Maverick pickup, and newcomer Slate hopes to capitalize on the desire to go small with its aptly and simply named Truck EV. Much about the Slate will be simple, in fact; it will come just one way from the factory, sparsely equipped with only the essentials, letting owners customize the look and functionality through a wide array of accessories. VIEW PHOTOS Ford 2025 Ford Maverick. There are no other baby electric pickups on the market right now, so the Slate's closest analogue is the Ford Maverick. Based on what Slate has shared about its debut product, we've compared the specs on these mini trucks to see what the matchup will look like when the startup's offering hits production, currently planned for late 2026. Ford 2025 Ford Maverick. Slate 2027 Slate Truck prototype. Powertrains Today, Ford sells the Maverick with a choice of two powertrains. The base setup is a 191-hp hybrid connected to a CVT and front-wheel drive, with all-wheel drive available. For a little more, you can get a 250-hp turbocharged four-cylinder that uses an eight-speed automatic and comes standard with AWD. In our testing, a front-drive hybrid version needed 7.7 seconds to hit 60 mph, while the turbo four did the same in a snappy 5.9 seconds. The Slate Truck's initial solitary spec includes a single electric motor good for 201 horsepower and powering the rear wheels. (We have to imagine there's an all-wheel-drive powertrain in the plans at some point, but this single-motor layout should help Slate meet its thrifty goal for the launch product.) Slate claims a preliminary 0-to-60-mph time of 8.0 seconds. And that's with the 47-kWh standard-capacity battery; if you opt for the 75-kWh pack, which adds 302 pounds to the Truck's 3600-pound starting weight, acceleration is bound to be slower. Assuming things stay the same, the Ford will have the accelerative advantage. Fuel Economy These two little guys operate on different fuel, so examining their energy use is a bit of a Gala-to-Fuji comparison. What makes it even more difficult is that Slate hasn't shared any energy-consumption estimates for the Truck. All we know is that the small-pack version has a projected range of 150 miles and Trucks with the larger-capacity battery are forecast to go 240 miles on a charge. Range is less of a consideration with the gas-fed Maverick. In its shortest-range configuration—the new-for-2025 Lobo, which comes with the turbo engine—it'll still do 396 miles on a tank of fuel. The most miserly Maverick, the front-drive hybrid, has EPA ratings of 43 mpg in the city and 35 on the highway, while the least efficient of the bunch, the Tremor, comes in at 21/27 mpg city/highway. If you want an EV, you'll go one way; if not, you'll be visiting gas stations. Ford 2025 Ford Maverick. Slate 2027 Slate Truck. Interior and Cargo It's inside where things get really interesting for the Slate. From the factory, the Truck is configured as a two-seat, single-cab pickup with a five-foot bed. But Slate will sell two kits to turn it into an SUV—one with a boxy rear end and the other with a fastback roofline. The kit comes with a three-person rear bench seat, a roll bar, seat belts, and everything else needed to transform the Truck into an SUV. Slate hasn't shared full interior dimensions yet, but we know its frunk should measure 7 cubic feet and its bed has a claimed volume of 35 cubes. The Maverick, on the other hand, starts and ends as a four-door, five-passenger pickup. (A Maverick in SUV form is called a Bronco Sport.) The Ford's wheelbase is about a foot longer than the truly diminutive Slate's, and it's a couple feet longer overall, but its bed is about a half-foot shy of the EV's. That said, the Maverick can carry more than two people while remaining a pickup, whereas the Slate makes you choose one or the other. Again, different strokes for different (numbers of) folks. Ford Ford Maverick. Sean C. Rice | Car and Driver Slate Truck. Towing Slate says the Truck will have a towing capacity of about 1000 pounds. The Maverick, on the other hand, has a 2000-pound tow rating in standard form, while an available Tow package ups the max to 4000. If you plan to pull anything more than a toy or small enclosed trailer, the Ford is the pick. Price With all of the fluctuations that Maverick pricing has seen over the years (remember when it launched with a sub-$23,000 base MSRP?), there's a good chance that number will be higher once the Slate Truck arrives. There's also a high probability that the $7500 federal tax credit that Slate likes to tout will no longer be a thing, but even then the startup automaker should have the lower price. As things stand now, the cheapest 2025 Maverick goes for $29,840. Slate is promising a pre-incentive price of around $27,000. It's not a huge potential savings, especially when you consider the Truck does without a sound system, power windows, and paint. Regardless, we like choice. We're looking forward to the coming mini-truck wars and seeing how buyers end up equipping their blank Slates post-purchase. David Gluckman Contributing Editor Ever since David was a wee Car and Driver intern, he has kept a spreadsheet listing all the vehicles he's driven and tested. David really likes spreadsheets. He can parallel-park a school bus and once drove a Lincoln Town Car 63 mph in reverse. After taking a break from journalism to work on autonomous vehicles, he's back writing for this and other automotive publications. When David's not searching for the perfect used car, you can find him sampling the latest in gimmicky, limited-edition foodstuffs. Read full bio
Atlantic
6 days ago
- Politics
- Atlantic
Americans Are Tired of Choice
Among President Donald Trump's lizard-brain intuitions is that Americans are overwhelmed by choice. This exhaustion is a strangely underexplored reason for his appeal; it may even help explain why his heavy use of executive power (verging on what some experts have no problem calling authoritarianism) is often met with shrugs and blank stares. Just to take one surprising example: Last month, Trump swept away worries about his tariff war raising the cost of an array of consumer products by suggesting that children didn't need so many toys ('I don't think a beautiful baby girl needs—that's 11 years old—needs 30 dolls')—to which a chorus on the anti-consumerist left responded, Yeah, you're probably right. Although most observers interpreted Trump's comments as a gaffe (because what president since Jimmy Carter has suggested that Americans should scrimp?), the journalist Alissa Quart wrote that Trump had 'unwittingly' put his finger on a real problem, that 'American kids are being overly defined by material goods and they and we need to buy less.' Writing in Slate, Rebecca Onion, also holding her nose, admitted that 'American parenthood is an intense encounter with the excesses of the consumer economy, where the acquisition of stuff feels like it's not in your control.' Much of Trump's schtick—the aspiration to wear a crown (literally), the assertion that ' I alone can fix it,' the ostentatious governing through reward and punishment—can be seen as a leader offering his subjects relief from the burden of making decisions. This is not to say that Trump has developed such a supreme case for himself as daddy, but rather that his popularity reveals the readiness of Americans to turn to one. The desire to have someone else choose might have to do with just how valueless our many options have become. Think of the expansive selection of 'mid' TV shows to pick from on Netflix, or the nearly infinite number of possible sexual partners that fly by on Tinder, or the agony of selecting a candidate at the polls (among either, usually, two flawed politicians or, as in New York City's ranked-choice Democratic primary, so many candidates that consensus feels unreachable). The notion that Trump is the wrong answer to the right question has become something of a truism for liberals. But perhaps he is, in this unintended way, pointing us to the end of 'choice idolatry.' This is the phrase that the historian Sophia Rosenfeld uses in her recent book, The Age of Choice, which sets out to explain how freedom came to be synonymous with having an endless number of possible doors to open, and how wrapped up our sense of self is with the ability 'to make one's own personally satisfying choices, with a minimum of impediments, from among a range of options.' She uses idolatry for a distinct reason, suggesting that we might be reaching a golden-calf moment: As shiny and captivating as choice has been for so long, it is revealing itself as a hollow source of identity and a distraction from what really matters. Rosenfeld, who teaches at the University of Pennsylvania, calls herself a ' historian of the taken-for-granted.' (A previous book of hers traced the history of common sense.) The presumption that freedom equals choice is the kind of fixed notion she is primed to deconstruct. To think of humans as a species that revels in possibility—unlike, say, anteaters or mice, who are not exactly seeking out novelty—seems self-evident. But Rosenfeld's book demonstrates just how recent and culturally constructed this definition is, a seeping consequence of social and psychological developments over the past 300 years that gradually saturated the way people came to see themselves. Ceasing to think of freedom as the possession of many options would be no small rupture. What might take its place? Abandoning a consumerist worldview might not be the worst thing for humanity, and for Americans in particular—it might lead to a sturdier value system, maybe one more concerned with the common good. But the resulting vacuum could just as easily be filled by Trump's idea of freedom, one based on power and sovereignty over others, and on screwing the other guy before he screws you. The cruelty of this vision almost demands a reinvigoration of choice, an effort to salvage what had made this human impulse so liberating to begin with. For Rosenfeld, the first inklings of our choosiness could be glimpsed in Western Europe in the late 17th century. Picture a woman walking into a store that sells calicos, which were ornamental pieces of cotton from India printed with varied and colorful designs of flowers, birds, and the like. These were some of the first pieces of frippery available, sold at a price point that made them accessible to more than just the rich. No longer was the act of buying goods one of provisioning, asking for flour or butter from behind the counter. Now the products were on display, Rosenfeld writes, 'hung from hooks inside shops or on the side of entranceways in enticing folds that stretched down to the floor in a simulation of women's copious skirts.' This was not mere sustenance; it was seduction. During the century that followed, choice exploded. Soon, sales catalogs laying out the choicest wares were read for pleasure, presenting opportunities to fantasize. A new style of eating establishment, by the 1790s exemplified in the Parisian bistro, offered expanding menus of meats and sauces and drinks in hundreds of possible variations. The habits of mind that formed around these activities altered the way people thought about their lives. This is Rosenfeld's central contention. But shopping was soon perceived to have a moral cost; it was seen, she writes, 'as emancipatory and as selfish and indulgent.' An anxiety attached itself to choice even as the rituals of consumption were becoming ingrained—the coveting, the browsing, the haggling, the price comparison. Shopping guides emerged to help guard against making bad choices. The Tea Purchaser's Guide; or, The Lady and Gentleman's Tea Table and Useful Companion, in the Knowledge and Choice of Teas, authored anonymously by 'A Friend to the Public,' could be considered a kind of 18th-century Wirecutter. Such compendia were created to avoid choosing according to 'fancy' or 'whim,' two vices that made their appearance in novels of the time, as did a new stock female character: the coquette. This was the woman who exercises her power to choose by browsing extensively but also withholding a decision. She teases. As Rosenfeld emphasizes throughout her history, such excesses were often projected onto women, who were accused of causing 'social and moral decay' through their frivolity and unexpected economic power. The shopping revolution was as significant as the more obvious political revolts that occurred around the same time. The philosophers of liberalism and the authors of new constitutions may have provided a language for talking about individual freedom, but it was the consumer's habit, in Rosenfeld's framing, that eventually trickled down and transformed political systems into expressions of personal preference. Because of the dangers of unhindered possibility, the expansion of choice came with guardrails, rules meant to stave off anarchy and social disorder. The use of dance cards at 19th-century balls—another of Rosenfeld's charmingly idiosyncratic examples—expanded women's agency in choosing a mate. The little booklets allowed a woman to create a menu of options, but they also precluded a free-for-all—it was highly improper, for example, to dance with the same partner for more than a waltz or two. With the introduction of the secret ballot, in the Yorkshire town of Pontrefract in 1872, choice idolatry conquered its last frontier: voting. No longer would elections be noisy, populous affairs in which candidates would treat voters to food and drink in a shared good time for all. No longer would political choice be the result of something like a public caucus, a ritual that mostly just codified already existing social alliances. The secret ballot began as an 'experiment,' as one local paper put it, in which one was to go 'alone and unbefriended to a compartment,' in the words of another, and indicate one's favored candidate. This solitary physical act soon became, Rosenfeld writes, 'what modern freedom is supposed to feel like.' The secret ballot became the most fundamental of rights in a democracy. Attention turned to the question of who should secure this right, and understandably so: Women and minority groups understood its power, even as an emblem (recall Afghan women in 2014 proudly raising their ink-stained fingers to indicate that they had taken part). Yet even before that first ballot was shoved into a box, some saw the shift from the communal act of voting, messy as it had been, to the purely individual as carrying its own problems. Writing in 1861, John Stuart Mill, a champion of liberalism, worried about what would be let loose in the secrecy of the voting booth, where an elector might be encouraged to 'use a public function for his own interests, pleasures or caprice.' Voters would think of their choices as a way 'to please themselves,' or as an expression of their 'personal interests, or class interest, or some mean feeling in his own mind.' The whole process, Mill argued, would move voting away from a referendum on a community's values and toward an act of whimsy, like browsing from an array of calico clothes. The 20th century only further solidified the idea of choice as the paramount freedom, which also meant shedding some of the guardrails of earlier eras. Many economists came to perceive an individual as the sum of their preferences, a choosing machine, Homo economicus, acting rationally and always maximizing the collective good through their own self-interest. The celebration of market-based individualism hit a peak when Milton Friedman's neoliberalism triumphed in the 1980s. Friedman once wrote that 'the freedom of people to control their own lives in accordance with their own values is the surest way to achieve the full potential of a great society.' At the same time, paradoxically, the 20th century provided much reason for skepticism about how much control humans really have over their choices. Freud revealed the subterranean sources of our desires; advertisers manipulate our taste for breakfast cereals as well as presidents. In this century, at least to a behavioral psychologist such as the late Daniel Kahneman, even the question of free will seems unsettled. This insecurity is particularly glaring in a world of proliferating algorithms that serve us more of what they predict we will want and AIs that offer to do the thinking for us. If choice is the 'useless and exhausted idiom' that Rosenfeld suggests it might be by the end of her history, then maybe the concept is worth abandoning altogether. Doing so, she writes, would be akin to asking 'if we are done with capitalism and democracy and their special offspring, human rights'—if we are ready, that is, to throw out the dominant principle of the contemporary world. I don't think we are. But if choice has indeed become an end unto itself, absent a set of principles for actually making choices, then something has gone awry. Abortion rights is a telling test case. In the late 1960s, feminists began using the slogan 'My Body, My Choice' to argue for the legalization of abortion in order to make it seem to be a self-evident right: Americans would never stand in the way of freedom, and to be free was to have choices. But what is clearer now, after the Supreme Court's Dobbs decision, which overturned Roe v. Wade, is that the pro-choice argument was fragile. It gave conservatives the chance to challenge the consumerist-sounding appeal to 'choice' with the more moral-sounding appeal of 'life.' But even more damning are critiques of this framing from the left. The decision to rely on 'choice,' Rosenfeld writes, made access to abortion 'solely a civil right, a right to fulfill individual desires without government interference, not a social or economic right framed in response to essential needs or a matter of social justice.' She explains that this made abortion seem like 'something for sale exclusively to those who had the resources—financial, familial, and psychological—to select it in a reproductive marketplace.' Is it possible to make an argument for abortion without resorting to choice idolatry? I began to hear an inkling of this possibility during the recent presidential campaign. Access to abortion was presented not as a matter of personal bodily autonomy but as a public-health concern. In one memorable speech, Michelle Obama painted a dire picture of what would happen to women if, because of abortion bans, they didn't get 'the care' they needed; to the male partners of these women, she said, 'You will be the one pleading for somebody, anybody, to do something.' Kamala Harris, in her one debate with Trump, also turned to images of medical distress—of 'pregnant women who want to carry a pregnancy to term suffering from a miscarriage, being denied care in an emergency room.' Rather than appealing to women's personal agency, Harris invoked other values: communal care and well-being. What I picked up in this tonal shift was a realization among liberals, conscious or not, that just arguing for having choices was not enough. It matters how you choose and what you choose. What matters is the moral choice in question, the stakes—in this case, what we value more: the health and happiness of the mother, or the existence of her fetus. This is a harder debate to have, and it demands making a more profound argument than one simply in favor of choice, but it is also more rewarding. In his 1946 lecture 'Existentialism Is a Humanism,' Jean-Paul Sartre compared making moral choices to 'the construction of a work of art.' The decisions you make at every juncture are what make you. This is as true of a person's life as it is of a society. 'Freedom could be reconfigured as the chance to do what one ought rather than simply what one desired,' Rosenfeld writes. Releasing ourselves from choice idolatry doesn't have to mean letting someone else—an imperial president, for instance—decide for us. It means separating good choices from bad, understanding these categories as the ones that matter, delineating them alongside our fellow citizens. This, rather than just being drunk on options, should be the sweet slog of modernity.
