Four months ago I deleted the social media apps from my phone. Except Substack, which at first I didn't consider a social media app (1). I didn't delete my accounts, and I'm expected to review certain X posts at work, which I do. On those occasions I do end up back inside X on my computer, it feels like stepping into a torrent. A deluge of insights, bullshit, bots, and vitriol. I feel that humans aren't meant to experience this—it's meant for machines.

Four months ago I deleted the social media apps from my phone. Except Substack, which at first I didn't consider a social media app (1). I didn't delete my accounts, and I'm expected to review certain X posts at work, which I do. On those occasions I do end up back inside X on my computer, it feels like stepping into a torrent. A deluge of insights, bullshit, bots, and vitriol. I feel that humans aren't meant to experience this—it's meant for machines.

I'd like you to imagine a place—a library—softly aglow with lamplit corners, rich with wood paneling, ornate molding, beautiful paintings, and immaculately bound books. The kind of place we don't build anymore—like a relic of a more wondrous age. Now, imagine this place is not a museum, nor a public library, but a club. Think of the Morgan Library in NYC meets SoHo house. Or simply, the University Club. The Century. Except the main feature of this library is not just exclusivity, but singular...

I'd like you to imagine a place—a library—softly aglow with lamplit corners, rich with wood paneling, ornate molding, beautiful paintings, and immaculately bound books. The kind of place we don't build anymore—like a relic of a more wondrous age. Now, imagine this place is not a museum, nor a public library, but a club. Think of the Morgan Library in NYC meets SoHo house. Or simply, the University Club. The Century. Except the main feature of this library is not just exclusivity, but singular...