The curated dispatches from the Economist, Monocle, Bloomberg, Semafor, Neue Zürcher Zeitung Geopolitics and ArtNews newsletters from July 3-6, 2025, present a collage of a world teetering between fragmentation and hyper-connectivity, nostalgia and unnerving novelty. They paint a picture of a global order being actively rewritten, where the anxieties of a "soft" art market exist alongside the stark geopolitics of reactivated prisons and trade wars. These snippets are not merely news; they are cultural, economic, and social artifacts that reveal deep-seated tensions in our collective psyche. We see a yearning for the tangible, the authentic, and the communal—in the Italian bagno or a tech-free Danish amusement park—clashing with the inexorable rise of the artificial, the algorithmic, and the abstract, from AI-generated fashion models to the ethereal, yet world-altering, value of Bitcoin ETFs. This analysis will explore three dominant, interwoven themes that emerge from this collage: the crisis of the tangible in an increasingly virtual world, the reconfiguration of power through narrative and space, and the splintering of the global economic consensus.

These present a kaleidoscope of contemporary phenomena—Italian beach clubs as social equalizers, Seville’s ancient cooling technologies, North Korea’s resort ambitions, and the art market’s slump, among others. These snippets are not mere fragments but threads in a broader tapestry of cultural identity, economic transformation, and policy experimentation. They reflect humanity’s perennial struggle to balance tradition with innovation, community with capital, and heritage with progress. Drawing on scholarly insights and literary resonances, this commentary explores these dynamics, revealing a world in flux yet anchored by enduring questions of meaning and belonging.

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The newsletters’ vivid vignettes—from the social egalitarianism of Italian bagni to Seville’s reinvention of ancient qanats, and from North Korea’s new coastal resort to the shifting dynamics of the global art market—invite us to consider how spaces and spectacles both reflect and reshape cultural norms, economic imperatives, policy choices, and social relations. In each case, we see a tension between tradition and innovation, between communal belonging and commodification, and between local specificity and global forces.

Seville’s use of qanats—ancient subterranean aqueducts—to combat heatwaves exemplifies a fusion of historical wisdom and contemporary necessity. Amid Europe’s scorching summers, with temperatures hitting 46°C, this initiative aligns with Elinor Ostrom’s work on sustainable resource management, where local knowledge governs the commons effectively (Ostrom, 1990). The Cartuja Qanat and Life Water Cool projects not only cool the city but also reclaim water, a scarce resource, reflecting what Hassan Fathy called “architecture for the poor”—practical, vernacular solutions for harsh climates (Fathy, 1973).

Turning to Seville’s heat-mitigation strategies, we find an intriguing juxtaposition of ancient and hypermodern infrastructures. The modern qanats and run-off channels of the Cartuja Qanat and Life Water Cool schemes speak to Elinor Ostrom’s (1990) work on the governance of common-pool resources: by reclaiming rainwater through subterranean aqueducts and public fountains, the city cultivates a collective stewardship of scarce water in an era of climatic precarity (Self, 2025, p. 8) . At the same time, the naming of heatwaves through ProMeteo Sevilla signifies an emergent biopolitics of climate, recalling Foucault’s (1986) analysis of how states deploy classification and knowledge to regulate populations—a register that is at once infrastructural and psychological.

Seville’s Cartuja Qanat and Life Water Cool initiatives illustrate how cities are turning to historical precedents to address contemporary crises of climate and water scarcity. Such infrastructural adaptation resonates with David Harvey’s argument that urbanism must be understood as a process of metabolic exchange between human settlements and their environments (Harvey, 2014). By reviving subterranean water channels first developed in arid Persia, Sevillanos are weaving together ecological memory and cutting‑edge engineering—a strategy Harris et al. (2020) identify as essential to resilient urban futures. Yet these infrastructural fixes also carry political valences: naming heatwaves for public health, as in ProMeteo Sevilla, recalls Foucault’s concern with governmental technologies of self and population (Foucault, 2007), reminding us that climate adaptation is as much about cultivating civic awareness as it is about concrete and pipes.

This adaptation evokes Jorge Luis Borges’ Ficciones, where the past loops into the future: “The future is inevitable and precise, but it may not occur” (Borges, 1962, p. 72). Seville’s qanats suggest inevitability—climate change demands action—but precision lies in reviving the old to meet the new. Economically, it’s a model of resilience, reducing reliance on energy-intensive air conditioning. Socially, it fosters awareness, as with ProMeteo Sevilla’s heatwave naming, echoing Roland Barthes’ semiotics: naming is an act of power, shaping perception (Barthes, 1972). Seville thus offers a blueprint for a warming world, blending policy innovation with cultural memory.

On a more playful note, the arrival of “resort season” in North Korea—made visible by the image of Kim Jong-un presiding over a water slide—invites us to ponder the politics of spectacle under authoritarianism (Bound, 2025, p. 16). Hannah Arendt (1958) warned that totalitarianism thrives on the theatrical; here, the resort becomes a heterotopia in Michel Foucault’s (1986) sense, a mirror that both reveals and conceals the contradictions of the regime. Yet even in this caricature, we glimpse the global circulation of leisure practices and the ideological work they perform.

The portrait of Kim Jong-un inaugurating the Wonsan Kalma resort raises questions about the performance of authoritarian power through leisure. Guy Debord’s theory of the Society of the Spectacle finds a striking illustration here: the water slide becomes a symbol of regime legitimacy, projecting an image of prosperity to domestic and international audiences alike (Debord, 1967). Yet beneath the smiling dignitaries lies a calculated effort to harness tourism as both soft power and revenue stream, recalling Chomsky and Herman’s critique of state propaganda that co‑opts cultural events for political ends (Chomsky & Herman, 1988). The resort thus becomes a site where modern authoritarian governance confronts the global logic of hospitality and consumption.

Robert Bound’s wry take on North Korea’s Wonsan Kalma coastal tourist zone—complete with Kim Jong-un at a water slide—reveals a surreal intersection of authoritarianism and leisure. This venture, juxtaposed against global resort trends, exemplifies “authoritarian resilience,” where regimes adapt to sustain control (Nathan, 2003). Economically, it’s a bid for foreign currency; culturally, it’s propaganda, projecting normalcy amid isolation. The image of Kim, suited yet seaside, recalls Kafka’s The Castle—absurd authority cloaked in banality: “He was accepted, but only in appearance” (Kafka, 1926, p. 45).

Policy-wise, this aligns with military Keynesianism, where state investments in spectacle bolster economic and political stability (Baran & Sweezy, 1966). Yet, the social implication is stark: a curated facade for a malnourished populace. Michel Foucault’s concept of the panopticon fits here—a society watched and watching, where leisure becomes surveillance (Foucault, 1977). North Korea’s resort season is less about relaxation than reinforcing power, a dark mirror to the commodified escapes of the West.

Alexis Self’s piece on Italian beach clubs, or “bagni,” challenges Northern European critiques by framing them as civilizing spaces rooted in Italian values of comfort, cleanliness, and performativity. The bagno emerges as a cultural artifact, a stage where sprezzatura—the art of effortless grace—and bella figura—the presentation of a good image—unfold (Burke, 1995). Here, swimming trunks level social hierarchies, echoing Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of social capital, where physical spaces facilitate networks transcending economic divides (Bourdieu, 1986). Unlike the exclusive clubs of Northern Europe, the bagno’s accessibility for a modest fee suggests a democratic ethos, albeit one mediated by commerce.

Alexis Self’s defense of the bagno as a “civilising space” underscores the ways in which leisure infrastructures can function as sites of communal belonging, echoing Henri Lefebvre’s notion of the “right to the city,” where urban inhabitants claim shared spaces against privatizing forces (Lefebvre, 1991). Rather than an affront to aesthetics, the bagno emerges as a heterotopia in Michel Foucault’s sense—a space simultaneously ordinary and other, where social hierarchies are momentarily suspended beneath umbrellas and alongside shared deckchairs (Foucault, 1986). Moreover, this communal performance of comfort challenges Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital: here, the shared display of sun-cream and swimwear becomes a democratic ritual that unites apartment dwellers across class divides (Bourdieu, 1984).

This resonates with Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities, where Marco Polo describes places that reveal a society’s soul: “The city… does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand” (Calvino, 1974, p. 11). The bagno contains Italy’s past—its communal traditions—while adapting to modern leisure. Yet, the tension with activists opposing privatization hints at a philosophical divide: Is this a triumph of shared culture or a capitulation to capitalist enclosure? Hannah Arendt’s reflections on the public sphere come to mind—spaces of appearance where individuals engage as equals (Arendt, 1958). The bagno, in its hybridity, teeters between public good and private gain, a microcosm of Italy’s negotiation with modernity.

A powerful undercurrent running through these articles is a profound anxiety about authenticity. The spirited defense of the Italian bagno is a salient example. The author frames it not as a symptom of "corrupt modern capitalism" but as a "civilising space" for communal performance. This resonates with the sociological observations of Erving Goffman, who argued that social life is a form of theater. The bagno, in this light, is a stage where, stripped to our swimming trunks, a form of egalitarian performance is possible. Goffman (1959) noted that our "presentations of self" are crucial to social order, and the bagno provides a ritualized, familiar stage for this interaction, a stark contrast to the "plentiful barren space and obsession with privacy" of the north. The critique of the bagno by outsiders, as Jacob Burckhardt noted of 19th-century visitors, is a failure to see that its value is not in its pristine nature, but in its structured sociality.

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This search for the "real" is made explicit in the interview with Tivoli Gardens' CEO, Susanne Mørch Koch. Her deliberate rejection of gamification and apps in favor of "tech-free nostalgia" and "quality time" speaks directly to a growing cultural fatigue with the digital realm. Her philosophy—that queuing can be a moment to "ground yourself, reflect... and build anticipation"—is a radical counter-narrative to the frictionless, optimized experience promised by Silicon Valley. This sentiment echoes the concerns of scholars like Sherry Turkle (2011), who has documented how technology, while promising connection, can lead to a state of being "alone together." Tivoli's success suggests a market for experiences that are deliberately inefficient, tangible, and unmediated by screens.

The interview with Tivoli Gardens’ CEO about “tech-free nostalgia” brings forward Zygmunt Bauman’s thesis of “liquid modernity,” in which individuals seek stable communal experiences amid the fluidity of digital life (Bauman, 2000). By resisting gamification and preserving analog pleasures—long queues, the smell of wooden roller‑coasters—Tivoli reaffirms what Walter Benjamin might have called the “aura” of an historic urban landmark (Benjamin, 1968). Yet this strategy also raises questions about inclusivity and commodification: who can afford such curated “quality time”? In offering spontaneity alongside reservation systems, Tivoli negotiates the tension between mass tourism’s homogenizing forces and the desire for authentic, place‑bound experiences.

This tension is further highlighted by the simultaneous rise of its opposite: the artificial and the simulated. We see H&M employing AI models, a move that threatens to detach fashion from the human form entirely. We read of lab-grown salmon, a product that collapses the entire ecosystem of ocean, fish, and fisher into a bioreactor. This trend toward abstraction finds its apotheosis in the art market. The analysis of Art Basel reveals a market where, despite declining sales values, the volume of transactions is rising. The observation that galleries are using a "broader tranche of artists—and more inventory—to meet their sales goals" points to a hollowing out of meaning. As the advisor Gabriela Palmieri states, "more really is more." This is a world that Jean Baudrillard (1994) might describe as one of hyperreality, where the signs and symbols of a successful art fair—the flurry of activity, the reported sales—become more important than the art itself. The original artwork's "aura," which Walter Benjamin (1968) argued was diminished by mechanical reproduction, now seems threatened by market-driven proliferation, where art risks becoming mere inventory in a "scattershot" presentation.

Several articles reveal how power is asserted not just through policy, but through the control of physical space and public narrative. President Trump's proposal to renovate Alcatraz is a masterclass in political symbolism. His statement, "I wanted something representative to show how we fight back... What a symbol it is and will be!" is a candid admission of governance as spectacle. The prison, as Michel Foucault (1977) argued in Discipline and Punish, is the ultimate architecture of control, a physical manifestation of the state's power over the body. Reviving Alcatraz, a crumbling monument, is a theatrical gesture intended to project an image of absolute, uncompromising order, regardless of its practicality or cost.

This control of narrative is also central to the struggles within the arts and media. The Australian government's vacillation over its Venice Biennale representative, and the public apology, shows a state apparatus losing control of its cultural messaging. Conversely, the US government's cancellation of subscriptions to Nature, labeling its contents "junk science," is a direct attempt to control the flow of information and delegitimize sources that contradict its political agenda. This is a clear example of what Foucault termed "power/knowledge"—the idea that power and knowledge are inextricably linked, and that to control a population, one must control its accepted truths.

The story of Hong Kong activist Leung Kwok-hung ("Long Hair") is a tragic illustration of this principle in its most extreme form. The disbanding of his pro-democracy party signifies the near-total suppression of dissenting narratives in the city. His very appearance—his hair—became a "battleground," a symbol of identity that the state sought to control and erase. His imprisonment is the logical endpoint of a system that cannot tolerate alternative narratives. This contrasts poignantly with the restitution of the Benin Bronzes by the MFA Boston, an act that represents a relinquishing of control and a correction of a historical narrative of colonial power. The act acknowledges that the museum's possession was based on a story of loot, not legitimate acquisition, and ceding that control is a form of restorative justice.

Urban regeneration emerges again in Monocle’s Mediterranean round-up. Athens’s Ellinikon project, the Languedoc-Roussillon vine-removal incentives, and Olhão’s Ria Formosa enhancement all point to a transnational orthodoxy of “revitalization” (Self, 2025, pp. 12–15) . David Harvey (1989) contends that such schemes are often less about social equity than about capital accumulation through real-estate valorization. Yet the Portuguese plan to transform surplus vineyards into biodiverse crops gestures to a more ecologically attuned paradigm, aligned with Bruno Latour’s (2018) call to rewrite our political ecology in the face of planetary limits.

In the cultural economy of Art Basel, the slowdown of high-ticket sales and the broadening of artist rosters speak to shifting dynamics in the field of contemporary art. Bourdieu’s Field Theory posits that artistic markets are spaces of struggle over symbolic and economic capital (Bourdieu, 1993), and the recent turn toward a greater number of mid‑range transactions suggests galleries are recalibrating their strategies to sustain profits amid uncertainty (McAndrew, 2025). Clare McAndrew’s UBS Art Basel report (2025) confirms this by documenting how transaction volumes have risen even as aggregate sales revenues dip—a sign that diversity of offerings is compensating for the retreat of blockbuster auctions. This “more is more” approach also conjures Boltanski and Esquerre’s observation that in “the economy of prestige,” quantity can itself become a form of distinction (Boltanski & Esquerre, 2017).

Moreover, the Art Basel market overview lays bare the tensions of cultural production under late capitalism. The dip in sales alongside an increase in the number of artists exhibited suggests a proliferation of creative labor to sustain revenue, an insight that resonates with Andreas Schneider and Vanessa Joan Müller’s (2013) critique of the “artist as entrepreneur” model. The UBS report’s findings of contracting global sales amid rising transaction volumes underscore the commodification of art as a financial asset, prompting Adorno’s (1991) injunction to resist the culture industry’s reduction of aesthetic values to market metrics.

The art market’s slump at Art Basel, with sales down 35% from 2024, reflects broader economic unease. Galleries lean on more artists and inventory, a “more is more” strategy amid uncertainty, as noted by adviser Gabriela Palmieri. This echoes Thorstein Veblen’s critique of conspicuous consumption, where luxury markets signal status but falter in instability (Veblen, 1899). Culturally, it questions art’s value—commodity or transcendence?—recalling Adorno and Horkheimer’s culture industry, where creativity risks mass-produced stagnation (Adorno & Horkheimer, 1944).

In Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground, the narrator muses, “Man is a frivolous and incongruous creature… he loves suffering” (Dostoevsky, 1864, p. 31). The art world’s suffering—declining sales, scattered reflects this incongruity: a passion for beauty amid economic pragmatism. Policy-wise, MCH Group’s cautious optimism about profitability suggests a pivot to primary market sales, potentially democratizing art but risking dilution of curatorial rigor. This shift mirrors global trends toward volume over value, a tension between art’s soul and its price tag.

Finally, the newsletters chronicle the clear and ongoing fragmentation of the post-Cold War global economic and political consensus. The dominant narrative is President Trump's "global trade war," a rejection of the multilateralism that has governed international trade for decades. The imposition of unilateral tariffs and the pursuit of bilateral deals with nations like Vietnam represent a shift toward a more transactional, zero-sum view of the world, reminiscent of earlier mercantilist eras. As Adam Tooze (2018) has chronicled in his work on global crises, the interconnectedness of the modern financial system means that such unilateral actions create unpredictable "ripple effects," as a JPMorganChase Institute analysis warns.

The world is responding to this shift in various ways. We see middle powers like Sweden cleverly navigating this new landscape, selling fighter jets to Latin American nations by bundling them with infrastructure investments, a more holistic approach than the "solely hardware-focused offers" of the US. Brazil's President Lula explicitly urges the Mercosur bloc to pivot toward Asia, recognizing it as the new "dynamic center" of the global economy. This is not just a trade strategy; it is a geopolitical realignment, a conscious move away from the traditional US-centric orbit.

The instability is palpable in financial markets. The rout in UK gilts, sparked by a mere rumor about the Chancellor's future, reveals a deep-seated nervousness among investors. The simultaneous rise of a Bitcoin ETF to become a top revenue generator for BlackRock, the heart of the traditional financial system, signifies a profound search for alternatives to state-controlled fiat currency. The US dollar may still be dominant, but its "worst year in modern history" and the active "de-dollarization" efforts by other nations suggest its hegemony is no longer unquestioned. In this chaotic environment, nations and corporations are scrambling to adapt. French grape growers are paid to uproot vines as consumption patterns change, while Chinese tech giants lobby to launch stablecoins pegged to the offshore yuan, a direct challenge to the dollar's digital dominance. This is the sound of a world order not just changing, but cracking.

Finally, Sweden’s export of Saab Gripen jets to Latin America illustrates how defense economics intertwine with developmental policy. The provision of hardware accompanied by promises to build local infrastructure recalls Joseph Nye’s notion of “soft power” blended with “sharp power” (Nye, 2004; Walker, 2019). By coupling arms sales with solar panel plants and water‑works factories, Saab’s strategy aligns with the “bundling” of economic, political, and strategic investments that Ian Bremmer describes in “Geopolitics in the Age of Great Power Competition” (Bremmer, 2024). Yet such deals also risk intensifying regional militarization and raising ethical concerns over arms proliferation, as detailed in Singer’s analysis of the military‑industrial complex (Singer, 2009).

Susanne Mørch Koch’s resistance to gamifying Tivoli Gardens champions human connection over digital distraction, a stance akin to Sherry Turkle’s critique of technology’s erosion of intimacy (Turkle, 2011). Culturally, Tivoli preserves a Danish nostalgia, a hygge of shared time, defying the attention economy’s pull. Economically, its record 2024 turnout proves this model’s viability, balancing heritage with innovation.

Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid offers a parallel: “But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more” (Andersen, 1837, p. 23). Tivoli rejects the tearless isolation of screens, opting for the suffering—and joy—of presence. Socially, it fosters a communal space, resisting the atomization Albert Camus warned of: “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion” (Camus, 1951, p. 55). Tivoli rebels by staying human.

The dispatches are more than a collection of events; they are evidence of a world caught in a series of profound feedback loops. A trade war fueled by a politics of nationalist nostalgia weakens the global economy, which in turn fuels anxiety and a search for stability in both tech-free theme parks and decentralized digital currencies. The proliferation of artificial content erodes our sense of the real, prompting a more desperate grasp for authentic, tangible experiences. The assertion of raw, symbolic power by some leaders is met by the quiet, persistent resistance of others who seek to reclaim their narratives and histories. Reading these snippets together is to witness the tectonic plates of the 21st century grinding against each other, creating the tremors that will undoubtedly shape the landscape for years to come.

Throughout these snippets, a unifying thread emerges: spaces, whether on the beach, in the city, or at the fair, are contested terrains where social aspirations, economic imperatives, and political technologies intersect. As scholars from Georg Simmel (1903) to Judith Butler (1993) have argued, the choreography of bodies in shared spaces reveals the norms and exclusions of our time. In observing how Italians rub “sun-creamed shoulders together” (Self, 2025, p. 3) , how Sevillanos learn to “cope with higher temperatures” (Self, 2025, p. 9) , and how galleries multiply artists to sustain markets, we are reminded that every umbrella, every fountain, every gallery booth is also a statement of who belongs and who is left outside.

The collection of snapshots gathered in these newsletters invites us to reflect on the manifold ways in which space, materiality and ritual become vehicles for both inclusion and exclusion. Consider first the “bagno” of the Italian seaside, presented as a “civilising space” that fuses native fastidiousness with the recognition that leisurely life in Italy is a “performance” (Self, 2025, p. 2) . Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of social space reminds us that every configuration of chairs and umbrellas on the sand encodes class and habitus: the deckchairs of the bagno stage a democratic mise-en-scène in which physical proximity dissolves some of the hierarchies that govern northern Europe’s obsession with privacy and spaciousness (Bourdieu, 1984). Yet, as Sharon Zukin (2010) argues in her analysis of the “aestheticization of public space,” such commodified conviviality also relies on exclusionary fees, marking the boundary between those who can pay and those who cannot.

Across these snippets, we witness how cultural practices, urban policies, leisure infrastructures, and global markets are mutually constitutive. Whether at a bagno, a qanat‑cooled plaza, an authoritarian water park, an international art fair, a nostalgic amusement quarter, or in the skies above Bogotá, the interplay of power, space, economy, and community unfolds in rich and sometimes contradictory ways. As readers, we are reminded that every leisure space and cultural event is a microcosm of broader social forces—a lesson that invites both critical reflection and hopeful imagination.

These snippets—from bagni to Bitcoin ETFs—reveal a world wrestling with identity, sustainability, and power. They echo Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being: “The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become” (Kundera, 1984, p. 5). Whether through Seville’s qanats or North Korea’s resorts, humanity seeks grounding amid flux. Scholarly lenses—Bourdieu, Ostrom, Foucault—illuminate these burdens, while literature—Calvino, Kafka, Camus—lends them depth. Together, they suggest that our future lies not in escaping the past but in reimagining it.

[Supporters can find bibliographical information at this link: https://ko-fi.com/post/A-World-Rewritten-The-Crisis-of-Authenticity-Ref-O4O51HQ7WY?fromEditor=true.]

[Written, Researched, and Edited by Pablo Markin. Some parts of the text have been produced with the aid of ChatGPT, OpenAI, Grok, X Corp, and Gemini, Google, Alphabet, tools (July 8, 2025). The featured image has been generated in Canva (June 8, 2025).]

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Pablo Markin (July 8, 2025). A World Rewritten: The Crisis of Authenticity, the Spectacle of Power, and the Fracture of the Global Economy. Open Economics Blog.

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