Simultaneous buying and selling makes the economy extremely efficient. But in our overconnected world, it may also force us into a race to the bottom.
If you want to succeed in an Internet-driven, overconnected world, you must arbitrage.
If you don't, you will become prey to those who do. But in an Internet-driven,
overconnected world, arbitrage may also force us into a race to the bottom.
makes the economy extremely efficient. In the commodity world, arbitrage can be
a miraculous transaction, yielding an infinite rate of return. The arbitrager
buys a commodity in one market and sells it instantly at a higher price in
another. In a perfect arbitrage, the arbitrager collects the money from the
sale before paying for the original purchase. For example, sell a bushel of
wheat for $7.00 and collect the money instantly; buy the bushel in another
market for $6.75 and pay later.
Of course, perfect arbitrage seldom exists. Speculators quickly root out opportunities,
and prices converge. The sale price, for example, drops to $6.85 and the
purchase price rises to $6.84. Of course, the sale price could drop below the
purchase price to, say, $6.75, and the arbitrager would lose 9 cents on every sale.
In the past, the term "arbitrage" was used in conjunction with financial and
commodity transactions, but now it is used more broadly. For instance, people
talk about arbitraging labor costs, referring to using cheap labor in a distant
location to substitute for more expensive local labor.
Successful arbitrage depends on strong and efficient connections. You have to be able to move products from where you buy them to where you sell them. Transaction costs
and other logistics must be kept to a minimum. And in order to find the best
arbitrage opportunities, you have to have good information about markets.
This is where the Internet comes in. Not only does it reduce the cost of
finding opportunities, but it greatly increases the efficiency of doing so. As
a result, the universe of arbitrage opportunities has expanded. Name something
that can be bought or sold, and there may a way to arbitrage it: stocks, bonds,
commodities, precious metals, labor costs, taxes, regulatory environments,
credit card debt, retail shopping experiences.
In 2004, commenting on slow job growth in the U.S., Stephen Roach of Morgan Stanley cited "global labor arbitrage" as the main
reason growth had slowed. Roach predicted that global labor arbitrage was
likely to be an enduring feature of the economy. Our experiences over the past
seven years have certainly proven him right.
Most people might think Roach was referring to factory workers and customer
support workers in India who answer calls in heavily accented English. But
because of the power of the Internet, information-intensive jobs of almost any
type are subject to labor arbitrage. Teleradiology Solutions, a company located in Bangalore, reads X-rays for patients in the U.S. and Singapore. Jobs we thought
were safe are safe no longer. More and more companies are employing engineers
and programmers in India, Russia, and the Balkans. Businesses must either
arbitrage and succumb to the unrelenting pressure to cut costs or face the
prospect of becoming uncompetitive.
Non-traditional arbitrage lurks in some surprising places. Consider retailing. Physical retailers add value by providing a retail experience. Some people enjoy shopping. One of the most important services retailers provide is the opportunity to experience the merchandise. Test drive a Ferrari. Try on a pair of jeans. Then go to an online retailer and arbitrage out the added value and the local taxes as well. Many of us do this without giving it a second thought. We find what we want at the shopping center and then rush home to buy it on Amazon. If we're shameless, we do our online shopping on our smart phone a few seconds after leaving the store.
In financial markets, arbitrage has run rampant. Transaction costs facilitated by
the Internet have plummeted. It has become possible to collect massive amounts
of information inexpensively. As computation power has increased and data sets
have grown, computers can now uncover more and more arbitrage opportunities.
traders use computers to scan the market to scout out the tiniest mispricings. If
a computer can discover an index made up of a few hundred stocks that is priced
too high, traders sell the index short and buy the stocks, making pennies per
share on billions of shares--pennies that add up to hundreds of millions in
profits. Is it any wonder that high-frequency trading now accounts for nearly two
thirds of the trading volume?
arbitrage adventures aren't just for the big guys. I was amazed to learn about
credit card arbitrage. Get a low-interest introductory loan for signing up for
a new credit card, invest that money in a high-interest account, and pray.
The Internet makes it easier to get around financial regulations and circumvent jurisdictions. If regulators in the UK or USA get too tough, the Internet can help: when data flows so efficiently, it's a lot easier to move the regulated entity from London or Wall Street to a more understanding jurisdiction.
If I can arbitrage a growing number of financial transactions, both low-skilled
and high-skilled jobs, and then throw in retailing, what's left? A lot, as it
turns out. Ask people in Hollywood about movies and recordings. Talk to the
newspapers. As bandwidth increases, opportunities to arbitrage will continue to
grow as well. Maybe the only things that will be safe are meals in restaurants
and trips to the hair salon.
Arbitrage is an economist's dream. It squeezes out inefficiency. It creates an intensely price-competitive world. Consumers benefit big time, because they have access to high quality goods at low prices.
But arbitrage has its downside as well. I used to love to travel. I even looked
forward to the flight. I could sit in peace and quiet and catch up on my
reading. Today I can fly for less money, but I also fly less. The qualitative
experience is so poor that it has reduced my interest in traveling.
Price is one of the most powerful motivators known to humankind. Nobody wants to pay
more. When the focus is exclusively on price, qualitative aspects often suffer,
and in many situations that is too high a price to pay. If only arbitragers could find a way to squeeze out
costs while maintaining quality. Now that
would be the perfect arbitrage.="http:>
For decades the Man of Steel has failed to find his groove, thanks to a continual misunderstanding of his strengths.
Superman should be invincible. Since his car-smashing debut in 1938, he’s starred in at least one regular monthly comic, three blockbuster films, and four television shows. His crest is recognized across the globe, his supporting cast is legendary, and anybody even vaguely familiar with comics can recount the broad strokes of his origin. (The writer Grant Morrison accomplished it in eight words: “Doomed Planet. Desperate Scientists. Last Hope. Kindly Couple.”) He’s the first of the superheroes, a genre that’s grown into a modern mass-media juggernaut.
And yet, for a character who gains his power from the light of the sun, Superman is curiously eclipsed by other heroes. According to numbers provided by Diamond Distributors, the long-running Superman comic sold only 55,000 copies a month in 2015, down from around 70,000 in 2010—a mediocre showing even for the famously anemic comic-book market. That’s significantly less than his colleague Batman, who last year moved issues at a comparatively brisk 150,000 a month. Mass media hasn’t been much kinder: The longest-running Superman television show, 2001’s Smallville, kept him out of his iconic suit for a decade. Superman Returns recouped its budget at the box office, but proved mostly forgettable.2013’s Man of Steel drew sharp criticism from critics and audiences alike for its bleak tone and rampaging finale. Trailers for the sequel, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, have shifted the focus (and top billing) to the Dark Knight. Worst of all, conventional wisdom puts the blame on Superman himself. He’s boring, people say; he’s unrelatable, nothing like the Marvel characters dominating the sales charts and the box office. More than anything, he seems embarrassing. Look at him. Truth? Justice? He wears his underwear on the outside.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
Immediately, the pings from fellow journalists (and media-adjacent folk) came pouring in, all saying something along the lines of, “Can you actually let me know what you find out? I’m addicted to that stuff.”
They mean “addicted” in the jokey, dark-chocolate-and-Netflix-streaming way, but the habit can border on pathological. For me, rock bottom was a recent, obscenely long workday during which an entire 12-pack of coconut La Croix somehow made it down my throat, can by shining can.
The Denver Broncos beat the Carolina Panthers, but neither Peyton Manning nor Cam Newton seemed able to prove their worth.
Now more than ever, the NFL is all about the quarterbacks. The buildup to Super Bowl 50 proved no exception: In the two weeks prior to Sunday night’s game in Santa Clara, the national conversation largely centered on the signal-callers, whose styles of play and off-field personas were pored over in every manner imaginable by an army of reporters and analysts. The game’s two possible outcomes were pre-cast as career-defining triumphs for the passers. If the Denver Broncos won, it would be a rousing sendoff for the potentially retiring all-time great Peyton Manning. If the Carolina Panthers won, it would be a coronation for Cam Newton, this season’s Most Valuable Player.
The Broncos beat the Panthers, 24-10, but the game featured none of the displays of virtuosity fans of Manning or Newton might have hoped for. It was a plodding, mistake-riddled affair, all stuffed runs and stalled drives. Maybe the most miraculous thing about the game was that it ended at all; it seemed for a time that it might simply give out somewhere along the way, leaving the Denver and Carolina players to wander around Levi’s Stadium until the resumption of football next fall.
Thenew Daily Show host, Trevor Noah, is smooth and charming, but he hasn’t found his edge.
It’s a psychic law of the American workplace: By the time you give your notice, you’ve already left. You’ve checked out, and for the days or weeks that remain, a kind of placeholder-you, a you-cipher, will be doing your job. It’s a law that applies equally to dog walkers, accountants, and spoof TV anchormen. Jon Stewart announced that he was quitting The Daily Show in February 2015, but he stuck around until early August, and those last months had a restless, frazzled, long-lingering feel. A smell of ashes was in the air. The host himself suddenly looked quite old: beaky, pique-y, hollow-cheeky. For 16 years he had shaken his bells, jumped and jangled in his little host’s chair, the only man on TV who could caper while sitting behind a desk. Flash back to his first episode as the Daily Show host, succeeding Craig Kilborn: January 11, 1999, Stewart with floppy, luscious black hair, twitching in a new suit (“I feel like this is my bar mitzvah … I have a rash like you wouldn’t believe.”) while he interviews Michael J. Fox.
The charismatic senator’s candidacy was flying high—until he hit turbulence at Saturday’s debate. Will it stall his surge?
MANCHESTER, New Hampshire—Until Saturday’s debate, it was clear that this was Marco Rubio’s moment.
The moment he had waited for, planned for, anticipated for months, for years: It was happening. He had surged into a strong third-place finish in Iowa, outpacing the polls and nearly passing second-place Donald Trump. He’d ridden into New Hampshire on a full head of steam, drawing bigger and bigger crowds at every stop, ticking steadily up into second in most polls, behind the still-dominant Trump. The other candidates were training their fire on him, hoping to stop the golden boy in his tracks.
And then, in the debate, he faced the test he knew was imminent. They came right at him. First it was the moderator, David Muir of ABC News, leveling the accusation put forth by his rivals: that Rubio was merely a good talker with nothing to show for it, just like another eloquent, inexperienced young senator, Barack Obama.
In the name of emotional well-being, college students are increasingly demanding protection from words and ideas they don’t like. Here’s why that’s disastrous for education—and mental health.
Something strange is happening at America’s colleges and universities. A movement is arising, undirected and driven largely by students, to scrub campuses clean of words, ideas, and subjects that might cause discomfort or give offense. Last December, Jeannie Suk wrote in an online article for The New Yorker about law students asking her fellow professors at Harvard not to teach rape law—or, in one case, even use the word violate (as in “that violates the law”) lest it cause students distress. In February, Laura Kipnis, a professor at Northwestern University, wrote an essay in The Chronicle of Higher Education describing a new campus politics of sexual paranoia—and was then subjected to a long investigation after students who were offended by the article and by a tweet she’d sent filed Title IX complaints against her. In June, a professor protecting himself with a pseudonym wrote an essay for Vox describing how gingerly he now has to teach. “I’m a Liberal Professor, and My Liberal Students Terrify Me,” the headline said. A number of popular comedians, including Chris Rock, have stopped performing on college campuses (see Caitlin Flanagan’s article in this month’s issue). Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Maher have publicly condemned the oversensitivity of college students, saying too many of them can’t take a joke.
Hillary Clinton’s realistic attitude is the only thing that can effect change in today’s political climate.
Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz have something in common. Both have an electoral strategy predicated on the ability of a purist candidate to revolutionize the electorate—bringing droves of chronic non-voters to the polls because at last they have a choice, not an echo—and along the way transforming the political system. Sanders can point to his large crowds and impressive, even astonishing, success at tapping into a small-donor base that exceeds, in breadth and depth, the remarkable one built in 2008 by Barack Obama. Cruz points to his extraordinarily sophisticated voter-identification operation, one that certainly seemed to do the trick in Iowa.
But is there any real evidence that there is a hidden “sleeper cell” of potential voters who are waiting for the signal to emerge and transform the electorate? No. Small-donor contributions are meaningful and a sign of underlying enthusiasm among a slice of the electorate, but they represent a tiny sliver even of that slice; Ron Paul’s success at fundraising (and his big crowds at rallies) misled many analysts into believing that he would make a strong showing in Republican primaries when he ran for president. He flopped.
What happened when 11 exiles armed themselves for a violent night in the Gambia
In the dark hours of the morning on December 30, 2014, eight men gathered in a graveyard a mile down the road from the official residence of Yahya Jammeh, the president of the Gambia. The State House overlooks the Atlantic Ocean from the capital city of Banjul, on an island at the mouth of the Gambia River. It was built in the 1820s and served as the governor’s mansion through the end of British colonialism, in 1965. Trees and high walls separate the house from the road, obscuring any light inside.
The men were dressed in boots and dark pants, and as two of them stood guard, the rest donned Kevlar helmets and leather gloves, strapped on body armor and CamelBaks, and loaded their guns. Their plan was to storm the presidential compound, win over the military, and install their own civilian leader. They hoped to gain control of the country by New Year’s Day.
How a Mexican gangster turned a cartel into a cult
Nazario Moreno Gonzalez—also known as El Chayo, or El Mas Loco, the Maddest One—first died in December 2010. Mexican federal police claimed they killed Nazario, one of Mexico’s most brutal criminal warlords, during a ferocious battle involving 2,000 federal officers and about 500 gangsters. But his henchmen carried his corpse away.
A grave appeared with his name on it. (Apparently, police didn’t want to dig it up and check.) The president at the time, Felipe Calderon, trumpeted the crime lord’s demise as a grand victory in his war on the drug cartels. But after Nazario’s supposed death, his followers began venerating him like a saint, and statuettes and shrines appeared. Even more bizarrely, people reported seeing his ghost wandering around his home state of Michoacan dressed all in white. Under the leadership of this phantom saint, Nazario’s criminal organization, which took the name Knights Templar after the legendary warrior monks of the Middle Ages, became more powerful than ever.