The Fed-prentice: Who Wants to Be a Trillionaire?

The tale of two foreheads and .. oh yeah, Chennai’s Ice Age

After years of treating Jerome Powell with the same warmth and tenderness usually reserved for a cold sore, President Trump has finally announced who will be the next Supreme Overlord of the American Dollar.

For those of you who have lives and don’t follow these things, the Federal Reserve is a mysterious, windowless bunker in Washington where people with high foreheads and low personalities sit around deciding whether you can afford a three-bedroom condo or if you will be living in a refrigerator under a bridge. Their leader is the Chairman, a man who is legally required to speak in a language called “Fedspeak,” which is kinda like English, but specifically designed to prevent any human being from feeling any emotion whatsoever. If a Fed Chairman tried to tell you your house was on fire, he’d say, “We are monitoring a localized thermal event that may exert upward pressure on the vacancy rate.”

Through his second term, Trump’s relationship with Powell has been roughly equivalent to the relationship between a lawnmower and a particularly stubborn tree stump. He has spent most of his time using Truth Social to suggest that Powell is a “moron” who was likely raised by slow-moving turtles. The tension reached a peak recently when the Department of Justice - which is now apparently in the architecture criticism business - began investigating Powell over the cost of renovating the Fed’s headquarters. Trump’s theory is that the building cost $2.5 billion instead of $1.9 billion because Powell is incompetent, whereas Powell’s theory is that Trump is trying to subpoena him into a nervous breakdown so he’ll finally lower interest rates to approximately minus-four percent.

But last week, the suspense finally ended. Trump officially announced his pick for the next Chairman: Kevin Warsh.

In his announcement, Trump noted that Warsh is “from Central Casting,” which is Trump-speak for “he looks like a guy who would play a billionaire in a movie where the billionaire is actually a secret CIA agent.” Warsh has the kind of perfectly sculpted, non-moving hair that suggests he has never once been startled by a sudden gust of wind. He is married to an heiress of the Estée Lauder empire, meaning his life probably smells much better than yours or mine.

The selection process was basically a very expensive version of *The Apprentice*, but instead of winning a year’s supply of Trump wine and steaks, the winner gets to control the US dollar and the global supply of capital. Other finalists included:

Kevin Hassett: A man whose main qualification is his ability to explain “The Laffer Curve” using only cocktail napkins and French fries.

Rick Rieder: A BlackRock executive who probably has more money than some medium-sized countries.

Christopher Waller: A current Fed governor who likely realized halfway through the interview that he’d rather be doing literally anything else.

The funny part is that Warsh has spent his entire career as a “hawk,” which in economic terms means he hates inflation more than most people hate finding a hair in their soup. Trump, on the other hand, is a “dove,” meaning he wants the money printer to go WHRRRRR until the ink runs out. But recently, Warsh has started making “dovish” noises, suggesting he might actually be okay with lower rates. It’s a classic romcom setup: One wants to save the dollar; the other wants to spend it on a giant gold-plated wall. They’ll start out bickering, but by the third act, they’ll be dancing in the rain while the Consumer Price Index explodes.

The markets reacted to the news with their usual calm and rationality, by which I mean gold prices fell 10% and silver tumbled 25%, presumably because investors realized that with Warsh in charge, we might actually go back to using money that isn’t made of shiny rocks.

Meanwhile, in the Senate, things are getting spicy. Senator Thom Tillis has vowed to block the nomination until the investigation into Powell is resolved, because surely we can’t have a new money-manager until we figure out if the old one spent too much on marble flooring. Elizabeth Warren says Warsh is just a “Wall Street loyalist,” which is her way of saying hello to anyone who has ever entered a bank.

Jerome Powell still has a seat on the Board of Governors until 2028. He doesn’t actually have to leave the building. We could be looking at a situation where Powell refuses to vacate his office, forcing Warsh to manage the global economy from a folding chair in the hallway near the vending machine, asking anyone passing by where the “Print Trillions” button is.

We live in exciting times. Or terrifying times. It depends on whether you think the economy should be run by a “moron” or a guy from “Central Casting.”

In other news, CHENNAI IS APPARENTELY GOING THROUGH AN ICE AGE.

In Chennai, the concept of “winter” has always been a mythical state of being, much like a quiet and peaceful Sunday at Luz corner. For a city that usually functions at a baseline temperature of “Pre-heated Oven,” the recent dip to 19°C - or as the rest of the world calls it, “a lovely spring day” - has been treated as a catastrophic climatic event.

The transformation was overnight. Suddenly, the same people who routinely survive 42°C humidity without breaking a sweat were seen shivering in heavy woollen monkey caps and sweaters that smelled of mothballs and 1994. In a city where “extreme weather” usually means the sambar is slightly hotter than usual, a temperature of 20°C at midday has apparently caused a total breakdown of the social fabric.

Social media has become a digital fireplace for the frozen. Twitter was flooded with residents claiming they were officially living in “South Ooty” or “Bengaluru Lite.” One viral post noted that the only thing missing was snow, while others begged the sun to return, repenting for every time they had cursed the Chennai heat. The irony is palpable: the same people who spend nine months a year praying for a breeze are now sealing their windows with tape to keep out the “arctic” 20 km/h winds. Brave souls who take cold showers at 5:00 AM are negotiating with their immersion heaters like they are disarming a bomb. Hot tea and socks sales have skyrocketed.

Let’s hope the mercury quickly climbs back to its rightful place in the high thirties, and Chennaiites return to their fans and ACs. Here’s to tucking away their sweaters for another decade, until the next time Chennai “freezes” at pleasant room temperatures.

Have a great week!