The Beautiful Ones

An essay on never ending crisis.

Photo by NIR HIMI on Unsplash

By now, I’m assuming you know all about John B. Calhoun’s social experiments and behavioral sinks. I’ll try to do a quick recap without putting everyone to sleep. At Johns Hopkins, Calhoun ran a series of projects with mice. He built utopias for them. He gave them everything they needed, even space. The mice didn’t even come close to the utopia’s carrying capacity before tearing each other apart, engaging in the most brutal behavior you could imagine. Mothers even started abandoning their own children. Calhoun called it a “behavioral sink.”

For some reason, the mice insisted on clustering into the center of Calhoun’s utopias, forming little mouse gangs, and going on killing sprees. The only mice to survive quit the scene, moving to the outskirts of the utopias, where they could still get plenty of food and water. They groomed. They slept. They didn’t socialize. They left each other alone. Calhoun came up with a name for them.

He called them the beautiful ones.

After the mouse population collapsed, these beautiful ones didn’t regroup or rebuild. They kept to themselves. That probably sounds bleak to most of us, but I suspect those mice were fine with it. Maybe they knew something we don’t. Maybe they were neurodivergent mice, if that’s possible.

Here’s my point:

Over the last few weeks, the internet has been overflowing with confident dudes making all kinds of predictions about famines and global economic collapse, just lapping up praise and support for their “insight.” They cite the crisis in the Strait of Hormuz. Look, it’s bad. There’s no debating it. Some of us were talking about that weeks ago. We’ve processed it. We made our plans, along with our resignations. We cut expenses. We canceled travel. We redirected budgets to prioritize yet another mess we didn’t make. It’s one of the reasons I expedited the completion of my own survival guide, then decided to make it free and open source. A writer named Sarah Connor did some of the best work on the Hormuz crisis (also here), and she didn’t get nearly enough credit. So, it’s just slightly irritating when the podcast bros and the clickbait artists show up at the 11th hour, pretending they’re the ones who figured all this out, when they’re very late to the situation.

But the collapse bros have sunk their teeth into it, and they’re preying on the fear that’s finally settling over the American psyche as everyone finally wakes up and realizes what a mess we’re in. But there’s nothing new there, either. We’ve been in a mess for years. It’s just that something new happened to remind everyone of the mess. The bros lay out vague plans for survival. They tell us “exactly” what we should be doing. In one very recent and very popular article, the author tells us our bills and mortgages “aren’t your priority” anymore.

Okay, what?

The whole system is about to collapse in 8 weeks. Money is going to become worthless. Cities will become death traps. And blah blah blah. We should all be forming “communities,” storing food and gas, making friends with farmers, and hunkering down for the famine that’s going to reset the global order. And I’ve gotta say, that sounds awfully nice. You mean a famine is going to wipe out my bills, my mortgage, and all my loans?

Don’t threaten me with a good time.

If you’re in touch with reality at all, if you listen to anyone under 40, then you probably know something. A lot of people out there are secretly praying for a famine, a pandemic, or some other biblical disaster to swoop in and annihilate the system that’s crushing them. It’s the only hope they have left. It’s either that, or become a crypto millionaire grifter. They certainly aren’t going to be buying a home. They certainly aren’t going to be getting married. They certainly aren’t going to be raising a family. They certainly aren’t going to be saving up for a nice, quiet retirement. They certainly aren’t going on any vacations. They certainly aren’t going to be starting any rural homesteads. What else is there for them, other than some overwhelming crisis that dwarfs their personal ones, while offering them an opportunity to start over, with all slates wiped clean? Maybe if they can keep their heads down long enough, scurry off to the corners like the beautiful ones…

For millions, a crisis offers a second chance. Ironically enough, they put their odds of surviving a famine or a pandemic higher than surviving the status quo. They understand very well. We’re talking about real people, forced to work through tornadoes and hurricanes, and pandemics, without any protection, obliged to work three jobs, doomed to be replaced by robots.

Yes, please give us the famine. Give us another raging pandemic. Give us an alien invasion. Anything. If there’s not going to be a revolution, then let there be an apocalypse. I like my chances better. Let’s expedite this collapse. Let’s give our governments something to focus on other than slowly grinding us to a pulp. It’s gotta be better than what we’re dealing with now. If a meteor struck the Met Gala, taking out a good chunk of the Epstein class, even if it killed half of humanity, including me, I wouldn’t immediately dismiss that prospect.

Sad, isn’t it?

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As tempting as all that sounds, a famine or a pandemic resetting the global order, we know it won’t happen like that. Anyone who actually studies collapse, anyone who actually engages in real prepping, knows better.

We know our mortgage isn’t going away. Our rent and utilities aren’t going away. Our credit card bills aren’t going away.

Not. Ever.

The billionaire oligarchs aren’t going to let you starve in peace. They’re not going to let you fend for yourself. Even if there’s no gas, they’ll dispatch a deputy on horseback before they cancel your debt. They’ll throw you in a county jail, even if there’s no electricity to run the jail. They don’t care if you have running water, a toilet, or even a bucket. That’s not how they operate.

Study the history of any famine, any collapse. Power structures didn’t evaporate. They became more repressive. They raided your house for food. They arrested you for hoarding. They didn’t leave you alone.

I’m not saying any of this to negate prepping. I’m a prepper. My family has preps. We grow food. We have stockpiles.

But…

We occupy two worlds. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t still be here online writing about collapse. I’d have my doomsday plan all sorted, and I’d be doing it. I wouldn’t be talking about empty shelves and famine in 8 weeks. But it’s not up to me. I have a family, and they wanted… something different.

So, here I am.

The world that’s collapsing isn’t going to let us go, not just yet. We can’t abandon our responsibilities and obligations, no matter how unfair or futile we find them. If you’re going to unburden yourself from all this, you still have to extricate yourself with a plan. There’s no easy escape “famine” button that’s going to alleviate all of this. The advice suggesting otherwise comes from a place of deep privilege. For the rest of us, it’s incredibly reckless to think like that. If you followed that advice as it’s written, you might end up even worse off than you are now.

Most of the advice you see about prepping for a crisis completely misses the point. It doesn’t take climate science into account. It doesn’t take social psychology into account. It doesn’t take history into account. It doesn’t take economics or class privilege into account. It ignores the simple fact that just breathing around someone now poses its own existential risks. Or did we forget all the airborne diseases circulating now, which almost nobody takes any precautions for, even as they prepare for their famines and global economic collapses?

Anyway, that’s the most infuriating and dangerous part of this advice. It offers things you “must do” to survive, exhortations that most of us can’t follow, plans that could land us in bankruptcy, jail, the hospital, or worse.

Most of all, this advice doesn’t take you into account. It doesn’t care about your life situation. Do you have children, dependents? Are you a caretaker? They don’t care. They just want to scare the shit out of you, then toss out vague ideas like “community” as the answer. They do everything that the true doomers and Cassandras do, but they elevate it to the level of clickbait, somehow making you feel safe and exempt from all the catastrophes on the way.

And I’m sick of it.

Aren’t you?

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As I reflect on this content, I’ve realized something:

When these dudes lay out their plans, they’re not talking to me. They’re not talking to the atheist, neurodivergent, queer millennial mom with complex PTSD from severe childhood abuse. (Yes, I’m queer. Sorry for not mentioning this more often.) In their scenarios, I’m not supposed to survive. I’m supposed to be the one who dies. If I die, it’s my fault for caring too much about my bills.

I’m not supposed to make it.

I’m supposed to starve.

There aren’t many communities for someone like me. Nobody wants to help me survive. They want to take from me. They want my stuff. I’ve become the workhorse of any community I’ve ever joined. The minute I speak up, the minute I advocate for myself, the minute I become “difficult,” I’m kicked out.

Maybe you know the feeling, and it’s why you bristle every time the word “community” comes up, as some kind of magic solution that’s going to save you from the droughts and famines. What if it doesn’t? What if community wasn’t meant for you? The collapse bros have no answer for this, except to remind you that you’re going to starve to death because you’re too weird.

For some of us, seeking out community isn’t nearly as simple as it sounds. It’s not even safe. It could even make things worse.

It could get you killed.

One dude spouting stereotypical advice recently assured me it’s all true, the economy is going to collapse, money will become worthless, and he has a plan to meet up with his relatives at the 120-acre family farm.

That’s great for him, but what if you don’t have a family farm?

What if you’re like me, and your “family land” is being hoarded by your MAGA uncle, a man who won’t get vaccinated, won’t wear an N95 mask, drops the N-word more than Soldier Boy, and has multiple restraining orders from women he’s fallen in love with over the years? What if he built his bugout cabin across the highway from a meth park, and he routinely has to fend off “curious” visitors?

Would you feel safe riding out a famine there?

See, that’s how reality works.

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I’m good at reality checks, so here’s one: A famine won’t alleviate your financial responsibilities. A community won’t always save you.

I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m not saying this to be a “doomer.” I’m saying this because some of what the millionaire podcasters and clickbait artists are saying is true. There will be droughts. There will be famines.

There will be blood.

If there’s a famine in 8 weeks, we’ll be as ready as we can be. I’ve spent years working on a plan, and you can find all the details here. It’s specific. It’s free. I have nothing to sell, only something to offer. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best set of options I’ve got. But I’m going to leave you with something else.

It’s the best piece of prepping advice I’ve got:

For the last 5 years, I’ve been living as if there’s always a potential famine in 8 weeks. I would recommend you do the same. Before the lists of preps, you have to shift your mindset. Normal is gone. This is life now.

It’s a life with prepping, but also joy. That’s how you have to live, if you have any shot at dealing with reality and these constant shocks to our nervous systems. You have to get used to the idea of ever-present danger. You have to come up with a way of dealing with threats that’s not denial, but also not constant dread or panic. That’s not something I can explain in a 5-minute article.

You have to get there yourself.

I’ll say this:

The real collapse isn’t being talked about on podcasts and viral articles. These articles and podcasts about famines or nuclear holocuasts go viral for one simple reason. We all know what’s happening to the planet. We all see what’s happening to our lives, and to the futures we hoped to live. Those futures aren’t going to happen. We’re going to be living through a future that falls somewhere in the vicinity of Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower. If you really want a good, hard look at collapse and what you should be preparing for, read that. Then read actual science articles. Understand that a vast majority of your friends and family would choose the famine over that any day, and they’re secretly excited about it.

It’s a form of displacement. Focus on the famine. Focus on the current crisis or political scandal. Forget the big picture. The big picture is too terrifying. The big picture calls for too much inconvenience, too much sacrifice, more change than the vast majority of our friends can tolerate.

It’s comforting to think you can build a community, but actually doing it is incredibly hard. It’s harder than ever. Look around. How many people in your life actually want to start a vegetable garden with you? How many of them would stand there and listen to you talk about famines and pandemics?

Some of us tried, and we lost all of our friends…

Now we’re the lone wolves we read about, the ones doomed to starve alone. Well, I don’t accept that. There’s a way for us to survive, at least for a little longer, even if we have to become like the beautiful ones.

Stop getting worked up over every article that predicts a famine in 8 weeks, then tells you to go out and build community with people who can’t stand you, who would probably eat you during a real famine.

For us, it’s not going to be one black swan event or one disaster that signals the arrival of the collapse. We’re not preparing for disasters anymore.

We’re living in a sink.

Stay beautiful.