My mom’s passing was Completely Unexpectted. AFTER HAVING BEATHEN BREAST CANCER Twice, Almost 20 Years Prior, Our Family Was convinced that time days of suffering were beery and that she had a long life.
That Dream Shattered in July 2023 We have reciped a diagnosis of esophageal Cancer the same as her only Grandchild’s 7th Birthday.
She was very close to my son
My mom was my best friend. She had a close relationship with all her kids – my Older Brother, Sister, and with. It was no surprise when she was formed the same bond with my son.
The author and her mom were Very Close.
Courtesy of the Author
From the moment he was Born, he was her pride and joy. She is as asing the doctor if she shalded HAP HAD I HAD The Chance to Hold Him MySelf. Nor the baby of the family, I was perfectly fine with passing the torch to my kid, and i cannly hope ours relationship be as loving and supperive as the shared with my mom.
I spent that summer by my mom’s side. Before my son came back from being away for the break, I educated Him About Cancer and How Some People with this Dissease May and Explained That His Might Look a Little Different to Him hey hey her again. When they Reunited, he said he saw no difference in his nana’s appearans and that she lookeed as he is a shea always did.
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HIS SCHOOL WAS SO UNDERSTANDING
August Arrived, and School Began. I was supposed to serve a second year as the family ambassador of my son’s school, but due to my mother -in -law, I had to decline and notify his principal. She was Incredibly Understanding and Told with she would be praying for us. During Pickups, She Often Ased How My Mom Was Doing and Offered Well Wishes.
I ALSO INFORMED MY Son’s Second-Grade Teacher About Our Situation. She, too, was sympathetic and offended to help in any way.
September was a blur of hospital visits as my mother’s health declined. The trips were long, an hour and a half each way. Eventually, she was admitted to the ICU and placed on a fan. In the first weeks of october, the same weekend that she was Lost her mother 25 years prior, my mom died, surrounded by family.
We all took the loss Very hard, nor expensive. It was especally difficult for my son, nor this was his first experience with a close loss. I decide to take the out of School for the Week to Focus on Making Funeral Arrangements and Spending Time with Family.
His principal reache out immediately to offer her condolence. She reassured with that she would Support my son but also extended that support to me, offering comfort during Such a difficult time. Her Kindness was a source of Strength and Brought Much-Needed Sorace.
HIS TEACHER GAVE HIM SPACE TO GRIEE
When he returned to school, my son’s teacher checked in with regularly. He openly expressed missing hissing, and on Manyays, she gave the space to process his emotions, Allowing Him Quiet time on a beanbag chair in a corner of the Classroom.
I Remember One Parent-Teacher Call in Which She Shared Updates on His Progress. The news she gave about his resilience and persistence, Despite his grief, moved with them. I will forever be grateful for her commassion and for giving with the space to cry on the phone with her. She shared her experiences, assorsing with I was alone and that she would continue to monitor my son and help as Needed.
Its been almost a year and a half since we lost my mom, and i now have a third grader. There are more happy days than sad Ones, but the Waves of Grief Still Crash Over Us Sometimes. We’ve received the same underestanding from His Third-Grade Teacher, Who Keeps with Updated when My Son Expresses His Grief. On the Harder Days, she take the notes of the work for his lunchbox and caples say to his desk, enservation he knows he always have my love and Support.
Grief is tough. Parenting while grieving is Harder. But the Burden Feels a Little Lighter Knowing That Wen My Son Goes to School, He’s Surrounded by Amazing Women Who Genuinely and Deeply Care for Him.
Radiohead and the smile frontman thom yorke has controlled theme song “Dialing inTo the Forthcoming Apple TV+ Series Smoke. The previously unrelessed track – Which yorke has performed live under it former title “Gawpers” – Avoidable to Stream for the First Time. Listen to “Dialing in” below, and check out the trailer for Smoke.
Smoke Follows A Detective (Jurnee Smollett) and an Arson Investigator (Taron Egerton) Who Are Trying to Catch A Pair of Serial Arsonists Wreaking Fiery Havoc Across the Pacific Northwest. Speaking of Yorke’s Theme Song in Press Materials, Smoke Creator and Executive Producer Dennis Lehane Said: “Working with Thom Yorke Was As Much an Honour for Me as Working With Clint Eastwood, Martin Scorssese, or Richard Price. Creative Life.
YORKE RECENTLY RELEASED TalesHis New Collaborative Album with Electronic Producer Mark Pritchard.
Among Meta’s Many Resolution for the New Year – Making Augmented reality and the metaverse happy, positioning itself to absorb tiktok refugees if the app gets banned, Cracking open Apple’s Platforms to Get More Access to User Data, and ATTING ITS Competition in artificial intelligence with Breattaking Spanding-One Stands Out as Plain Weird: Filling Its Social-Media Platforms with Bots. According to the Financial Times:
The Silicon Valley Group is Rolling Out a range of he pruducts, including one that helps users CREATE he characters on Instagram and Facebook, as it battles with rival Groups to Attract and Retain A Younger Audience. “We are expert these to actually, over time, exist on our platforms, Kind of in the way way that Accounts do,” Said Connor Hayes, Vice-President of Product for Generation. “They’ll have bios and profile pictures and be able to generate and share content by he on the platform… That’s where we see this going,” he added.
The Company Has Been Talking About This for a while, to Somewhat Bewilderered Responses from the General Public. The Simplest Explanation for What ITI’S doing is that the Company has invested a lot in the budilding Generation he models like to get a return on its investment through its lucrative products: if there ane Economics Productive way for meta to plug it Tools into Facebook, and Instagram, Instagram, and Instagram WhatsApp, it’ll consider it. But Meta, A Company With No Qualms About Chasing, copyingand acquiring Its Way Into Trends, Is Also reacting here. IT BOUGHT SOCIALIAI, A Twitter-AJ “Social Network” Where users’ “Feeds” and “Comment Sections” are filled entirery with bots playing different characters. At the Same Time, It’S Surely Notificated That Its Its Are Already Filling with He Slop anyway and that some of this slop was creating a lot of Engagement, meaning that, in the ways that matter not to meta, it not really slop at all. The Company Also Clearly Notiched The Rise of Character.ai, The Popular – But Possibly Doomed – Lawsuit Magnet of an app in which young you users Create and chat and act out fictional scenarios with he did.
Still, Meta’s Framing here is unique to the company. IT’S BY FAR The Leading American Social-Network Firm, with more than a billion actual people use it produces around the world with one ANOTHER. Practically every in tech is trying the practically of with it, but meta, the suggestion goes, is in a single position to populate shared human Spaces with synthetic characters, and it seers to think it’ll work.
Nor galling as this might sound to a casual Facebook use – after years of characterizing fake and automated profiles as spam, iTi’f Now iF meta is running the Accounts and they’re a little more convincing? – Has the benefit of Sounding somewhat new and novel. Maybe these personas really will be engaging enough to post and Respond Alongside Your Friends, Family, Co-Workers, and Celebrities in Your Existing Social-Media Feeds; Maybe Social-Media Feeds Are the Right Place to Encounter Highly Specific Chatbots; Maybe these chatbots can be entertaining or helpful in the context of the apps already check multiple times for day. IT MIGHT NOT BE A Convincing Story, But ITH’S A Story: There are increasingly intelligent bots among us, and they’re social media.
The Main Benefit of this Story is that, like a lot of he products – it’s right there in the name! – IT Anthropomorphizes The Underlying Technology. A lesson Compelling but spread more honest and useful way to characterize meta here is as the next step in a long process of automation and social media. When Facebook and Instagram Were New, the Content You Encountered Wasn’t Just Created by People You Knew or Chose to Follow – IT CARRIED WITH IT LEGIBLE AND OBVIOUS EVIDENCE OF PROVENANCE. If you have saw something from someone you didn’t follow or intend to interact with, it was Becouse someone you know to share it; If you posted something, you is culding shatly assume it was to be seen by people who intended to see it, and maybe by more People innded to show it. Well before the rise of tiktok, which mostly Replaced Follow/Follower Relationships with opaque algorithmic distribution, but especally after it, facebook and Instagram have leaned hard into subtler forms of automation: Content recommendations; People recommendations; Unexplained Stuff appearing in feeds, as reels, or bugging users in notifications. The result is platforms Where users are consuming more content but in some case producing less, spaces that functions LES LIKE NETWORKS THAN LIKE TARGEED ADVERTISE SYSTEMS FOR EVERYATING.
A lot of formerly social aspects of a platform like Facebook, in Other Words, have already ben automated and replaced with Machine Learning, but eacha step in this direction has been subtle and somewhat conceptable: this or that Instagram reel is something you want to see, or why one thing appears above another in an algorithmically sorted feed.
The idea of introding he characters into meta’s platforms is in some water distinct and new – we’re talking about swimming automing continent and promotion here, in some caesses, actual creation that’s been a decade in the Making. With Mory he products-from chatgpt to a customer-support bot-the performance of personhood, which is a bit of a misleading magic trick when done carefully, is at least as Important as raw capabilities. Meta Can Claim Its Building Technology to Create Social-Media Agents that can exist on its platforms “in the way that that accounts will,” and Maybe it’ll out to be right. But Meta he has characters are also a way to slap a more Friendly, Humanlike Face on A Long, Bloodless Campaign of Social Automation.
David Solomon at Goldman Sachs headquarters in 2018.
Photo: Landon Nordeman
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Even people fond of David Solomon acknowledge that his equilibrium state is what most of us would consider tense. The voice of the Goldman Sachs CEO is perpetually hoarse, as if he has permanently worn it out from screaming. “He sort of talks in a yelling voice,” says one colleague. “He’s not really yelling, but he sort of talks at you.” “When he talks, he shouts,” another banker agrees. “He always sounds like he’s shouting — always.” It’s a tendency he can’t even suppress in text: Solomon likes to MAKE NOTES ON DOCUMENTS IN ALL CAPS. The word a lot of people use about him is bully.
Solomon, 61, is bald and broad-shouldered, like a thicker and more wizened version of Mr. Clean, with eyes so squinted behind doughy features it’s hard to tell what color they are. He walks heavily, a venti iced coffee almost always in hand, as though the sport of being a banker were a physically taxing one. Several years ago, when Goldman’s board was auditioning him for promotion to CEO, the bank’s image specialists gave Solomon tips on becoming more approachable. They suggested he walk the floors more often and create opportunities for small talk — perhaps by stopping at an assistant’s desk to take a piece of candy.
“When I told him, ‘You got to stick your hand in the candy bowl,’ he just gave me this look like, Why would I do that? How is that productive?” recalls someone involved in the effort. The exercise did not succeed in endearing Solomon to the Goldman rank and file. “He would stomp around the floors in a really purposeful way, and he’d find the two or three people he knew,” the banker says. “He’d knock on their door and they would get scared. The whole thing didn’t work.”
You don’t need to be popular to be the CEO of Goldman Sachs, of course. You can even be an asshole. The only real nonnegotiable is that you be skilled at making money, so when the board tapped Solomon to lead the bank in 2018, it was widely understood that as long as earnings got fat, it didn’t matter if his bankers liked him personally.
In a way that was a little hard to detect at first — and has lately become the most-talked-about story on Wall Street — that dynamic is being put to the test. It started during COVID, when Goldman booked spectacular profits trading the pandemic markets at the same time that reports of misery among junior and senior bankers alike began to leak to the press. Executives quit Solomon’s inner circle for rival shops, younger workers complained about the 100-plus-hour weeks he expected, and everyone rolled their eyes at his newish hobby: DJ-ing huge parties under the stage name DJ D-Sol.
By the fall of 2022, Wall Street was awakening to something extraordinary: The negativity heaping on Solomon was reaching a point at which it could threaten his job, no matter the state of the business. Solomon had directed Goldman to buy a pair of private jets, and Bloomberg News reported (with a reference to Marie Antoinette) that he flew them seven times in seven weeks to places like Barbuda and the Bahamas, even as he was reprimanding workers for not logging more hours in the office. Pictures of Solomon in the DJ booth at venues from Napa Valley to Lollapalooza — looking like the “How do you do, fellow kids?” meme brought to life — embarrassed the most image-sensitive institution in finance. As the media attention began to take its toll on Solomon, he called a former colleague to ask if he would say positive things about Goldman to reporters. “Can you believe what my life has become?” Solomon said. “It’s getting exhausting.”
The single most harmful report came in November when it leaked that Solomon, who is divorced, had once boasted to a group of colleagues, “I bet I was the only one who got a blowjob last night.” Behind his back, snickering executives gave him a mortifying new nickname: BJ D-Sol. More damage came in April, when Insider reported that Solomon had flown Goldman’s planes at least 21 times to his retreat in the Bahamas. (He reimbursed the company, per policy.) Solomon was incensed. The next day, FAA records show, he registered a new Embraer Phenom jet for his personal use, disguising it under an LLC named for one of the wealthiest streets in the Hamptons, where he owns a home: Middle Lane.
Solomon dismissed his adverse coverage as “noise,” but by this June, it was deafening. The Wall Street Journal, under the headline “Goldman Sachs Is at War With Itself,” reported that Solomon’s predecessor, Lloyd Blankfein, had openly slagged him at the bank’s annual strategy conference. “God, I wish he’d spend less time on the plane and more time making money,” Blankfein said to a group of about 15 partners at a hotel bar. Soon, the New York Post claimed Goldman’s board was “starting to reevaluate” its CEO. The gargantuan profits that had protected him were slipping away. The most recent quarter saw a year-over-year decline of more than 60 percent. Senior and arguably irreplaceable talent have kept heading for the exits. In August, John Rogers, the bank’s powerful chief of staff to generations of CEOs, stepped down from his role — a sign he may be transitioning out of the firm.
Goldman veterans say that in some ways, the situation is more toxic than what the bank faced in the post-financial-crisis vampire-squid days. “This is considerably uglier for Solomon,” says a former insider. “It’s worse because it’s much more personal, and it’s all directed at him.”
In other words, at Goldman Sachs, Solomon’s sins are considered more unforgivable than contributing to (and profiting from) the near collapse of the global economy. Strategic mistakes that might have been tolerated under a more respected regime are being read as disastrous, a direct result of his personality. Solomon is blamed for mismanaging a push into new territory — banking for relatively ordinary customers — that has lost $3 billion and counting since 2020. But at Goldman, that’s frankly not a whole lot of money. (Note that in 2020 the bank agreed to pay Malaysia $3.9 billion, and the U.S. government a further $2.9 billion, to resolve a sprawling scandal in which it pleaded guilty to violating the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act.) “I’ve called for CEOs to be fired before,” says Mike Mayo, a bank analyst well known for his often antagonistic views. “If it’s warranted, I’ll speak up, but I’m not seeing it from the outside metrics.” Instead, the mutiny is best understood as backlash to Solomon’s attempt to change Goldman’s business and culture.
For most of its 154-year history, the bank was a private partnership, and even after going public in 1999, it still operated like one. It was flatter than other big banks with more decentralized power — a secretive and exclusive club of elites who were admired as the most talented operatives in the game, guaranteed to earn more money than their peers at less exalted institutions. What those partners failed to appreciate, though, was that at some point after the IPO, they didn’t own the place anymore. Shareholders controlled the voting rights, and when Goldman’s board promoted Solomon — making him the first CEO to enter the bank mid-career — he had a mandate to run the firm more transparently and more like a modern corporation. What’s baffling is that the board would give such a delicate task to a person almost universally regarded as a jerk.
“David’s not likable,” says a longtime colleague — one of the more diplomatic comments I heard in talking to more than 30 of the CEO’s current and former executives, most of them partners. “He’s a prick,” says another. “Everybody thinks and says he’s a dick,” adds a third. “He’s a tough guy with a very short fuse”; “He dehumanizes you when he talks to you.”
Morale has sunk to the lowest level in recent memory, in tandem with a sense that the bank inspires less envy among its rivals and less esteem among its fee-paying clients and governments around the world. “I don’t feel like the place is really Goldman Sachs,” says one of the former partners, whose ex-colleagues now call him daily to complain. “Goldman had that sort of magical cachet of being the smartest guys in the room, and it doesn’t feel that way anymore.”
In finance, words like cachet can be euphemisms for compensation. “If you are a Master of the Universe,” one former executive told me, “the only proof that you are a Master of the Universe is how much money you get paid.” And last year, pay sagged around the firm. The bank dispensed $2.5 billion less in compensation and benefits than it had the year before, even though the head count had gone up 10 percent. “They’re still the highest-paid people on Wall Street — that stuff’s true — but it doesn’t feel good to have a down year,” says Tony Fratto, the bank’s spokesperson. “These are people who are used to their comp going up every year. This is a place where people get upset about this.”
The rancor leaves Solomon in a precarious state. Both outcomes seem impossible: that he could continue to lead a team that so thoroughly despises him, or that what is supposedly the most ruthless outfit in capitalism would really oust its boss over hurt feelings.
“If you try and change the company too fast and too bluntly, it’s gonna break or you’re gonna break,” says an executive who left the bank recently. “Organ rejection.”
Speaking to employees at Goldman Sachs headquarters in September 2018.
Photo: Landon Nordeman
Goldman Sachs has already gotten rid of David Solomon twice. A try-hard public-school kid from Scarsdale, he applied to the bank soon after graduating from college and was turned down. The second time he sought a job there, he made it all the way to a final interview with a senior partner. As Solomon recounted dryly in a recent speech, “He looked at me. He looked at my résumé. And he looked back up at me and he said, ‘David, let’s face it. You’re really not Goldman Sachs material.’ Which, if true, is really bad for Goldman Sachs today.”
Solomon went to work for firms like Bear Stearns and Drexel Burnham Lambert instead and distinguished himself in Las Vegas dealmaking, impressing billionaires like Sheldon Adelson and, eventually, Goldman Sachs. In 1999, the bank hired him as a partner — a side-door entry that Solomon’s longer-tenured colleagues never let him forget. After he had been at Goldman for a decade, Solomon turned to Gregg Lemkau, who had spent his whole career on the inside, and asked what he had to do to stop being called a “lateral.”
“If you wanted, you could start over as an analyst,” Lemkau told him. “And then people wouldn’t call you that.”
Although Solomon didn’t experience Goldman in its pre-IPO partnership days, he rose to lead the investment-banking division, where his rigorous and demanding style kept his team at the top of the industry. By some accounts, it had never been better run. “I can’t think of a more horrible thing to say about a person, but he’s just kind of an executioner,” says a former executive.
Success created cover for Solomon’s rougher qualities. He had a reputation for being “very punitive, very sharp-tongued, very hotheaded,” says Jamie Fiore Higgins, a former managing director and the author of a 2022 memoir, Bully Market: My Story of Money and Misogyny at Goldman Sachs. Solomon could also be sensitive about his image. After a reporter described him as “paunchy” in a 2011 article, Solomon confronted her. Grabbing the fleshy inches covering his midsection, he demanded, “Do you think this is a paunch?”
Solomon was known to call the partners he disagreed with “idiots” and even curse them out. His colleagues didn’t mind the language so much as how he made them feel: stupid, as if the only way they could possibly stand behind their opinion was if they were dunces who didn’t deserve to be at Goldman Sachs. “He would say something to the effect of, ‘Well, you’re just absolutely wrong about that,’ and he would just shut the debate,” says a former partner. A classic withering Solomon conversation-stopper was “How could you possibly think that?”
At the same time Solomon was brawling with senior staff, he was cultivating a reputation as a relatively enlightened leader, giving junior bankers Saturdays off and promoting women into more lucrative positions. When the bank’s president, Gary Cohn, left in 2016 to join the Trump administration, Solomon was promoted into his role. He was also named co-chief operating officer alongside Harvey Schwartz, creating a two-man race to one day succeed Blankfein as CEO. Schwartz was also a lateral hire, but he had joined the firm earlier than Solomon, come up through the same trading division as Blankfein, and was considered the front-runner.
Solomon worked to tone himself down a bit. “I think I’ve benefited at the firm in my leadership style for being direct and candid but fair,” he said on a podcast recently. “I think about that a lot. And people have said that to me: ‘You know, sometimes you’re very direct, you’re very candid, but you’re fair.’ And so as long as they say, ‘But you’re fair,’ I feel like I have the balance right.”
While Solomon was competing for the CEO job, his marriage was falling apart. At 27, he had married an Ogilvy & Mather PR executive named Mary Coffey, and the couple raised two daughters. Solomon’s cuff links bore photos of the three. Accompanying David to a Rangers game with clients once, Mary turned to one of his colleagues and said, “I’m doing four of these this week.” “I think she might have gotten bored of life as the wife of the guy trying to run Goldman Sachs,” the colleague says. “It was as much of a job for her, and I’m not sure she liked that job.” Before their divorce was finalized, they went through a public ordeal. In January 2018, the couple’s assistant, Nicolas DeMeyer, was arrested for stealing $1.2 million worth of wine from the Solomons’ collection. DeMeyer’s mother offered to pay Solomon restitution, but he turned her down. Meaning to sound reassuring but coming off as condescending, he told her, “Don’t worry about it — I’m not going to give up eating.” Nicolas DeMeyer died by suicide, jumping out a window of the Carlyle Hotel, on the same afternoon he was expected in court.
Inside Goldman, Solomon’s balancing act was working. With profits down from subprime-era highs, the board was under pressure to modernize the place. The next CEO would need to pare back some of its theatrical secretiveness and expand beyond trading and investment banking into less glamorous areas like asset management and credit cards. Solomon prevailed over Schwartz, pitching a more efficient and accountable vision of Goldman that included checks on spending accounts and business travel as well as quotas to recruit more women to each analyst class. In the summer of 2018, the bank announced that Solomon would replace Blankfein as CEO.
Solomon, who had been quietly developing his DJ skills under the tutelage of the New York producer Liquid Todd, decided to perform in Montauk a month before taking office, spinning at Gurney’s for an audience of millennials paying thousands of dollars to sip rosé in cabanas. The Times had outed Solomon’s sideline a year earlier, and Blankfein was still deciding whether it was grounds for amusement or concern. “DJ-ing is not a social hobby,” Blankfein told a number of confidants.
DJ-ing at Lollapalooza in the summer of 2022.
Photo: Shea Flynn
The Solomon era at Goldman Sachs began with outward signs that he might rule as a kinder and maybe even “woker” boss. He relaxed the dress code, allowing Goldmanites to sometimes wear jeans; scheduled the bank’s first “Investor Day,” at which shareholders and analysts could interview senior executives, unimaginable in the partnership era; and decreed that the bank would no longer arrange IPOs for companies with boards that were all male or all white. The people who actually worked for Solomon, though, were skeptical that any amount of DJ-ing could help him evolve. “Everyone in banking laughs about the D-Sol thing because they were all terrified of him for the last many, many, many years,” says a former senior trader.
At the same time, Solomon was stacking his C-suite with close allies, including John Waldron as chief operating officer and Stephanie Cohen as chief strategy officer, which insulated him from a degree of criticism. Solomon has acknowledged feeling a shift. “As a banker, I always would talk to CEOs and they’d talk about sometimes the loneliness, the isolation,” he said recently on another podcast. “But I was really surprised, when I actually got into the seat, how real it is.” He got little more than a year on the job before COVID, and during lockdown, he seemed conspicuously lonely. His kids were on the West Coast, border restrictions kept him from visiting his girlfriend in Canada, and his vacation home in Baker’s Bay in the Bahamas had just been destroyed in a hurricane. Solomon was mostly by himself in his penthouse apartment on Wooster Street. While the majority of his colleagues locked down or fled the city, he continued to take a car the mile or so to Goldman’s headquarters on West Street. “I just think he didn’t have anything to do,” says an ex-partner who worked closely with him.
Solomon was among the CEOs most forcefully advocating a quick return to the office. He relished telling a story about lunching in the Hamptons one summer Friday when one of his junior bankers, sitting at a table with other young Goldmanites, walked up to make an introduction. To Solomon, the breach of protocol embodied everything that was wrong with remote work: If the analysts were comfortable breathing one another’s air in East Hampton, they could do so at Goldman headquarters. In July 2020, Solomon directed his team to draft memos ordering workers back to their desks before the end of the summer. Some of his top advisers pushed back, including his PR chief, Jake Siewert, who reminded Solomon of the reputational hit the bank would take if it insisted on employees’ attendance while their kids were stuck at home and vaccines weren’t yet available. Solomon yielded, though the dispute dragged on. According to The Messenger, it got so tense that at one point he snapped to staff, “I can’t wait for the markets to turn so I can start firing you.”
Many Goldman bankers point to this juncture as when Solomon started to lose them. The bank was realizing staggering profits thanks in part to relatively junior employees whose workweeks had jumped from 80 to an unsustainable 120 hours. Solomon didn’t seem to empathize. In the middle of June 2020, he made a cameo on an episode of Showtime’s Billions, and the next month he DJ-ed a set as the opening act for the Chain-smokers at an outdoor concert in Water Mill, where maskless crowds formed in violation of social-distancing rules. Governor Andrew Cuomo tweeted that he was “appalled,” and Solomon apologized to the Goldman board.
“I really do think he believes he’s cool. But he’s not cool,” says a former employee. “The most fascinating thing about it is that what would make him cool is if he was liked internally. And if he actually leaned into his uncoolness, he’d be more likable.”
Solomon also started to lose Goldman’s female employees. He had become CEO in part by pledging to promote more of them from the back office and into divisions that make money and bestow power. He also tied bonuses to diversity metrics. But during the pandemic and after, those women leaders began leaving at a clip that was hard to ignore (though the total number of female partners has gone up). Several hired lawyers and alleged various degrees of sexism and discrimination. One such complaint included Solomon’s blowjob comment, which an insider later leaked to Bloomberg. Goldman’s lawyers paid off the departing employees enough times that Solomon tried to turn off the money spigot, asking to personally approve each payment. His legal and PR teams understood that the cases were losers regardless of merit. “If they went to a jury, the women definitely would have won,” says the ex-partner. “Because they would say, ‘Well, you’re the guy forcing everyone back to the office.’”
Some 200 partners have left the firm since Solomon took over. There’s always a level of churn at Goldman, but what’s striking is the seniority of the departing bankers, including division heads, members of the C-suite, and rising stars considered contenders to serve as future CEOs. They have gone on to positions at hedge funds, private companies, and start-ups — all preferable to working for Solomon. “It’s an important part of Goldman tradition for partners to leave for a wide range of new pursuits, and we wish them well,” Siewert said in March 2021, spinning an early wave of departures to the Times. Two months later, he quit too.
If Solomon were always right, no one in finance would care whether he blew up at underlings or rejected every opinion but his own. When you run the most powerful investment bank in the world, you’re supposed to be decisive. Yours is the only ego that matters, and it helps if everyone recognizes that. The problem for Solomon is that lately he has been wrong in consequential ways, opening the floodgates for criticism of his style of management by intimidation.
Post-crisis reforms had capped Goldman’s potential trading profits, and part of Solomon’s strategy to reinvent the bank and get it growing again was an aggressive push into Main Street banking, a.k.a. retail or consumer banking. Blankfein had started a consumer bank called Marcus — after the firm’s founder, Marcus Goldman — that would offer personal loans and high-yield savings accounts. Solomon accelerated the effort, devoting more resources and pushing the executives in charge to expand their ambitions. “David kept on telling them, ‘Go bigger, go bigger, go bigger,’ and made them spend more money than they should have,” says a person involved in the process.
Goldman also had a flagship venture with Apple to administer its first payment card, and Solomon saw it as a tantalizing new business, a chance to innovate in a market dominated by Chase’s surging Sapphire brand and American Express. For all of Goldman’s consumer products to be viable, he was adamant that Marcus offer a checking account. That would be expensive: Goldman was a latecomer to retail banking and would essentially need to pay customers to bring their money in the door. The executives in charge of Marcus — Harit Talwar and his deputy, Omer Ismail — tried to convince Solomon that checking was a bad idea, but he told them they lacked vision, according to people who witnessed the discussion.
To appeal to this new class of customers, Goldman had to recruit some very un-Goldman-like figures: people with experience in credit-card loans and branch banking. The new hires could feel the old guard’s condescension, and the two tribes were conspicuously separate. Solomon wanted his bankers in the office five days a week, but Marcus employees, many of whom came from the tech industry, were permitted to sometimes work from home.
Marcus strategy became the subject of frequent clashes. “I think David’s management style was leading the place by fear,” says a former partner. “If he didn’t like what you were saying, it was very classic ‘Let’s shoot the messenger,’ as opposed to ‘Let’s listen to the message.’ There would be a lot of yelling, and there would be a lot of public displays of anger.” Talwar resigned in late 2020; a few months later, so did Ismail, who took another partner with him to a new job.
“How could you do this to me?” Solomon exploded at Ismail, worried about how the string of departures would reflect on his leadership. He clawed back a significant chunk of the vested stock Ismail had accumulated — a virtually unprecedented move that shocked Goldman veterans. Solomon also blacklisted Ismail from attending the bank’s social events and alumni gatherings, putting him in the same ignominious company as Tim Leissner, a former partner who had pleaded guilty to federal charges in the Malaysia scandal. (Goldman disputes Ismail was shunned. As for the clawback, Fratto says, “Equity awards are governed by the agreement signed by the recipient. In this case, explicit terms were clearly violated, and Goldman Sachs upheld the terms.” Ismail and Talwar declined to comment.) Solomon’s treatment of Ismail, who had spent his entire career at Goldman, underlined to fellow lifers that even after more than 20 years, the CEO was still a lateral, someone who simply didn’t get the bank’s unwritten codes of loyalty.
In the summer of 2021, Solomon moved his office from the 41st floor — an enclave of mahogany and portraiture with sweeping views of the Statue of Liberty — to the 12th, adjacent to Goldman’s Sky Lobby, the most trafficked area of the firm. Despite the new proximity, many workers found Solomon as remote as ever. This was another way the CEO still seemed like an interloper. Generations of Goldmanites have learned that problems should be brought to bosses immediately; the easiest way to get fired is not to put up your hand and ask for help. The firm takes enormous risks on a daily basis, and the only responsible way to operate is to make sure you know about as many of them as possible. Solomon, though, had conditioned the people around him to avoid coming forward. “It’s the David and John show,” Solomon told partners who challenged him, referring to Waldron, the COO. Senior leaders felt disenfranchised and irrelevant — unacceptable emotions for people used to being Masters of the Universe.
Solomon’s insistence on ambitious goals and his intolerance for disappointment were a dangerous combination. A managing director who left recently told me about hearing a division head’s troubling confession: They had realized that targets for the checking-account product were “never going to fly with senior leadership, so I just doubled everything.” Some observers were reminded of Dick Fuld, the legendary misanthrope CEO of Lehman Brothers, whose deafness to dissent helped doom that bank in 2008.
Solomon kept pushing, completing a $1.7 billion acquisition of a start-up, GreenSky, that would allow the bank to make home-improvement loans. But the Marcus checking account was running far behind schedule, and the division was starting to look like a mishmash. Rising interest rates caused defaults on Apple cards to spike; more than a quarter of its credit-card borrowers had FICO scores under 660; most of its personal-loan customers were using the money to pay down other debt. Goldman Sachs suddenly had millions of customers who not only weren’t as rich as the bank’s longtime clients, but were struggling to make ends meet.
“At that point, the boat was on fire. We were hemorrhaging cash, we were operationally insolvent, and we’d made some bizarre deals,” says the former managing director. “A lot of people said Marcus had proved Goldman can be something different, and that is very much what I was sold. And then people were like, ‘No, this is still totally the vampire squid.’ We all just sort of got fooled.”
Some critics have suggested that perhaps Solomon was too distracted between DJ-ing and taking private planes to the Bahamas to kitesurf to see that Marcus had veered off course. But I think that narrative misses the point. Solomon is a workaholic, a CEO who never takes longer than three hours to respond to emails. It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention; it’s more likely that no one told him.
By the summer of 2022, regulators were investigating the credit-card business, and rumors were spreading that Goldman would ditch the consumer division entirely. In Dallas for an off-site strategy meeting, put up at an airport hotel, senior executives connected the dots. “We all suddenly realized we were in Texas for a completely fake exercise — planning to run a business that no one had any intention of running for another couple of months,” the former managing director says. Layoffs came two weeks later, and Solomon has since announced that much of the consumer business is for sale.
Goldman’s partners are likely rankled less by the loss of several billion dollars and more by the embarrassment. The bank can always make more money. It’s a lot harder to earn back prestige.
One read of Solomon’s intransigence is that he simply can’t help being prickly. He once got mad at me for writing that he had left a Miami nightclub at “almost 3 a.m.,” which I’d rounded up from 2:40 (with time-stamped photos to prove it). “That woman,” he told his staff in ire, “is an embellisher.” Solomon is notoriously literal. On a Goldman Sachs podcast, Siewert tossed him an easy question about how Wall Street had changed in his decades of experience there, and Solomon went for a geographically pedantic dunk. “I actually haven’t physically worked on Wall Street since 1984,” he said.
For much of Solomon’s remarkable career, he has had the financial performance to ignore suggestions that he change his personality. His execution during the pandemic made 2021 Goldman’s best fiscal year ever with profits of nearly $22 billion. Not long afterward, a member of the bank’s board learned Solomon was scheduled to play a set at Lollapalooza and confronted him about the cringey optics. “Listen, this is my hobby. Your hobby is playing golf,” Solomon said. The board member tried to sway the CEO: “No one has ever OD’d at Pine Valley or Shinnecock. There’s a reputational thing.” Solomon played the event anyway. Last year was Goldman’s second best by revenue, but it was down significantly from 2021, and the firm’s hiring spree during that time meant there were many more mouths to feed. When the annual review process began, employees learned the bonus pool was looking weak. They also heard rumblings that thousands of layoffs were likely, and for the first time, headlines about the bank’s bad morale began to include the possibility of Solomon’s ouster. “Grumbling Grows for Banking Giant Goldman to ‘Sach’ CEO Solomon,” the Post wrote just before Christmas.
The bank eliminated 3,200 jobs in January. The next month, many of the firm’s more than 400 partners flew to Miami for Goldman’s annual strategy meeting. They grilled the CEO about why the firm had to cull so many people, whether they would have to make further reductions, and most important, when they could all expect to make more money again. Solomon responded that he wished only that he had followed his instincts to fire people sooner. “As the environment was growing more complicated in Q2 of last year, every bone in my body believed we should be much more aggressive in slowing hiring and reducing head count,” he said, according to the Financial Times.
Later in February, reporters and analysts took notice when Solomon lost his cool onstage at Goldman’s Investor Day gathering: stammering, sighing audibly, and turning his back on analysts who pressed him for details on Marcus and the consumer-banking disaster. This was the testy and combative side he showed frequently behind closed doors but less often in public.
An even more revealing — and all but unnoticed — exchange happened a few days later. As chair of the board of trustees at his alma mater, Hamilton College, Solomon attended a networking event on campus in early March. Toward the end of the reception, a cluster of seniors approached Solomon with questions about the university’s energy investments. Three of them wrote a letter to the student newspaper, the Spectator, about what happened next. “Solomon’s attitude and behavior toward us and our questions carried extremely racist and sexist undertones,” they wrote. “His blatant ignorance and disrespect is one we feel obligated to share with the campus community.”
According to the students, they spoke with Solomon for 30 minutes, mostly about fossil-fuel divestment. The CEO offended them several times, claiming at one point that he “does more in a week to help climate change than we will ever do in our entire lives” and pointing to a home he bought in Vail that runs on geothermal energy.
“Solomon then said probably the most clearly racially charged sentiment,” the students wrote. “He pointed at each one of us, claiming that all of us must be on financial aid; he implied that we should show immense gratitude because we are in debt to the college’s endowment and that we should not complain about its investment portfolio. Once we all looked shocked at the claim, he quickly backtracked, citing the statistic that something like 80 percent of Hamilton students are on some kind of financial aid. It is important to note that the group of six or so people talking to him were all non-male and at least half were people of color. We believe that he never would have assumed we were all on financial aid if we were the group of white male students in suits talking to him 20 minutes prior.”
A Goldman spokesperson disputes the students’ claims as false. But they took notes on the encounter, writing down everything Solomon said, and shared them with me.
At least one of the students left the encounter in tears. “It was just so upsetting and appalling that someone would talk to us with that much blatant disrespect and disregard for us,” she told me. “In my life, I had never really been talked to like that, which was kind of stunning.”
Solomon appeared to think the interaction was a success. Later that evening, he approached one of the students at a campus pub and said that he “really enjoyed our conversation earlier.”
Solomon declined to be interviewed for this article, but Goldman’s official view is that his temperament is irrelevant as long as the bank is performing well. The firm’s press team thinks the partners need to grow a thicker skin when going head-to-head with their CEO. “We’ve spent time in politics, and this is just normal,” says Fratto, who used to work in the George W. Bush administration. “I can’t believe Goldman Sachs people get irritated about having to debate an issue when it’s literally what we did all day long back in our lives in politics.”
One difference between students at Hamilton and the Goldman executives leaking against Solomon to reporters is that the former group has nothing personally to gain. If Solomon loses his job, someone will likely move up from the inside, and the names that have been floated in the financial press include Waldron; Richard Gnodde, the CEO of Goldman Sachs International; Steve Scherr, a former chief financial officer; and Marc Nachmann and Jim Esposito, division leaders who might rule as co-CEOs. Waldron’s role may make him the leading prospect, but his closeness with Solomon — who was in Waldron’s wedding — might rule him out if the board were to seek a change. “That’s probably David’s greatest protection: lack of anybody that could plausibly take over,” says a banker who has been following the horse race.
Solomon serves at the pleasure of the board, not the partners, and voting him out might happen only if Goldman’s stock — which is down slightly this year, while the overall market is up — takes a major dip. “Investors understand the strategy, and it’s mostly been successful. There’s a reason the stock price is up 50 percent over the past five years,” says Fratto. But several current and former executives who have served on the management committee told me that what Solomon has done to lose the goodwill of the staff was serious enough to materially affect the future of the bank. “It always matters,” says a former partner. “The question is whether he still has the following as a leader inside the firm. Capturing the hearts and minds of the organization matters. Otherwise, it doesn’t work.”
Solomon has lately tried to win back the partners, hosting “cultural stewardship” events all over the world as well as cocktail parties at his homes for the firm’s elite and their spouses. But it doesn’t seem to have been enough to disabuse many partners of the suspicion, which they find deeply offensive, that he has put his own interests above those even of the famously self-interested Goldman Sachs. “I think he thought the platform was for his benefit, instead of he was serving this platform,” says an executive with decades of experience at the bank stretching back to the days when its position atop Wall Street was unquestioned. “People didn’t think it was cute. They thought it was a breach of contract.”
Say What You Want About Blake Lively, The Girl Still Knows How to Turn a look. Last Night, she arived at the New York City Premiere of Her New Film, Another Simple favor,In a seafoam-green Tamara Ralph Couture Gown from the Spring 2025 Collection, Christian Louboutin Heels, and Lorraine Schwartz Jewelry. The Etereal Gown Featured A Corset Bodice With Lattice Detailing and A Draped Sheer Chiffon Skirt.
She styled the look with pink bejeweled bracelets instead of the sheer gloves that we were shown on the Runway. At Lively’s Side Was Husband Ryan Reynolds and Friends Including Stanley Tucci, Emily Blunt, and Hugh Jackman. Lively Also possed for Photos with her Another Simple favor Co-Star Anna Kendrick. Both lookeed happy to be there, no signs of a bubbling feud.
From Left: Photo: WireimagePhoto: Wireimage
From Left: Photo: WireimagePhoto: Wireimage
The look was a new silhouette for lively, but has hass worn ralph several times over the last year, More notably to the London Premiere of – Trigger Warning – IT ENDS WITH USwhere she lookeed absolutely radiant in a floral-and-sequin-robeshed gown and red fur coat despite the chaos was swirling around her. We do love an unbothered queen.
Photo: Dave Benett/Wireimage
In August 2024, IT ENDS WITH US Arrived Amid A Flurry of Press-Tour Drama, Suggesting A Rift BetWeen Lively and Her Co-Star and Director, Justin Baldononi. By the time the film had managed to pull in $ 345 Million GloballySEEMED TO SETTLE – THAT IS, UNIL DECEMBER, WHEN LIVELY FLED A Legal Complaint with the California Civil Rights Department. She accused Baldoni; His Production Studio, Wayfarer; HIS Business Partners; and Several Publicists of Mounting A Retaliatory Smear Campaign Against Her AFTER AFTER ABOUT ABOUT HARASSment on Set.
Break New York Times Published a Report Based on her CLAIMS, CO-BYLED BY MEGOGE AND PEPPERED WITH TEXT MESSAGES THAT Append to Show Baldoni and HIS for Team Conspiring to Tank Lively’s Reputation. Baldoni Son Came Forward With A Lawsuit of His Own, Suing The Times for defamation and alleging that lively’s Team Had Doctable Its Supposed Evidens, Covering Up A Full by the Actress to Tarnish His Name and Stage a “Hostle Takeover” of the Film. A Few Hours late, Lively officiously Swed Baldoni for Sexual Harassment and Retaliation, he Swed Her Back, and Now the Two Now Locked Legal Battle – And a War of Reputations – that May Well Go to Trial.
For more on that mess, read our full breakdown of everything that happened here.
Paul Reubens and Matt Wolf
Photo: Courtesy of Matt Wolf
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When I approach someone to make a documentary about them, I write a love letter. In the 20 years I’ve been making films, I’ve written countless ones — to Siegfried & Roy, to soap-opera stars and reclusive musicians. Sometimes I’m appealing to their vanity, sometimes their sense that they’ve been wronged. Always, I end my letters with the same sentence: “Trust shouldn’t be expected. It needs to be earned.”
For years, my dream documentary subject was Paul Reubens. His groundbreaking television series, Pee-wee’s Playhouse, defined an entire generation of idiosyncratic children like myself. Throughout my childhood, a Pee-wee pull-string doll dangled above my bed, and I’d stare at it every night before falling asleep.
Five years ago, I started reaching out to Reubens through various interlocutors. In my love letter, I pitched a highbrow portrait of an artist. Pee-wee was a cult icon, but few people knew anything about his creator other than what they had read in the tabloids. My understanding was that Reubens preferred his privacy, and like most of my documentary subjects, he was an unconventional visionary ripe for reappraisal.
Paul, as I came to know him, eventually sat down with me for 40 hours of on-camera interviews. We reminisced about his childhood in Florida, his early years as a performance artist, his meteoric rise to stardom. He also opened up for the first time about his sexuality and the relationship he gave up for his career. The film I made, Pee-wee As Himself, was four years in the making, and it almost broke me. Paul never fully ceded control. He refused to complete a final interview about the arrests that destroyed his reputation and held up our production for long stretches of time. For a while, he stopped talking to me, and I feared the project would never be completed. It would be Paul’s last private act, however, that allowed me to finish telling his story. On July 31, 2023, a week before our last interview was scheduled to take place, I learned along with the rest of the world that he had died of cancer. I was blindsided. My childhood hero, the person I had spent hundreds of hours getting to know, laughing and fighting with, had been dying, and I never had a clue.
Reubens and Wolf, at Tio’s Tacos in Los Angeles.
Photo: Courtesy of Matt Wolf
Paul had contemplated making a documentary about his life for years, but said he didn’t like any of the directors he met with because they were reluctant to allow his input. The Safdie brothers, old friends of mine, who were rumored to be in talks with him to work on a new Pee-wee Herman film, asked him to talk to me instead.
It was the peak of lockdown when we met over Skype. When Reubens logged on, I had an awkward moment of starstruck silence. He had a sweet, almond-shaped face, and if you squinted, you could see a semblance of Pee-wee. But the man I was staring at was nothing like his alter ego. He was Paul. He sat on a groovy orange couch in front of a modernist flagstone fireplace and an expansive Los Angeles view. I complimented him on his home — presumably the real-life inspiration for the playhouse from his children’s show — but he smirked and confessed, “It’s a photo from the internet.” Paul didn’t want me to see where he actually lived. I had been warned he might be difficult. There had been a series of professional fallings out, I was told. I would always say to skeptical colleagues, “I’m good with complicated people.”
Plus we were both gay. We were 30 years apart, and he was a celebrity, but at least we had that in common. Except Paul never enjoyed the freedoms I did as a young gay filmmaker. He had been as out as one could be during art school and decided to go back in the closet to pursue mainstream success. For most of his adult life, Pee-wee and Paul were two strictly separate parts of himself. I understood that choice as a survival strategy for gay men of his generation, but for Paul it was a source of shame and insecurity. He was strongly against his story being interpreted through a queer lens. “I don’t want to be depicted as a gay icon,” he said, “but I do want to come out in the documentary.” I never considered Paul to be closeted, but he had never discussed his sexuality publicly, and it was only later that I realized he had probably said the words “I’m gay” out loud just to a small number of friends. Persuading him to say so on-camera, I learned, would be a major challenge.
We spoke regularly for months — sometimes just hanging out, other times talking through the documentary process, and to what extent Paul might be able to influence the story. The dynamic between a documentarian and a subject is tricky. The relationships are more collaborative than people might expect because we documentary filmmakers don’t just need access. We invade the lives of private people with equipment and a crew, and we take their personal photos to scan and digitize. We ask subjects to sign release forms that grant us permission to use their life as the raw material for our work. Paul and I were bonding, but we were also working out how to get what we needed from each other.
He would FaceTime me often, and I would always pick up. No conversation lasted for just 15 minutes. We would talk for at least two hours each time. I began to informally interview Paul about his life. He shared videos of early performances and television appearances and the places where obscure recordings might exist if he hadn’t preserved them himself. We went through a list of close to 100 potential interview subjects — from his elementary-school crush to fellow celebrities. We were in what could be called a “honeymoon phase.” One night, stoned and lying on the couch, I answered Paul’s call. Formerly a prolific pothead himself, Paul knew how to make me laugh to the point of tears, and that night he was in rare form. My boyfriend of 20 years, Carl, has seen the full arc of these strange relationships that straddle the professional and the personal, and he warned me after I hung up the phone: “Watch out. You guys have absolutely no boundaries, and that could come back to bite you.”
In July 2021, I relocated to Los Angeles to begin production. Paul had invited me in to see his private world. He lived in a mid-century house packed to the brim with archives and collectibles. We would sit for meetings at his kitchen table under the Sputnik chandelier that figured prominently on the set of Pee-wee’s Playhouse. Each evening at sunset, he meditatively spread dried corn and seeds around his driveway to attract wildlife. We would sit on a bench by his front door, quietly watching dozens of deer emerge from the surrounding hills. I felt we had become friends. He gave everyone in his inner circle carte blanche to speak with me, and I scheduled a dozen or so on-camera interviews. He asked me, though, to let him review the footage, which I’m not accustomed to doing. I indulged him because I had promised he would be involved in the process. That’s when we started butting heads. Paul hated how the first two interviews looked and came close to demanding reshoots. Then, without my knowledge, he asked the production designer for images of the interview frames on set.
As a director, I’m used to getting my way, and so was Paul. He asked our producer, Emma Tillinger Koskoff, to mediate a conversation about editing. As a condition to his participation in the project, we had agreed that Paul would have “meaningful consultation” during the making of the film but that I would have final cut. The more we talked, the clearer it became to him that for all his early input, documentaries are really made in postproduction, where he would have less of a say. Paul brought up the issue when the three of us were driving to the storage units where he kept decades’ worth of props and artifacts. Choosing my words carefully, I explained I planned to show him early cuts of the film to consider his feedback but it would be months before I could share anything. The conversation quickly escalated, and Paul raised his voice. He demanded the right to visit the edit room, and I was adamant that I needed to maintain my editorial independence. I never would have agreed to do the film if I knew that Paul would be breathing down my neck. He snapped back and said, “That’s exactly what you signed up for.” We arrived at the parking lot, and Emma left to let us have it out.
We got out and walked for a minute in silence before he said, “You and I have a lot more in common than you think. We’re scared of the same thing.” He was afraid of losing control of his own story again, and I was afraid of losing control of my film.
A still from Pee-wee As Himself.
Photo: Getty/HBO
For three months, I filmed with Paul’s friends. Meanwhile, Paul refused to set a date for his own on-camera interview. I tried to ignore my growing anxiety that he might never be willing to tell his story in his own words. Then, on my last day of shooting, Paul was ready to get started — as long as we didn’t shoot at his home. By that point, I didn’t care. I just needed to keep things moving and film the interview. I asked for two days to prepare, and we staged a rented mid-century home. We decided the best method for filming would be through an Interrotron, the device invented by the documentary filmmaker Errol Morris to project the interviewer’s face over the camera lens. This way Paul would be looking directly at the viewer throughout the documentary. I asked my cinematographer, David Jacobson, to put curtains around the camera so the only thing Paul would see in the interview chair was an image of my face. It was essentially a fancy version of our FaceTimes.
The afternoon before Paul’s first day of interviews, I got a frantic call. He was anxious that the backdrop and lighting wouldn’t feel right, and he wanted to spend another day perfecting it. I told Paul that we could reschedule if he wanted to, but after a long, purposeful pause, I said, “I’m going to take care of you.”
The next day, Paul was in the interview chair. He would spend an hour describing his first visual impressions as an infant or the colors and patterns of the wallpaper in his childhood bedroom. But when I tried to push the conversation forward, he squirmed, or made fun of me, or asked for a break. Every time I’d try a new question, he’d retort with a sarcastic remark or a wacky facial expression. Sometimes he’d answer a question and then digress into a 30-minute monologue about an elementary-school prank. I was growing concerned but kept a straight face.
Even with ten days scheduled, I wasn’t sure I could get Paul to let his guard down. He was on full display — slippery, rebellious, outrageous, and, in moments of reflection, deeply thoughtful and sincere, but he was still holding back. “I’m going to keep a few secrets, and even if I don’t, I mean, I will by nature,” he said at one point. “I’m the only person that knows everything about me, I think. There’s absolutely secrets that we all want to keep that make us attractive, that make us mysterious.” Now I realize that Paul wasn’t just battling me. He was wrestling with himself about how much to truly share on-camera.
On the fourth day, after 14 hours of interviews, Paul started talking about his college experiments with drag. He knew I was going to ask him next about his sexuality. He was fidgeting in his seat, jokingly asking for lollipops. Eventually, he pulled me aside and said, “I don’t know how to do this.” I said, “You just say, ‘I’m gay.’” We laughed. “Okay, if you say so,” he said. Paul sat back in the chair, and I continued to ask him pointed questions, which he dodged while speaking broadly about the word sexuality. Finally, I interrupted and asked, “Paul, are you gay?”
“This is something I’ve never spoken about ever,” he said. “I’ve spoken about it to a psychologist and a therapist. I’ve talked about it to very, very, very, very close friends … At Cal Arts, nobody didn’t know my sexuality, which was — did I say it? Did it come out? Gay.”
Suddenly, his body relaxed. For the next hour, he told me the story of his college boyfriend, his first true love, an artist named Guy, the devastation that followed when the relationship fell apart. “I was as out as you can be,” he said. “And then I went back into the closet.” They stayed in touch over the years until Guy was sick with AIDS. Their last meeting took place hours before Guy died.
That night after we wrapped, Paul FaceTimed me. I feared he was calling to take it all back, to tell me that he wouldn’t let me use the material we had captured that day. Instead, he told me he was relieved.
Despite our breakthrough, Paul was still evasive. Over ten days of filming, he had hardly discussed the arrests. More troubling, he was holding out on signing his release, and without that, we didn’t have the rights to use his interview or archival footage or to even tell his story. Emma threatened to shut down the production, and I stayed up at night terrified that we might not get the crucial final interview. Weeks went by and then months with Paul and the producers at odds, and the project was at a standstill. Every time my phone rang, my heart started pounding. Either Paul was calling me with grievances or Emma was updating me with bad news.
I was back in New York furiously working with my editor, Damian Rodriguez, to assemble the 40 hours of interviews I filmed with Paul, and the 1,000 hours of archival footage our archivist, Brittan Dunham, had already digitized. The production was losing money, but I thought if I made it to a rough cut, I could convince Paul to proceed. He needed to know what would be lost if the film imploded.
My communication with Paul had become tense and infrequent, and in one of our last conversations, he told me that I was the only person who could save the production. He warned that if I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I pushed back: “Paul, you are at war with the producers, not me, and only you can make the choice to proceed with the film.”
Five months went by. Paul and I had stopped speaking. When we had to lay off the postproduction staff, I was devastated. My relationship with Carl was strained, my health suffered, and I didn’t know who would hire me after failing to finish the biggest film of my career. Then, on my birthday, I got a text from Paul with a Betty Boop animated GIF. “Happy 40th,” it said. He was a big believer in birthdays, and this gesture implied we might still be in good standing. Early the next morning, I woke to another text from Paul, asking to speak. He wanted to see if there could be a solution to continue making the film.
The determination I once felt nearly two years ago to win Paul’s trust had faded. I was skeptical and hurt, and I was trying to move on with my life and to start new projects. But I called him because I was scheduled to be in L.A. to shoot a freelance job that week. “I’d like to show you the first 45 minutes of the film,” I said. Two days later, we were in a screening room.
Paul arrived with his assistant, Allison Berry, who had worked with him for nearly 40 years. I was relieved that she joined because Allison was forthright with her opinions, and I suspected she had been advocating for Paul to finish the film. Before things went off the rails, I remember confiding to Allison about my struggles with Paul. “I think he trusts me,” I said tentatively. “Or maybe he doesn’t, and that’s okay,” she said.
I sat behind Paul and Allison as the rough cut played. Occasionally Paul laughed, but he asked to pause every ten minutes for a bathroom break. Each break grew longer, and I assumed Paul was taking time to absorb the experience of watching his life play out onscreen. Paul saw the scene depicting his relationship with Guy, illustrated with vivid, romantic Super 8 film, which Paul shot in the late 1970s.
At the end of the screening, he smiled. For the past two years, when I presented him with an idea, the best response I could get was, “I don’t disagree with that.” I’d say, “So does that mean you agree with it?” He’d clarify, “That’s a different category.” Paul said that in the bathroom, he was brainstorming what he should say to me about the film. “I look forward to helping you make it even better” was the response he came up with.
I left L.A. inspired by our meeting and optimistic for the first time in a year. Still, the path to completing Paul’s contract, securing the remainder of his archival material, and sitting down for that final interview was far from certain. Things got better and then they didn’t.
Whenever I expressed hope for a resolution, we’d fall backward toward the same conflict over editorial control. When Paul was stalling, I assumed he was afraid to discuss the arrests. I also wondered if he had always intended to take over the film during postproduction. But it was futile to figure out his thinking. The project seemed all but dead.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, we got word that Paul was ready to move forward. His team asked if we could film his interview in two weeks. I was shocked that Paul was ready and that he had signed his release. Before the shoot, he called me. His voice sounded strangely weak, and he asked me to sit down. I could tell something was wrong.
“I might not be able to stay as involved as I hoped,” he said. “But I know that you’ll make the film we discussed.” He continued, “I’m sorry that I was so emotional these past few years,” and I responded, “I’m sorry if I did things that upset you.” He said gently, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Then after a long pause, “I trust you.” I was stunned. The only thing I could say back was, “I’ll do right by you.”
When I hung up the phone, I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t know what had just happened, but it was heavy. The next week, when I was shooting another freelance job before heading to L.A. to film the interview with Paul, I got a text from an executive at HBO. “Is this real?” she wrote, along with a screenshot from Pee-wee Herman’s Instagram account. It said, “Last night we said farewell to Paul Reubens, an iconic American actor, comedian, writer, and producer … Paul bravely and privately fought cancer for years.”
I felt my legs buckling. In a matter of seconds, my phone exploded with an onslaught of texts. Emma called me, her voice quavering, while more calls rolled in. Then I heard from Paul’s close friend and publicist, Kelly Bush Novak.
Kelly said she had tried to call me before the news broke, but she couldn’t reach me in time. “Paul recorded something for you the night before he died,” she said. A few days later, I was in her office listening to Paul’s deathbed audio. It was devastating. But there was no time to grieve. The project I thought would never see the light of day now had an ending. That night and the year that followed, I went into filmmaking mode. In the edit room, I’d sometimes cringe watching our exchanges. At one point, I told Paul, “I don’t think we’d be here if you didn’t have a tiny bit of trust in me.” He shot back, “You’ve made one documentary I liked, out of how many — six?” Other parts were revealing in ways I hadn’t quite understood in the moment. I tried to recall any indication he might have been sick. The only thing that came to mind was something he said off-handedly: “The key to keeping a secret is to tell nobody.”
The film I made about Paul premiered at Sundance in January. I was still angry for the way he treated me but also regretful that he wasn’t there. In the end, there was a limit to how much Paul would let me in. It has taken me a while to understand why. Paul spent his adulthood hiding behind an alter ego, and he took a leap of faith to share his inner life with me. He had made incredible art about self-acceptance but couldn’t find it for himself. The tragedy, I think, is that he was on his way.
The other day, I was writing a letter to a new subject. I was about to copy and paste my usual line — “Trust shouldn’t be expected. It has to be earned” — when I had a flashback to something Paul once said to me. It was at a moment when things were peaceful between us, and I was explaining how I imagined telling his story. “I’m realizing that you’re sort of making a love letter in the form of a film for me,” he said. “I don’t disagree with that,” I replied. Now that Paul is gone, I recognize he was right. Through my film, I was able to express that I loved him.
It is, generaly Speaking, Rarely a Good Thing Wen Someone Shows up at your door well into the Night and Begins pounding Furiously, but there are occisional exceptions. “Casting,” The Studio‘s seventh episode, opens with one Such moment – or at least it appears to. Apparently already a few drinks into the Evening, Maya Shows up at Matt’s and Grabs a Drink From Hand Before Trading it for A Bottle and Sharing Some News Has Her Excited: The Kool-aid teaser poster is testing through the Roof, Better than any teaser poster in “Five Fucking Years.”
Why? Maya Suspects It ‘s “Perfect Storm of Nostalgia, Kitsch, Irony, and Stupidity.” Shen wonders aluders if they should make out, to which matt replies that they say they have all anymore. (This Bit of their past is new – if not particularly surprise – Information, especally gioven Matt’s apparent hooking up with others in the business where I say or not, as evidenced in the previous episodes.)
IT LOOKS AS IF EVERYTHING’S IN PLACE FOR THE KOOL-AID MOVIE TO BE A HUGE HIT. All they have to do is unveil the cast for the Anaheim Comic-Con. And that shouldn’t be a problem Because they have a great cast, right? Biel. Smokel (whose name matt mispronounces). Oh. In fact, matt wants to announca the biggest star Personally and tel the world that Ice cube will be the voice of the kool-aid man. Oh yeah!
Oh yeah? Maya is starting to get the Feeling there’s something “really fucking suss” About the Casting. Is Casting Ice Cube problematic? DOES IT PLAY INTO STATEROTYPES ABOUT, AS SAL PUTS IT, “A GROUP OF PEOPLE WHO HISTORY ENJOY KOOL-AID MORE THAN OTHERS”? Father First, Matt doesn’t see it. Then he does. Is this casting racist? Watching Three White Characters try to figure this out while while trying so hard swimming to say anything racist that they can’t say Say the Word Blacke is as Sharp nor this episode’s satire gets. The setup is biting, participating quinn adds that and that dosesn’t think of kool-aid as “Black -person drink” but a “Poor-Person Drink.” After that, the episode gets a bit wheel-spinny. That doesn’t make it a bad episodes, just one that make it Its best points right away and then never quite balls say with the succeeding variations.
When Maya, Sal, and Matt Take their Concern Outside the Office, They Don’t Find the Reassurance they’re Seeking. Tyler, whose exisisance matt has seamedly forgotten despite his importance to maya, is fine with it, but he does not “Feel comfortable speaking for all Black People.” Fortunately, Both ziwe and lil rel howery are nearby. Zewe loves it, but be lil reality the will of which Black Actress Will Play “Mrs. K,” It brings up a host of other wills of the Currently have sandra oh in that slot. With cube as the voice, the kool-aid man has “the soul of a black man,” lil rela. Do they want to imply that a Black Woman is not “good Enough to be with a sucssful black man like kool”?
They don’t! Its Panic Time! They Haven to Cast a Black Woman. How About Regina King? But thatn means recasting the daughter, who’s half-asian. Perfect! Except Now they have a Cast in Which all the LIVE-Action characters are played by White Actors and All the CGI Characters are voiced by Black Actors. Maybe, Quinn Suggets, The Original Cast Was Just Fine? She goes unheard. What About Don Cheadle? What About A Lesbian Couple With An Asian Child? What About an All-Black Cast? “That’s Unassailable!” Matt Says. “That’s Doing the Work!”
Of Course, It Also Means Someone ELSE HAS TO DO DIFFERENT SORT OF WORK, NAMEY Nicholas Stoller and His Writers Sandra(Kara Luiz) and Dev (Aniz Adam Ansari). Can stoller e! He ums and aws his way ino saying “yes,” But then the writers point out that is spread out of their wheelhouse as neoheter of saying is Black, and they don’t want to be as taking jobs from blacks. Matt, Howver, Is Digging in this New Direction. “We vetted it with lil re,” he explains. So it’s adieu to the Writers, Leaving Stoller to Assume Solo Writing Duties. But that Creates another problem: with all these changes, there’s no way to make the date they aggregated uppon – unlessthat is, they bring in a cut-rate Animation company that use a lot of it. Matt Has Nearly As Hard of a Time Saying artificial nor he does Saying Blacke. But he signs off on it so long as stoller keeps it quiet.
Solved problem, right? Wrong, for Quinn, Who Tells I say that the all-black Cast Makes it “Kind of SEEM that what you’reaing is that kool-aid is only for Black People.” Its Panic Time Again. Matt’s Solution: Make the Cast “Reflect America’s Racial Demographics.” They can fix it with math. They soon discover they can’t fix it with math. SO Matt decides that only one person can anSwer the question of whereather or not it is racist to cast Ice cube. And that’s ice cube.
Matt Makes an Uncomfortable visits to cube, taching a break in the middle of a recording session. Matt has a hard time getting to the point. Whene he does get there, cube can only reply, “Are you serious?” Cube has already gioven this a lot of the thught and dysmissed the notion that his casting was ino offensive tropes. To cube, it’s Simple: “The kool-aid man is Black … i’m the motherfuckin ‘kool-aid man.”
And it tours out he’s onto something. The Next Day, The Kool-Aid: The Movie Comic-Con panel Goes Just Fine, Up to and Including the Announcement of Ice Cube As the Star. But there’s another problem. When the Q&A Begins, the subject of he Animation Comes up. Say is the real problem. Cube aggrees, Leading a Chant of “Fuck he.” All Matt, Who’s Left Standing Alone on the Stage, Can Do Is Hang His Head in Shame.
• That the animator who is asks about he (billed in the credits as “Nerd” and played by amber dancy) is wearing a homalander costume is bot a nod to The The Boysanother set rogen – newvan Goldberg – Produced show, and an acknowledgment that figures out what and what is isn’t offensive is impossible. Here’s a black female fan dressed up like a character who abuses women and props up a racist regime. Is she being sincere? Irony? WHO KNOWS.
• Rogen Delivers one of the episode’s funniest lines almosto sotto voce will Matt Tries to Bond with Cube by Saying, “Yeah, Sports Are the Best.”
• This is the first time The Studio has returned to Kool-Aid: The Movie Since the first episode. The show hasn’t seamed all that is interested in telling a serialized story, but spreads that Will Change in the Long Run.
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In 2023, Sufjan Stevens shared on Tumblr that he’d been diagnosed with Guillain-Barré syndrome, a quick-working autoimmune disorder with a vast symptom set that includes persistent pain and muscle weakness. Unable to walk on his own for a while, the prolific singer-songwriter began documenting his physical-therapy journey on his blog. Then, that October, in a shattering dedication note for his tenth album, Javelin, he revealed that his partner, Evans Richardson IV, formerly chief of staff at the Studio Museum in Harlem, had died that April.
Stevens is a jarringly autobiographical storyteller but also a famously private person. Suddenly, someone who had never felt compelled to publicly reveal his romantic history, even as he wrote beautiful songs of love and faith, had done so in the most heartbreaking fashion. He has not really been in the public eye since.
But he’s slowly reappearing. On May 30, Stevens will release the tenth-anniversary edition of Carrie & Lowell. The 2015 album focuses on a few years in Stevens’s youth when he lived with his mother, Carrie, and stepfather, Lowell — who would go on to co-found Stevens’s label, Asthmatic Kitty — in Oregon. It tackles the fallout from her death and her history of mental illness and substance abuse. Songs like the viscerally bleak “Fourth of July,” with its haunting chorus, “We’re all gonna die,” are beloved as depression anthems. The new edition features a 40-page booklet of family photos, some previously unreleased demos, and a gutting essay from Stevens about his mother. On Good Friday, I hopped on a video call with Stevens, who appeared clean-shaven and cherubic, wearing a hat and hoodie in the Catskills studio where he has worked since 2019.
What nudged you back into Carrie & Lowell? The people at Asthmatic Kitty were going to do something with or without my involvement. I started digging through archives and found demos, so we thought we’d add that. I usually do the design and layout of my albums, and the packaging of the original LP was pretty simple. I thought I should put some more time and energy into this. I dug up photos of my mom and Lowell and my family, so the LP has a booklet with photos. That felt nice.
There are incredible shots in the book. How did it feel to sift through the old photos? It’s a reminder that we all were children, and in some ways we’re still children. We live and grow and life devastates us and then we die. This album seems to be a celebration of that process. What’s really remarkable about digging through the archive photos is there is so much life to celebrate in spite of this material being all about death. It’s nice to look back and see everyone in a state of vibrancy and vitality.
I feel like when we get archival outtakes and extras from you, you’re doing it semi-reluctantly. I’m turning 50 this year and in an existence that’s somewhat mindful of the past and my legacy. There’s such an enormous amount of material that I’ve released that I have to be a steward of. So there’s always a sense of taking care of the archive; running Asthmatic Kitty is taking care of the catalogue. That’s the work part of the practice. I really don’t like looking back.
Talk about the struggle to pull Carrie & Lowell together. I was flailing, to be honest, with this material. I had no idea what I was doing because I was suffering so much. There were dozens of songs, and they were all over the place. There’s kind of a resignation to that album that doesn’t really exist in anything else I’ve done. With everything else, there’s so much force of will and intentionality: I’m on a journey, and I’m seeking to fulfill some kind of musical destiny, and the album represents that journey. But Carrie & Lowell is a record of failure and the relinquishing of my will.
“She was beautifully and wonderfully made — my mother, my star, my queen, my mystery, my nemesis, and my muse,” you write in your introductory essay for the rerelease. My father was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and our relationship was strained. I pictured what would go through my mind at his funeral in advance. But when I got there in the aughts, I found I had a wave of unexpressed feelings and nowhere to direct them. It made me brasher in the way I speak. How did the experience hit you? That’s a mature response to grief. I can say the same for myself. I felt like I had fewer fucks to give about anything or anyone after that. Life is short. You got to just be true and honest and real. That’s what death does to you.
How do you feel about the work released in between losing your mother in 2012 and writing about it in 2014? The Sisyphus album falls into that period. You were talking about how your response to the death of your father was surprising because you go through all these different emotional responses. That was true for me. I felt a lot of anger and resentment. I also felt impulsive and rebellious. I felt like I didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. Some of the Sisyphus stuff is a reflection of that. There’s a lot of aggression in it. I hate being self-conscious and making any kind of assessment of my work before and after Carrie & Lowell, but I do hope that, if anything, the work has been more honest and also been less self-conscious.
Was there ever a point when your relationship to the material changed? I’m curious why someone who had a difficult time writing those songs would put themselves on the road playing the album in full in front of people all over the country. I had to pretend I was someone else. When I was onstage, I was playing a role. In order to get through the set and sing those songs over and over again, I had to disassociate from all of it. I think that’s a normal reaction to grief, a way of surviving. Even now, I can’t listen to the material. I find it to be too intense and real. I think it’s okay to acknowledge that music is art and art is artifice, and even though there’s a realness and truth in all songs, it’s still fundamentally artificial.
Something else that jumped out in revisiting Carrie is how location-based it is. We’d stopped conceptualizing your work in terms of landmarks mentioned, but the album is so Oregon. The most time that I spent with my mother was in Eugene, Oregon, when she was married to Lowell for five years. That was the time when she was most stable, and we were able to spend summers with her in the ’80s. We didn’t grow up with her. I grew up with my dad and my stepmom, and she was mostly out of the picture. So these were the times when we had very intimate, invested time with her. Carrie & Lowell is like a secret Oregon record. That location is really imprinted in my mind, and it definitely informs the settings of these songs. You see me try to do all the things I did before: I need to come up with a metaphor; I need to come up with a place name; I need to come up with a setting; I need to describe what I’m seeing. The remnants of all that are there. (Sometime collaborator) Thomas Bartlett was the one who convinced me to do less of that: “This record is about your mother. It’s not about anything else. It’s just about this terrible loss.”
“Fourth of July” is sitting at half a billion plays on Spotify. That suggests millions of people are listening to you grieve your mother each month. What does this feel like? To live is to be preoccupied with death. Maybe that’s why this material speaks to a lot of people. I’ve become the poster child of death in a lot of ways in the music world. It wasn’t intentional. It crept up, but it’s always been there. Even the happy-go-lucky chamber-pop music from Illinois and Michigan. It sounds really optimistic, but if you start to parse the lyrics and content, there’s a lot of death and mortality.
That “We’re all gonna die” in “Fourth of July” is really hitting in 2025, so I get why people would gravitate to it on a certain level. We gotta stay positive, though. I don’t want anyone to believe that this obsession with mortality is the end-all. As I get older, I become more jaded. Experience makes fools of us all. It devastates you. I am making it a practice to stay optimistic. What’s even more important than optimism is duty: duty to work and stewardship of work and of the world. I take a long view. In the moment, I’m also thinking, How is this gonna resonate ten, 20, 30 years from now? Long after I’m dead? I’m thinking of my work beyond myself.
Something that comes through in the reissue’s choice of demos is how losing a family member was softened by new life coming into the family. This is an underrated thread in the album. When my mother died in 2012, my brother had just had a kid.
How close was this to the 2012 Christmas tour? She died while I was on that tour. Oh man, it was a mess. I’d do a show, fly to Houston to see my mother in the hospital, fly back to San Francisco to do a show, then fly back. The show must go on, but behind the scenes, I was falling apart. But it was nice to have that show to occupy my mind. My brother’s kid really helped me through some tough moments. She’s a good one. She’s 15 now. She’s 15 going on 40.
Stevens in 2023.
Photo: s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s/Tumblr
There’s a certain subset of song you write that, depending on a listener’s perspective, can scan as either deeply religious or potentially quite sensual. This is a thread in “John My Beloved” and “To Be Alone With You” and “Javelin (to Have and to Hold).” What inspires that train of thought? The religious is very sexual. It’s erotic. Look at Catholic art through the ages, Baroque art. It’s all very fleshy and sensual and full of naked bodies. I’ve always embraced that. I’ve always felt that my relationship to God is a very intimate and sensual one. Sacraments are. It’s engaging with God in a physical way. You’re literally eating the flesh and drinking the blood of God during the Eucharist. It doesn’t get much more erotic than that. If you’re a vampire, that’s the ultimate erotic experience.
Most people who lurk the texts don’t luxuriate in the closeness of Jonathan and David. The Bible’s very gay. Just all men. That’s what you get when there’s a patriarchy that’s endured for so long. Jesus was single, never married; Disciples were all dudes …
You worked on John Legend’s children’s album last year, and I’ve been thinking about how you two have very different “All of Me” songs. His is paying the bills for sure. I wasn’t really looking to produce anyone’s work, but he reached out and he sent these voice-mails and they were so perfect and complete. I don’t know why he wanted to work with me, but I had time and I was inspired by the nature of the songs because they were so simple. They were for kids, and that was all I could really manage at the time.
I’m curious about the “at the time” there. Blog updates trailed off a year ago, and there has been a lot of curiosity about your health and aptitude for playing music these days. I’m okay. Situation normal, all up, kind of a thing. I’ve had some pretty difficult things happen to me, so I’m in a state of repair and survival. I’m not really in any state of mind or any position to go on tour yet. But I’m starting to see the light. I’m starting to feel a sense of direction toward something meaningful and substantial. I’ve been focusing on the moment and on things that feel very silly and Zen: serenity and acceptance and duty and stewardship.
What routines bring you closer to serenity? It’s a lot of gardening and dog-walking and running a small business. I’m the primary owner of Asthmatic Kitty now because Lowell is retired. I have a team of people, but I’m a lot more involved than I used to be. It feels good to have that to occupy my time right now. I’m doing a lot of ordinary, mundane adulting. The other day, I had to get a septic pump replaced. I have had to retile the kitchen and buy some new appliances, and I’ve got seedlings under grow lights in the garage. I’ve been working on other people’s music this past year, not my own. It feels like my life is in service to other things right now. It’s fine and required of me. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. It’s been two years of a shitshow, but I’m okay.
Trump’s Tariffs Are Spooking Buyers, Sellers, Home Builders, and Suppliers, causus a widespread pause in the market. Photo-illustration: Curbed; Photo: Getty
(Editor’s Note: After the publication of this story on April 9 at 8 am, the White House Announed A 90-day Pause on Steep Global Tariffs, Capping at 10 Percent Across the Board. China Will Be Hit with an Increase in Tariffs of Up to 145 Percent, and the Tariffs on Steel, Aluminum, and Cars will Also Remain in Place.)
In the Last Week, Holly Mumford, an Architect and the Founder of Hebout, a Company that sells Predesigned Home PlassHas Seen Several Alarming Signs that Her Business, and the Home-Building Business in General, May Be in Trouble. Immediately after Trump’s Tariffs Went into Effect, She Got an Email Form, A German-Made Cabinet Company and Saying It Wauld Not New Orers at the moment. THEN AN EXTERIOR SIDING COMPANY SHESE TO TOLD HER IT IT ALSO BE PUTTING ITS PROJECTS ON HOLD. Meanwhile, Inquiries from New Clients – She Usually Fields Two or Three Introductory Calls a Week – Have Stopped Entirely. People, Understandably, Are Wary of Starting Projects Right Now. But Mumford Says She’s Most Nervous for People Who Are Mid-Construction and in Contract for the Materials: “I don’t know how willing. I can see it.” Anticipating that Construction Will Cost Significantly More Owing to the Tariffs, She’s Trying to Find Ways to Curb Expens and Make Costs More Predictable for Future Clients-People to Build A 2,000-Ssquare-Food Hom – Like offering Smaller Home Plans and Redesigning the Structural Load to use Thinner Beams. But Since Her Plass Were Already Designed with Affordability in Mind, there’s not a lot of fate to trim. “I do not know if the things i’m look at now will move the Needle Enough, but i’m going to try,” Mumford Says.
The real-aestate industry entered 2025 with a fair amout of optimism. AFTER YEARS OF SClerotic Sales, Inflation, and High Mortgage Interest Rates That Slowed New Construction and Pushhed Home Out of Reach for a Lot of Americans, Were Finally Touring Around. The recession predicted in 2023 did not end up happy, and in New York, Contract Signings Were Up Significantly: “We’ve been seeing it Summer and into the new year – sales rising at four times the rate of inventory,“ Says Jonathan Miller of Miller Samuel, who previously dubbed 2025 the year of getting back to normal. “A lot of People have ben Waiting Years for Rates to Come Down and They Decidated that they weren’t going to Wait anymore. Then we got this.” This, of Course, Being the Trump Tariffs, Which Have ROLLED The Stock MarketRaised Renovation and Construction Costs Considerably, and Spooky Just About Everyone. “Agents are telling with that they have clients are Holding off – no one knows what’s going to happy,” Says BESS Freedman, The Ceo of Brown Harris Stevens. “One of say was a $ 10 million BUYER: They Said, ‘We’re Taking a Pause.’ IT DOESN’T NECESARILY MEAN THEY Won’t go back into the market. Freedman Says that Last Week, She Thought there Might Be Some Upside to The Tariffs, like Falling Interest Rates. But now any optimism is gone: “It fes disorganized and chaotic, and uncetinty and chaos are not good for any markets,” she Says. “More Strain on an al -Strained Housing Market.” Miller Aggrees: “This is Peak Uncertainty. The Uncertainty Has Uncertainty.”
But Broker Jacob Wood, an Associate Broker at Coldwell Banker Warburg, Says that ITS of Its Wealth, New York is more insulated than the rest of the Country from Big Economic Shifts, so’s unlikly that we’ll see any drastic changes; During the Last Recession and the Beginning of Covid, Home Prices Remained Fairly Stable. “The Market Reaction in New York City to these Types of Events is less a drop in pricing than a drop in activity,” he says. “I Think We’ll See a Decline in Inventory and Less Contracts Signed.” In other Words, a return to the discointing market of the last few years. Robert Elson, Another Agent at Coldwell Banker Warburg, has seen this already. “I have two clients who were deliberating listing early this spring-Now or Shortly. At the moment, they are both of the mind-set that waking is better than acting ‘prematureely,’ he wrote in an email.
While People on the Design-Build Side, Like Mumford, Are Already Seeing Problems With Suppliers and New Business, the Future of New Construction in General is Looking Grim with the Tariffs Likely to Raise the Cost of Construction and the administration’s immigration police shrinking the industry’s far -so immigrant workforce. Anthony Luna, The Ceo of Coastline equityA Commercial Real-Estate Advisory and Proppery-Management Firm, Says that as Soon As the Tariffs Went into Effect, They Saw Price Increatses of 15 to 25 Percent on Some Projects. “And that was Last Week. If he follows Through with the Threat of 50 Percent Additional Tariffs on China, it’s not only going to be more price: we’ll suply-chain holdups thanse than during covid.” And those cost increas will be for recepty much everything – lumber from Canada, Electrical Supplies from China, Applances are ASEMBLED Here with Parts Overseas. Costs that Will, of Course, Be Passed on to Budyers and Tenants. Maintenance Costs for Properties Will Also Rise. RENTS, WHICH ARE ALREADY AT ALL-TIME HIGHS, WILL ALOST CERTAINLY Go Up Event More, As Landlords’ Rise Expensses, New Construction Slows, and Sales Fall off, Push up Demand.
Swimming Will Come to A Grinding Halt, Sayys Eli Weiss, Principal At Joy Construction, Which Develops a Lot of Affordable and Mixed-InCome Housing. “Most of the Projects that are under construction right now, the materials were bought Last year, not last weekend,” Weiss Says. Falling Interest Rates COULD BALANCE OUT CONSTRUCTION COST INCREASASE, he adds, and it all change Tomorrow: “I don’t get the impression that they have police set in stone.” Still, he admits, “if i were going to buy out a job Today, i would go in with significant cost increas.” And, he adds, “i would will everyone’s could not to lock in a price right now.” At the moment, it seames, everyone is hopophul that Trump, know for his erratic policymaking, Might Change His Mind before we enter a recession, unmplyment skyrockets, and the damage becomes permanent. Another Developer Who Specializes in Conversions Wrote in an Email that they, like Everyone Else, Are Still the Tariff News and Are “Hopophul Things Will Workhed Out.”
نشر الحساب الرسمي لخدمة “تويتر ميوزيك” Twitter Music تغريدة لفت فيها الى انّه ” آب ستور ”.
وتطبيق #music هو خدمة توفر لمستخدمي الموقع طريقة جديدة في استكشاف المقاطع الموسية ونشرها. وقد أوضح الحساب أنّ النسخ المثبتة حالياً على الأجهة الذكية من التطبيق ستظل تعمل خلال الأسابيع القبين ا ،ح ، ل ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ،. إيقافها نهائياً في 18 نيسان المقبل ، وذلك لأنّ نسب تنزيل التطبيقد انخفضت خلالاشهر اللاract إلى اتخ قرار إلاقه.
وتعتمد الخدمة الموسيقية “تويتر ميوزيك” على المواضيع المتداولة على الشبكة الاجتماعية ، وعلى ما يفضله ينشره ينشراء المستخدم لتقديم توصيات موسيقية تناسبه من بين مجموعة واسعة من الأغاني. وأكد الحساب الرسمي للخدمة في تغريدة أخرى أنها ستظل تختب طرقاً جديدة لجلب المحتوى للمستخدمين حتى بعد إلاق بيق.