This Diwali season, I’ve found myself in India, surrounded by the warmth of tradition on the one hand, and a quiet undercurrent of frustration on the other. Gold, long woven into the fabric of celebration here, is suddenly the subject of side-eyes and recalculations at the various malls. Coins, bangles, and necklaces used to arrive without question. Now, they come with hesitation and a not so quiet glance at the market.

After all, at present, the price of gold, in inflation-adjusted terms, is not just high. It is downright abnormal.

Over the past two years, gold has been climbing steadily. The world has been volatile in ways both predictable and surreal. Pandemic aftershocks. Geopolitical instability. Sharp turns in policy that never seem to settle. But this moment feels different. This is the first time I’ve heard gold talked about not just as a luxury or an investment, but as a problem.

As an American, I’m struck by the contrast. Back home, gold rarely enters casual conversation unless something has broken, such as an inflation spike, banking scare, war, or the like. There, it shows up in headlines like a red warning light. Here, the conversation is daily, domestic, almost routine. That dissonance is what pulled me into this piece.

Because beneath the cultural cues and personal moments is a larger question. What exactly is gold trying to tell us right now?

This article is not investment advice to go bulk-up on gold (please, talk to your financial adviser!). It is an attempt to listen, carefully, to what gold’s behavior may be revealing about the U.S. economy, its role in the global order, and the patterns that households everywhere should start paying attention to.

Let me be clear: I believe in the promise of AI. As a power user, I rely on multiple foundation models daily to streamline my work and solve problems faster than ever. The productivity is real, the tools are evolving quickly, and the cost per use keeps dropping. Naturally, I want to invest in the future I’m already living. And like many of my colleagues, I’ve tilted my portfolio to give a little extra love to AI-heavy tech stocks. But here’s the thing… I’m also an economist. Which means I’ve seen this movie before. And I know how it ends.

Wealth built on asset bubbles feels exhilarating until the floor gives out. As investors, professionals, and decision-makers, we owe it to ourselves to remember a basic truth: price may ride the wave, but value is tethered to the ocean floor. When the current recedes, the fundamentals remain. That is where wealth actually lives.

This article is a guide to navigating the excitement of asset bubbles, especially the AI boom, while staying grounded in financial reality. It draws on economic history, hard data, and the cautionary tales of past bubbles to offer a simple message: Invest, yes. But don’t forget to check your parachute.

Earlier this year, John, a seasoned professional with a major firm, decided it was time for a leap. The stock market had been climbing steadily, financial headlines were full of optimism, and investor sentiment seemed to signal a revitalised economy. And John was getting increasingly tired of feeling left out. So, convinced that growth had returned, he left his stable job to join a consumer–facing start‑up.

Six weeks later, John was unemployed.

The start‑up’s sales projections were built on an assumed rebound in household demand, but real personal consumption expenditures had stalled. Delinquency rates on credit‑card loans were climbing toward the highest level recorded since the early 2020s, and unemployment‑insurance claims had been trending upward since April. Meanwhile, corporate profits after tax had registered their first significant drop in more than two years, and real exports had flattened.

John’s decision was shaped by a popular narrative: when equities rise, the economy must be healthy. That narrative is both persistent and dangerous.

Earlier this year, my wife and I made what should’ve been a simple request: a short-term lease extension while we explored buying a home. We loved our apartment. Paid rent on time. We weren’t just tenants; we were good ones. Reliable, respectful, well-liked by the front office.

So when we asked about continuing our lease month to month, or even for just a few extra months, we expected at least a conversation.

What we got was a price sheet.

The cost to stay? A 90% increase. No negotiation. No consideration of our payment history or community ties. Just a single line: “This is what the system says.”

We later found out that “the system” wasn’t just a euphemism for company policy. It was a literal pricing algorithm, an increasingly common, powerful force in the U.S. housing market that determines rent levels with zero human judgment, and even less empathy.

That single moment, when we were told we could pay twice as much for reduced housing security, triggered a months-long period of research and reflection. Why is renting becoming so unaffordable and unaccountable? What do renters truly need to know?

Turns out, what seems like irrational pricing is actually part of a deeply rational, if disturbing, system. One that’s engineered for growth, not fairness. And one that’s making it harder than ever for everyday families to afford a place to live, let alone save to buy one.

Late last year, I paid off a student loan—not with lottery winnings or a flashy promotion, just consistent payments over time. A quiet milestone, sure, but one that felt like an upward step toward financial freedom. Then, two days later, I got the alert: my credit score had plummeted. Dozens of points gone overnight. The reason? I had closed out a loan. No missed payments. No defaults. Just a responsible, completed obligation. And somehow, I was penalized for it.