Every four years, billions of people tune in the watch the FIFA World Cup. For a month, football dominates global attention, bringing together nations, cultures and economies. However, long before the first whistle is even blown, another competition takes place behind the scenes: the race to host the tournament itself. Governments spend billions of pounds constructing stadiums, upgrading transport networks and preparing cities for an influx of visitors. Supporters claim these investments stimulate economic growth, and leave a lasting legacy. On the other hand, critics argue that the costs far outweigh the benefits. So, from an economic perspective, is hosting the World Cup a pathway to growth or simply an expensive prestige project?

Rhode is not the most scientifically advanced skincare brand on the market. It is not the cheapest. It does not have the longest track record or the most extensive clinical research behind its formulations. Yet it routinely sells out within minutes of a product drop, commands a waitlist culture more commonly associated with Hermès than with moisturiser, and achieved a valuation of approximately $1 billion less than two years after launch. How does a brand that launched in 2022 with a lip treatment and a glazing fluid become one of the most powerful names in beauty? 

With the Monaco Grand Prix tomorrow, the principality of Monaco transforms into the most concentrated display of wealth on the planet. Superyachts worth hundreds of millions of pounds line the harbour as hotel rooms reach £5,000 per night. A Paddock Club pass which grants access to a suite overlooking a street circuit where overtaking is almost physically impossible costs upwards of £15,000. Celebrities, royalty, and the partners of drivers arrive in outfits worth more than the average annual salary, documenting everything for audiences of millions on Instagram. And the race itself, by most measures, is the least exciting of the entire Formula 1 calendar.

Antimicrobial resistance already causes over 1.2 million deaths annually, and projections suggest this could rise to 10 million per year by 2050, surpassing cancer as a leading cause of global mortality. The science of why resistance happens is well understood. Yet what remains unsolved is not a scientific problem, but an economic one: why, knowing all of this, is the market failing to produce the antibiotics we need?

Picture this: you find a wallet on the street, containing £200 in cash, a debit card, and an ID and nobody saw you pick it up. Classical economic theory predicts that you keep the money, as all people are rational, self-interested agents. However, most people return the wallet. Why?

Open any social media app, and it won’t take long before you come across a creator showing their morning routine: collagen powders, protein shakes, vitamin gummies and more, arranged like a mini pharmacy. Collectively, these products form part of the growing supplement economy, an ever increasing market worth billions.

A vial of insulin costs around $5 to manufacture. In Canada, it retails for around $30, however, in the United States, the same vial from the same manufacturer costs around $300. Even though both companies are selling the same drug from the same producer, there is a massive disparity in price. The price gap is not the result of greed alone, it is the outcome of a market missing almost every condition that is considered necessary for prices to behave nationally. 

In 2026, a brand deal is no longer reserved for Hollywood actors and top celebrities. A teenager posting their makeup routine for school, a chef who shares quick and easy recipes, a gamer who streams late into the night are all possible vehicles for advertisement. The global influencer marketing industry is worth an estimated $34.1 billion this year. This is an industry which is ever-growing, with the supply of influencers steeply increasing. As the creator economy booms, and platforms multiply, basic supply and demand theory should predict falling prices - so why are top influencers earning more than ever? To understand this, we must think beyond a standard supply and demand analysis, and recognise the unconventionality of the influencer market, as one that is split between two main sectors, each of which behave differently. 

Earlier this month, I was 500th in the infamous virtual Ticketmaster queue for Olivia Rodrigo’s Unraveled Tour at the O2. By everyone around me at the time, that should have been fine. The O2’s capacity is 20,000, there was no reason why I should not get tickets. Five minutes later, I got through to the ticket page, card ready, eager to buy - and there were only two tickets left in the entirety of the O2. VIP standing tickets at £308 each.

There’s a TikTok that keeps reappearing in various forms across your for you page: someone compares the £12 e.l.f Halo Glow next to the original £40 Charlotte Tilbury Hollywood Flawless Filter, swatches both on each side of their face, and asks the viewers whether they can actually tell the difference between the two products. The comments are always filled with the same mix: people tagging their friends, people claiming that the cheaper alternative is not only an alternative, but a better option, and at least one person insisting that the original product is ‘just better’ without quite being able to back up their argument.