Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Well, folks, I believe we have finally arrived.

The Golden Age has officially begun, just as promised by our geriatric Commander in Chief and his increasingly elaborate traveling entourage of sycophants, billionaires, foreign dignitaries, and people apparently carrying very expensive gift bags.

Forget economic indicators. Forget wages. Forget whether the average American can afford groceries, rent, healthcare, or the increasingly ambitious concept of owning a home.

We have jets.

Apparently, nothing says America First quite like other countries handing the American president aircraft worth untold fortunes. And because apparently airplanes weren’t sufficiently ostentatious, we can add diamond-encrusted jewelry and other spectacular gifts to the growing collection of things being bestowed upon the man who promised to restore American greatness.

And honestly, what could possibly be more American than a president being showered with luxury while millions of Americans are being told to tighten their belts?

That is, after all, the fundamental philosophy of the modern Republican economic miracle: the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and everyone is encouraged to applaud the falling champagne bottle.

Welcome back to Reagan-era trickle-down economics, folks.

Except somebody forgot to mention that when you stand underneath the top of the economic pyramid waiting for the wealth to trickle down, you may want to bring an umbrella.

Or perhaps a hazmat suit.

Because the wealth isn’t exactly trickling.

It appears to be pooling at the top.

Meanwhile, the White House itself looks like it’s been through a particularly aggressive episode of Extreme Makeover: Presidential Edition. Everything is rumbling, construction is everywhere, and somewhere in the middle of all this imperial remodeling sits a reflecting pool that looks less like a symbol of American grandeur and more like the swimming pool behind a Motel 6 that has recently lost a fight with chlorine.

But don’t worry.

It’s the Golden Age.

Look at the gold!

Never mind that the infrastructure is crumbling.

Never mind that healthcare costs are climbing.

Never mind that ordinary people are watching their purchasing power evaporate while the wealthiest Americans continue accumulating fortunes large enough to require their own gravitational fields.

Never mind all that.

There is gold.

And apparently that’s the metric now.

Then we have the Oval Office itself.

There is so much gilded décor, gold trim, glitter, ornamentation and unapologetic opulence packed into that room that I genuinely suspect Marie Antoinette would walk through the doors, look around, and say, “Dude, this is a little much.”

And this is the woman historically associated with the whole “Let them eat cake” thing.

Imagine being so extravagantly ostentatious that Marie Antoinette would be embarrassed for you.

That’s not merely excessive.

That’s achieving a level of conspicuous consumption that would make the French aristocracy whisper, “Perhaps we should tone it down.”

The Oval Office increasingly looks less like the workplace of the President of the United States and more like the lobby of a casino owned by a man who just discovered gold leaf.

And somewhere in the middle of all this gilded magnificence, we’re supposed to believe this represents the greatness of America.

No.

It represents the greatness of wealth concentrated in the hands of people who have somehow convinced everyone else that their wealth is evidence of everybody else’s success.

It’s economic astrology.

“Your billionaire is entering a favorable tax position this quarter, so good news! You may experience a slight reduction in your standard of living.”

And naturally, we’re told this is capitalism at its finest.

The same people who spent years screaming about socialism somehow have no problem with government resources, political favors, tax advantages, tariffs, bailouts, and spectacular gifts flowing upward.

Because apparently socialism is when you get something.

Capitalism is when they get everything.

And if you’re particularly lucky, perhaps a tiny golden droplet will eventually trickle down your leg.

Which brings us to the most appropriate description of this entire magnificent economic renaissance:

If this is a Golden Age, then apparently we’re talking about golden showers.

The wealthy are getting showered with gold.

The powerful are getting showered with gifts.

The president is getting showered with luxury.

And the rest of us are standing underneath wondering why the trickle-down economics we’ve been promised for forty years still hasn’t reached the fucking ground.

But hey, at least the reflecting pool is there.

Well…

Technically it’s there.

It just looks like Motel 6 drained the pool, forgot to refill it, and then Washington decided to make it a metaphor.

So congratulations, America.

The Golden Age has arrived.

The rich are golden.

The gifts are golden.

The jets are golden.

The jewels are golden.

The Oval Office is so fucking gilded that Marie Antoinette herself might walk in and mutter, “Perhaps the peasants have a point.”

And if you’re an ordinary American wondering why none of that gold seems to be improving your life, don’t be so negative.

That’s just because you’re standing on the wrong end of the trickle.

Welcome to the Golden Age.

Bring a towel.

And maybe some cake.