1. “Industrial Policy” is my new pickup line.
I go to synagogue and tell the ladies: “I believe in protecting American industry. Want to vertically integrate over kugel?” It’s not working yet, but I think my policy just needs more tariffs.
2. America outsourced its manufacturing… like I outsourced my dignity.
In the ’80s we lost steel jobs to Japan. In the ’90s we lost microchips to Taiwan. In the 2000s, I lost my girlfriend to a guy with a working HVAC. It’s all part of the same decline!
3. I believe in economic nationalism—because nobody’s gonna offshore me.
Except emotionally. Every girl I’ve dated has emotionally offshored me to some finance bro in Tel Aviv or a Burning Man DJ in Silver Lake.
4. Marc Fasteau says we need to pick winning industries. I say: pick me, dammit!
I’m high value. I’m a legacy industry. I’ve been operating at a loss since 1997, but that’s just because I’m undercapitalized!
5. America doesn’t have an industrial policy. You know what I have instead? Vibes.
My vibe is: “emotionally unavailable but economically protectionist.” I’m trying to protect domestic production of serotonin. It’s not going well.
6. They talk about a national industrial strategy. I can’t even get a personal strategy.
Their goal is full employment. My goal is any employment. I once put down “thought leader” on a job application and they replied, “That’s cute.”
7. Industrial decline is real. I’ve lived it.
Once I had a big vision, a great haircut, and a 2004 Volvo with 160k miles. Now I’ve got back pain and a blog no one reads. My last job was being ghosted by girls who quote Walter Russell Mead.
8. Economic security is sexy.
You want to get girls back into traditional values? Give ’em a guy with a defined-benefit pension and a mortgage he didn’t inherit from his bubbe. That’s the real hero’s journey.
9. I told my rabbi I’m committed to reindustrializing America. He said, “Can you start by reindustrializing your life?”
Apparently wearing the same pants three days in a row isn’t a form of economic protest. Who knew?
10. These guys want “high-value industries.” Bro, I want to be a high-value industry.
I’ve got comparative advantage in Talmudic guilt, anti-woke rants, and making women uncomfortable by quoting Carl Schmitt on first dates. Why won’t Helen Andrews profile me?
11. They talk about “reshoring jobs.” I’m trying to reshore dignity.
I used to think I was just down on my luck. Now I realize I’m an abandoned textile mill in the Rust Belt—gutted, haunted, and full of pigeons.
12. The book says we need to invest in public goods. I am a public good!
I’m the kind of guy who’ll watch your kids, quote Tocqueville, and defend Western Civilization before breakfast. But can I get a date? No. All the girls want crypto bros or trauma doulas.
13. America’s got brain drain. I’ve got soul drain.
All my friends went to work in AI or defense contracting. I went into reading Leo Strauss in parking lots and asking if it’s too late for a heroic aristocracy.
14. “We need industrial champions,” says the book. I yell, “I volunteer as tribute!”
I’ll be the national champion for celibate traditionalism, moral panic, and economic revanchism. I just need a woman to overlook my vibes and my Google history.
15. The authors call for a new economic order. I’ve been ordering the same economy special for 20 years: Sad Boy with Side of Righteous Fury.
Nobody wants it. Not even Uber Eats. I tried rebranding as a “sovereigntist,” but Bumble said I looked too angry in my profile pic.
16. America has no strategy, no vision, no will to win. Just like me at speed dating.
Some guy with an Etsy brand of “artisanal solvents” is getting action while I’m ranting about the Chicago School and currency manipulation. No justice.
17. We’ve got too many MBA consultants and not enough machinists.
Same in dating: too many “polyamorous UX researchers” and not enough women who get turned on by trade policy and moral clarity. I want a partner in industrial nationalism, not another yoga witch who ghosted me after reading Righteous Victims.
18. America has abandoned the working class. So have most of my exes.
I’m the guy they date before they get serious about buying property. One called me a “life detour.” I said, “No, I’m a Jeffersonian interlude!”
