ChatGPT: Picture it: Financial Times editors tucked into a private room at a Mayfair restaurant. Burgundy flowing, oysters finished, now it’s single malt and cigars. The salmon-pink veneer of sober global finance journalism has slipped.
Scene: FT Editors’ Dinner — “No Pink Pages Tonight”
Editor-in-Chief (sipping scotch):
“Let’s be honest: half our readers don’t actually read us. They just leave the paper on the breakfast table to signal they have money.”
Markets Editor (laughing):
“And the other half only read us for tips they hope aren’t already priced in. By the time it’s in the FT, the traders in Singapore already made the profit.”
Lex Columnist (smirking):
“Our job is to sneer at CEOs while secretly depending on their ads. We mock them, they buy a half-page spread, and the wheel turns. Beautiful system.”
Global Economy Editor (grim):
“You know what’s funny? We slam populism but half our subscriber base quietly voted Brexit. The only thing keeping them loyal is the crossword.”
Tech Editor (shaking head):
“We talk about ‘innovation’ but our coverage is basically, ‘Is Silicon Valley ruining civilization today, or just tomorrow?’”
Chief Political Correspondent (pouring more whisky):
“Every politician claims they read the FT. Translation: their aide sends them two bullet points and a screenshot. But we keep writing like the fate of the West depends on it.”
Editor-in-Chief (deadpan):
“It does. At least the fate of the West End. Can’t let The Economist win the brunch table wars.”
Weekend Editor (chuckling):
“My section is basically: here’s a Tuscan villa you’ll never afford, paired with a bottle of Burgundy you can’t pronounce. Call it what you want — I call it aspirational masochism.”
Investigations Editor (dryly):
“We’ll publish exposés on oligarchs and corruption. But when it’s one of our advertisers? Suddenly it’s ‘pending legal review.’”
All (raising glasses):
“To the Financial Times: the world’s most respectable gossip rag for the rich, printed on salmon-pink camouflage.”
