Gold at $2,350: Humanity’s Glittering Safe Word in a World Gone Mad
Gold Hits $2,350 an Ounce, Humanity Still Can’t Decide If It’s Worth More Than Toilet Paper
By Our Correspondent Who Once Watched a Dictator Trade Bullion for a Swiss Chalet
Thursday, 23 May 2024 – 09:14 GMT
The spot price of gold touched a fresh nominal high this morning at $2,350 per troy ounce, give or take the cost of a decent espresso in Zurich. In practical terms, that means a standard 400-ounce London Good Delivery bar—roughly the size of a hardcover copy of War and Peace but considerably more useful in a prison economy—now commands the same cash pile as a three-bedroom condo in Warsaw or 1.7 minutes of global TikTok advertising revenue. Take your pick; both assets can be seized by governments at the stroke of a pen.
From Hong Kong to Harare, the reaction has been predictably hysterical. In Shanghai, aunties queued outside bullion kiosks with the same serene desperation usually reserved for half-price durian. In Istanbul, carpet-shop owners swapped lira for grams of gold faster than the central bank could print new zeroes. And in suburban Frankfurt, a retired dentist explained to a reporter—between bites of apfelstrudel—that gold is “the only money that doesn’t lie.” An impressive claim given that the bar he fondled had been re-cast so many times it may once have adorned Cleopatra’s barge, a Nazi dental bridge, and at least two divorces.
Why the sudden rush to embrace a metal whose primary industrial use is making other metals look less vulgar? The official litany is familiar: sticky inflation, geopolitical dread, and the creeping realization that most modern currencies are essentially IOUs written by politicians who can’t balance a household spreadsheet. The unofficial reason, whispered in trading pits from the City of London to the back alleys of Caracas, is simpler: gold is the only asset that feels weighty when civilizations get light-headed.
Central banks, those paragons of fiscal foresight, have been stacking the yellow stuff like doomsday preppers with diplomatic immunity. Poland—never accused of excessive optimism—bought 14.8 tons in April alone, presumably on the theory that if Russia ever comes knocking again, a vault of bullion is easier to evacuate than a fleet of F-35s. China, not to be outdone, has added to its hoard for 18 straight months, presumably hedging against the possibility that American politicians finally discover the “debt ceiling” is more of a suggestive metaphor than an actual limit.
Meanwhile, crypto bros—who once promised to make gold as obsolete as the fax machine—have gone curiously quiet. Bitcoin, the digital equivalent of libertarian bumper stickers, is down 12% this week after regulators on three continents discovered yet another exchange commingling customer funds with the CEO’s fantasy football habit. Gold, by contrast, requires no password, no server farm in Kazakhstan, and no 19-year-old influencer explaining why “this time is different.” It simply sits there, smugly inert, like a cat that knows it will be worshipped long after the dog coins are forgotten.
The broader significance? Gold’s latest surge is less about gold and more about the global mood ring turning a shade we might call “existential mauve.” When investors trust governments, they buy equities. When they trust tech, they buy Nvidia. When they trust nothing, they buy a metal that has outlived every empire since the Pharaohs, including the one that built the elevator music now piped into bullion dealers’ waiting rooms.
And so, as the sun sets over yet another jittery trading day, the world divides into two camps: those who own gold and those who own hope. Historically, only one of those assets has paid reliable dividends during plagues, pogroms, and hyperinflations. Spoiler: it isn’t hope.
Still, optimists insist this time could be different. After all, we have smartphones, central-bank digital currencies, and 24-hour yogurt delivery. What could possibly go wrong? If you need a hint, check the price of gold tomorrow.
