eOpicle

There was a time when “premium” meant something. Premium gas. Premium steak. Premium whiskey. Premium cable channels where people with British accents solved murders in cottages while everyone else watched static and commercials for carpet warehouses. “Premium” used to imply rarity. It implied quality. It implied you had somehow escaped the swamp of mass-market mediocrity and ascended into a cleaner, softer, more dignified version of existence. Now? Now everything is premium. Every app. Every seat. Every sandwich. Every bottle of water with a minimalist label and a mountain printed on it like the glacier itself personally blessed your hydration journey. We are living in the “premium economy” economy, where basic human functionality has been carved into subscription tiers like a video game designed by emotionally detached accountants. And I’m exhausted. I realized this while trying to buy a plane ticket recently. Not first class. I’m not a hedge fund manager named Chip who refers ...