The great tariff apocalypse of 2025

Sending hearts and prayers to the hedge fund managers on Wall Street this week. Tampons Tariffs—a T-word so horrifying it’s triggering flashbacks to Econ 101 and that one time the wife asked them to run a quick errand to CVS.

Everyone’s in a tizzy because apparently if we adjust a few trade policies that haven’t been updated since Roosevelt had polio—then we’re all doomed. America’s tarot readers, macroeconomists, have pulled the tower card out of the deck predicting we’ll be bartering sheep by Thursday.

I mean really—are we that delicate?

They’re saying consumers will pay twice as much for goods. Twice! As if the moment a toaster hits $79.99, we’ll descend into a full Mad Max dystopia. The horror! How will we go on without discounted socks?

Heaven forbid we make things ourselves. What a scandal. Imagine having to learn a trade! Or fix something! Next thing you know, people will be sewing their own buttons and that’s a slippery slope to self-sufficiency.

Of course, Wall Street's reaction is completely rational. You’d think the Fed announced it was being replaced by a team of raccoons.

Yes Derek, there’s always a storm coming—you work in finance.

Look, I’m not saying it’ll be painless. Prices might tick up. Imports might shift. Jobs may suffer through next Halloween. But the idea that tariffs means instant doom is just lazy thinking. We’re so spoiled with convenience and cheap crap that anything less than immediate gratification feels like oppression.

If we can survive the great Blockbuster bust, the slow fade of dial-up internet, and the great romaine lettuce panic of 2018, I think we’ll manage the price of a rice cooker going up five bucks.

What we need is a bit of perspective…and maybe a spine?

While the stock market curls up in the corner like it just saw a spider, you can take charge by skipping the imported lavender foot scrub handcrafted 7,000 miles away by a 12-year-old with carpal tunnel.

Or better yet—make your own damn foot scrub. It’s literally salt.