Adrift

What happens to a nation when its pursuit of prosperity leaves behind the very people who built it? In Adrift: America in 100 Charts, Scott Galloway paints a vivid, data-driven portrait of a country that has lost its ballast—the broad, thriving middle class that once kept the ship of state steady through every storm. The book’s premise is simple yet devastating: America isn’t short on ambition or innovation, but it’s become untethered from the shared economic and social purpose that once united its citizens.

Galloway contends that our nation’s progress has historically followed one clear pattern—when America invests in its middle class, everyone prospers. When it doesn’t, inequality balloons, culture fractures, and democracy teeters. Through 100 striking charts, he chronicles how Reagan-era policies, globalization, financialization, and technological obsession shifted wealth and influence upward, hollowing out the center. Behind the data is a moral argument: the health of a society isn’t measured by how many trillion-dollar companies it births, but by how well ordinary people can buy a home, educate their kids, and build meaningful lives.

From Ballast to Drift

In the years following World War II, America had ballast—a strong, equitable middle class stabilized by job growth, unions, public education, and ambitious government investment. The G.I. Bill sent millions to college, Eisenhower’s highways knit the country together, and progressive taxes funded infrastructure and opportunity. People joined civic organizations, played Little League, and felt a shared stake in the American dream. Yet by the 1970s, cracks began to appear. Economic stagnation and widening inequality bred frustration, paving the way for a new creed: shareholder capitalism. Milton Friedman’s gospel of maximizing shareholder value replaced collective good with individual wealth. Reagan’s tax cuts slashed top rates from 70% to 28%, favoring capital over labor and ushering in four decades of trickle-down myth.

The Rise of the Shareholder Class

Under Reagan, Galloway explains, government became the villain and Wall Street the savior. Regulations weakened, unions collapsed, and infrastructure spending plummeted. Corporate raiders and leveraged buyouts rewarded short-term profits over long-term innovation. Productivity soared—output per hour skyrocketed—but pay for workers stagnated. Between 1973 and 2014, productivity grew 72% while worker compensation rose only 9%. The result: a widening gulf between those with assets and those without. The wealthiest 10% came to own nearly 90% of all stocks; half of Americans held none at all. Economic dynamism didn’t just slow—it was captured.

Global Gains, National Losses

To be fair, Galloway acknowledges that globalization lifted billions out of poverty and connected the world in ways once unimaginable. Between 1980 and 2020, the share of humans living in extreme poverty dropped from over 40% to under 10%. Democracy spread, life expectancy rose, and literacy became nearly universal. But those global wins came alongside domestic losses: American industry declined, offshoring exploded, and financial incentives rewarded tax havens over towns. China and other rising economies invested in infrastructure and R&D while America outsourced production and cut back mental health care, housing, and oversight.

Idolatry of Innovators and the Tech Faith

As inequality deepened, America found a new mythology. Galloway calls it the “gross idolatry of innovators”—a faith in charismatic tech leaders who replaced astronauts and civil rights heroes as cultural messiahs. Jobs and Gates were once icons of ingenuity; now billions worship Musk and Bezos, mistaking market power for moral worth. Tech’s influence grew from invention to domination, fueled by yoga-babble mission statements and stock valuations that reward hype over substance. Private R&D eclipsed public funding, putting humanity’s future—AI, genetics, energy—in the hands of a few unelected billionaires. Meanwhile, the nation’s civic muscles atrophied as people swapped Rotary meetings and church gatherings for Twitter threads and dating apps.

A New Feudal Order

By the 2000s, America’s wealth pyramid had hardened into a feudal order. The top 1% owned nearly a third of the country’s riches; the bottom 50% owned 2%. CEOs made 350 times the pay of average workers. Home prices ballooned to four years’ worth of annual income, and a college degree became both more essential and more expensive than ever. Add to that an attention economy that monetizes outrage, turning users into addicted products rather than empowered citizens. Politics polarized, trust evaporated, and millions of young Americans found themselves broke, lonely, and furious—what Galloway calls “the most dangerous cohort in America.”

Threats and Possibilities

Internationally, as America navel-gazes, China rises. Galloway outlines how the U.S. still dominates global finance, tech, and culture but invests poorly in health, infrastructure, and energy. We spend 100 times more on defense than on disease prevention. China, meanwhile, builds high-speed rail and refines the minerals needed for clean energy. Yet amid crisis, Galloway finds hope: recessions foster innovation, immigrants drive entrepreneurship, and moments of instability—like Covid and the digital revolution—offer chances to rewrite the social contract. But that requires leadership willing to rebuild public trust, restore deterrence against corporate misconduct, and reallocate capital from billionaires to children.

The Way Forward

In the book’s closing chapters, Galloway becomes prescriptive. He lays out a ten-point plan: simplify the tax code; rebuild regulation; enforce meaningful punishments for corporate wrongdoing; reform Section 230 to make tech accountable; rethink mass incarceration; impose a one-time wealth tax; rebrand nuclear energy; support family formation and children; reform higher education; and invest in national service. These steps, he argues, would restore America’s ballast—a fair start, a level playing field, and enough security for its people to take risks again. As he concludes, America isn’t lost—it’s adrift. But the charts point the way back to land.

Galloway opens his first chapter with a chilling observation: after the 1970s, America replaced community capitalism with shareholder capitalism. This new religion made corporations beholden not to workers or consumers, but to stockholders—and its doctrines have shaped four decades of inequality.

Milton Friedman’s Gospel

Economist Milton Friedman ignited the revolution by declaring that any executive who prioritized social good over profit was betraying shareholders. Under this creed, patriotism became naïve and profit became moral virtue. Reagan’s 1980 election solidified this ethos, famously announcing that “government isn’t the solution—it’s the problem.” The message was intoxicating in a nation weary from stagflation and disillusionment. Tax cuts slashed top rates from 70% to 28%, unleashing massive deficits but fueling an illusion of freedom for corporations and the ultra-rich.

Debt, Deregulation, and the LBO Boom

Cheap debt turned corporate takeovers into blood sport. Executives financed acquisitions with borrowed money, gutted companies for parts, and walked away with fortunes. By 1989, leveraged buyouts made up 30% of U.S. mergers. This shift diverted cash from workers to investors. Meanwhile, infrastructure investment plunged by half, the IRS shrank its auditing power, and mental health care funding evaporated. The social safety net didn’t break—it was cut intentionally.

The Fallout

Productivity continued to climb, but wages flattened. The bottom 99% saw minimal gains while the top 1% soared nearly 140%. Strikes dwindled, unions lost bargaining power, and more than half of corporate profits were parked in overseas tax havens. Wall Street’s metrics became the nation’s metrics—when the Dow rose, America was declared well, even as communities decayed.

Key takeaway

America’s obsession with shareholder value made markets god and citizens collateral. The resulting inequality wasn’t an accident—it was policy.

Despite domestic shortcomings, Galloway reminds readers that the same system that hollowed America also lifted the world. The globalization wave—powered by U.S. innovation and consumer demand—brought extraordinary global gains in wealth, democracy, and longevity. Yet it also outsourced moral responsibility.

The Miracle of Globalization

From 1980 to 2015, global GDP doubled twice over. Extreme poverty fell from 40% to under 10%. Literacy grew and life expectancy jumped ten years. Much of this miracle came from China’s ascent—lifting 740 million out of poverty by producing goods for Western consumers. U.S. universities, government investments, and postwar institutions (like the Marshall Plan and NATO) helped knit a world order rooted in trade and cooperation.

America’s Diminishing Edge

But the prosperity was uneven. The U.S. stopped reinvesting in the systems that made it dominant—education, infrastructure, and research. By 2019, federal R&D spending had dropped from 1.9% to 0.7% of GDP. Private research filled the void, shifting technological ownership to corporations. Immigrants remained the lifeblood of innovation—forming half of all billion-dollar startups—but the country’s immigration climate grew colder even as talent became its most essential commodity.

Health and Humanity

Beyond wealth, humanity saw progress in survival itself. Infant mortality was cut by two-thirds and diseases like smallpox and polio disappeared. But America’s health costs exploded, consuming 18% of GDP. Life expectancy fell behind other rich nations despite astronomical spending. The disconnect underscored the theme threading through the book: America can outspend any nation except on what actually matters.

Galloway’s conclusion is sobering—progress without stewardship creates fragility. America’s blueprint built the world’s prosperity, but its neglect built our dysfunction.

According to Galloway, when nations lose faith in collective institutions, they find new gods—and our pantheon is technological. Silicon Valley became the cathedral of modern America. Innovators like Steve Jobs and Elon Musk replaced civic leaders and scientists as objects of worship. The cost? A society that values charisma over contribution.

The Cult of the Innovator

Galloway reflects on his own success story, once believing he was “self-made,” only to realize he was “American-made”—the product of an ecosystem built by public investments. He argues that tech’s mythology romanticizes the lone genius while ignoring the public money and collective effort behind breakthroughs like GPS, the microchip, and the internet. When innovation becomes synonymous with personality, excess follows. IPO filings mention founders hundreds of times, glorifying individuals rather than institutions or teams.

Privatizing Progress

Public R&D once funded moon landings and vaccine development; today, private tech firms direct research toward profit rather than public good. Dual-class share structures let founders control public companies indefinitely, and lobbying budgets rival those of oil and finance giants. Bezos’s HQ2 beside the Capitol and his ownership of The Washington Post illustrate how power has invaded politics directly.

Losing the Commons

Meanwhile, civic organizations and social clubs disintegrated. Rotary memberships and church attendance plummeted. Online platforms offered shallow substitutes—likes instead of relationships. The result: less empathy, less tolerance, and a hollowed sense of belonging. Our tolerance for inequality eroded as we mistook prosperity’s symbols for its substance—our worship of billionaires while neglecting public drinking water safety sums it up perfectly.

Community once held America together. Technology connected us digitally but divided us emotionally, leaving us more informed yet profoundly alone.

If capitalism is supposed to reward effort, why are people working harder for less? Galloway calls America’s current economic order “The Hunger Games”—a brutal competition where advantages are inherited and mobility is crushed under debt and asset inflation.

Cronyism, Not Capitalism

Corporate profits now rise independently of wages. CEOs earn 350 times the average worker’s pay, while companies that buy back their own stock get bailouts when markets falter. Airlines spent 96% of free cash flow on buybacks before receiving $50 billion in public funds during Covid. This isn’t free-market capitalism—it’s oligarchy disguised as meritocracy.

A Dream Deferred

The American Dream once meant out-earning your parents; now it means being born rich. Economic mobility has halved since 1940. Homeownership, education, and healthcare costs outpace wages by magnitudes. Millennials carry $1.7 trillion in student loans and face housing markets that require four times annual income for a median home. Galloway argues our systems now transfer wealth from young to old—mortgage deductions reward homeowners while renters subsidize them indirectly.

Financialization or Fiction?

Wall Street’s expansion has turned the economy into abstraction—financial assets now total six times GDP. It’s prosperity on paper, not in people’s lives. The markets boom even during pandemics or recessions because our policies favor those with portfolios, not paychecks. Wealth concentration fuels resentment, visible in protests, meme stocks, and riots—a symptom of a generation disillusioned with a game rigged against them.

Capitalism without competition is just extraction. Galloway warns that America’s economy rewards wealth preservation over innovation—a betrayal of its own principles.

“If you’re not paying, you’re not the customer—you’re the product.” With that phrase, Galloway summarizes how tech has monetized humanity’s most finite resource: attention. The shift from transaction-based business to engagement-based platforms transformed not just commerce but culture.

Our Phones, Our Fetish

Since Steve Jobs’ 2007 iPhone reveal, mobile devices have colonized our time. Americans now unlock their phones hundreds of times per day, checking screens more than they laugh. Gen Z refuses to go anywhere—even bathrooms—without them. This addiction is by design. Algorithms optimize for emotional response, prioritizing outrage, fear, and envy because those feelings keep us scrolling.

Outrage as Currency

Headline virality correlates with the intensity of emotions they provoke—particularly anger. Platforms like Facebook and Twitter discovered that falsehood travels six times faster than truth. Political polarization isn’t just cultural; it’s algorithmic. Sixty-four percent of extremist group members joined after being steered there by recommendation engines. As a result, truth lost market share to engagement.

Decline of Journalism and Trust

As our attention shifted online, traditional journalism collapsed. Newspaper ad revenue fell by 75%; newsroom employment declined by a quarter. Public trust in national media fell below 30%. The frame shifted from informing to inflaming. Social media turned civic discourse into spectacle, fracturing a nation’s ability to agree even on shared facts.

Information has become entertainment, and outrage the main export. Galloway urges readers to treat attention as a sacred currency—and to spend it wisely.

The data also tells a more intimate story: Americans are falling out of love—literally and figuratively. Chapter six, “House of Cards,” explores the collapse of the social structures that once gave individuals meaning. Marriage rates, college enrollment, and birthrates are at record lows, while loneliness and distrust skyrocket.

The Male Recession

Men now account for only 40% of college enrollments. Those without degrees earn nearly a million dollars less over their lifetime. As opportunities shrink, young men retreat into isolation—living with parents, failing to form relationships, and increasingly participating in extremist movements or violent acts. Ninety percent of mass shooters are male. Galloway argues this growing legion of bored, angry, underemployed men represents one of America’s greatest social risks.

Social Disconnection

Marriage rates have hit historic lows—5.1 per 1,000 people, even below Great Depression levels. Political polarization penetrates families; half of parents oppose their children marrying outside their party. The result is fewer families, fewer children, and a collapsing birth rate hovering at Great Depression levels. Our distrust in government, now below 30%, compounds the alienation.

The Price of Inequality

Economic gaps mirror emotional ones. Black households own 12 cents for every dollar held by white households, and venture capital remains overwhelmingly white and male. Boys overdose twice as often as girls and commit suicide at triple the rate. Gender, race, and class divide the country from birth. The data reveals a nation not just economically fractured but psychologically fraying.

Human connection is the ultimate social infrastructure. Galloway warns that no amount of digital connection can substitute for the real-world bonds that keep societies whole.

While America looks inward, the world moves on. Galloway describes global competition not as a battle of armies but of allocations. The U.S. spends massively, but inefficiently—its defense budget dwarfs all others, yet its pandemic response exposed deep vulnerabilities. Meanwhile China quietly builds the future.

China’s Climb

China is now the dominant trading partner for thrice as many nations as the U.S., aided by its Belt and Road Initiative linking economies across Asia and Africa. It refines most clean-energy minerals and sells combat drones worldwide at one-tenth the American price. While U.S. military spending equals the next ten nations combined, China’s efficiency—its “military purchasing parity”—means its dollars buy far more capability.

Erosion of America’s Brand

In 2000, 80% of Europeans viewed America favorably; by 2020, that number fell below half. Our democratic model, once aspirational, now appears dysfunctional abroad. The world sees obstructionism, violence, and misinformation—not leadership. Meanwhile, our R&D dominance fell from 69% to 30% of global spending as rivals learn from our past playbook of optimism and invention.

Reclaiming Leadership

The positive side, Galloway insists, is that America still has enormous resources: half the world’s unicorn startups, most of its Nobel laureates, and unmatched creative talent. But leadership demands virtue, not just scale. If we reallocate defense dollars toward health, education, and climate action, we could reclaim our standing not through domination but stewardship.

A superpower without purpose is just a rich country. Galloway calls for a renaissance of optimism and public investment—the essence of true power.

Rather than end in despair, Galloway’s book pivots decisively toward hope. The last section, “What We Must Do,” lays out ten pragmatic reforms to rebuild America’s stability. His formula echoes mid-century realism: fairness, deterrence, and institutional trust—not rhetoric—must guide the country back to land.

Repairing Systems

First, simplify the tax code, whose four million words serve the rich. Second, reinvest in regulators and enforcement agencies stripped by decades of corporate lobbying. Third, restore deterrence—making fines proportionate to profits and executives accountable for misconduct. Fourth, reform Section 230 to hold social platforms responsible for civic harm.

Investing in People

Galloway’s most passionate proposals concern ordinary citizens. He calls for a one-time 2% wealth tax on the richest 5%, a universal child allowance to cut poverty in half, and a major investment in vocational training. Public universities should expand enrollment; elite endowments should lose tax-exempt status unless they do. National service—military or civilian—should become a rite of passage to rebuild empathy and shared purpose.

Rethinking Energy and Justice

He even takes on nuclear energy, arguing it’s safer than coal and vital for a carbon-free future. And he urges a reimagining of criminal justice that prioritizes rehabilitation over punishment, ending America’s status as the world’s top jailer. These ideas aren’t radical, he insists—they’re patriotic.

America isn’t dying—it’s drifting. With honest leadership, Galloway believes we can restore ballast and direction. The data may diagnose decline, but the prescription is agency, empathy, and action.