Let Them Eat Wedding Cake

We’ve all seen the articles and photos by now. This weekend, Jeff Bezos hosted an extravagant wedding celebration in Venice, reportedly spending tens of millions of dollars. The backdrop: an American population grappling with persistent inflation, unaffordable housing, rising medical debt, and the erosion of basic economic security. 

The images of excess—private yachts, celebrity entourages, high fashion parades—feel like something from, well, most high school history books.

The symbolism is hard to miss. Marie Antoinette’s infamous phrase, "Let them eat cake," echoes louder than ever. Though likely apocryphal, the story is that when told the French peasants had no bread, the Queen—so far removed from everyday reality—blithely suggested they eat cake instead. This moment has come to represent an elite so out of touch with the struggles of ordinary people that their ignorance becomes a form of cruelty. It’s a cautionary tale about what happens when wealth and privilege drift too far from empathy and responsibility.

Lauren Sánchez’s appearance in lavish jewels and couture, stepping off boats into canal-lined villas, surrounded by celebrities and luxury, is not inherently criminal. But in the midst of a national housing crisis, soaring grocery bills, and unaffordable childcare, the spectacle isn’t just opulent—it’s tone-deaf and echoes the same obliviousness that sealed Marie Antoinette’s place in history.

The No Kings movement has focused much of its ire on Donald Trump—his wealth, his bombast, his refusal to acknowledge limitations. But the truth is, over the past two decades, U.S. policy and corporate design have entrenched a new monarchy: the ultra-wealthy class—consolidating wealth and power in ways not seen since the Gilded Age.

In 2005, the average CEO of a major U.S. company earned about $10 million. Today, it’s more than $17 million. That’s a 70% increase, far outpacing inflation. Meanwhile, the average white-collar worker has seen their purchasing power stagnate, or worse—erode. Housing costs have more than doubled. Health care premiums have nearly tripled. The average $80K income in 2005 would require nearly $150K today to afford the same lifestyle.

But wages haven’t kept up. Not for engineers. Not for analysts. Not for managers, teachers, nurses, or civil servants. The divide between those who work and those who extract has never been so clear—or so politically insulated.

This divide didn’t happen by accident. It’s the result of decades of policy decisions—tax cuts for the wealthy, deregulation, weakened labor protections, and corporate consolidation—that have systemically favored capital over labor. Wall Street became the measure of success, while community investment, worker stability, and wage fairness took a back seat.

Meanwhile, the mythology of meritocracy has persisted. We are told that if we work hard enough, we too can climb the ladder. But the rungs have been pulled up for most. Social mobility has declined, while corporate profits and executive compensation have soared.

As a society, we have bought into the gold rush fantasy of the self-made billionaire. We celebrate unicorn startups, viral success stories, and charismatic moguls as proof that the system works—that anyone can make it. But these stories are the rare exception, not the rule. Most billionaires today were born into wealth, had access to elite education and connections, and benefited from inherited privilege as much as entrepreneurial effort. The lottery logic keeps the dream alive for the masses, while obscuring the structural barriers that make upward mobility increasingly rare. It's not a path—it’s a spectacle designed to distract and pacify.

This isn’t just about Bezos or Musk or any one billionaire. This is about a system that has permitted the rise of corporate royalty, unmoored from democratic accountability. A system where tax loopholes, stock-based compensation, and political influence have concentrated wealth at the top while asking the rest to be grateful for "opportunity."

It’s time we stop deferring to these folks as god-like visionaries and start holding them accountable like citizens. The No Kings movement should be about more than rejecting authoritarianism—it should be about rejecting deference to extreme wealth, too.

For professionals, the message is simple: if we don't care about our communities—if we pretend this divide doesn't matter—we are tacitly endorsing it. And when systems built on unsustainable inequality collapse, they rarely do so quietly.

The warning signs are already here. Historically, when the gap between the elite and the rest grows too wide, it doesn't end in more wedding cakes.

So what can we do? First, we can talk about it—openly and without shame. Normalize discussing inequality in professional settings. Support legislation that closes tax loopholes and considers the larger working population. Advocate for more transparency and equity in your own workplace. Elevate community-focused initiatives. And most importantly, resist the narrative that wealth equals worth.

This calls for internal awareness. From the lens of Internal Family Systems (IFS), we all carry parts of ourselves shaped by the dominant economic culture in the US— our striving, perfectionist parts who believe we are only as valuable as our productivity; our fearful, scarcity-driven parts who worry there's never enough to go around; our conformist parts that urge us to keep our heads down and play along; and our shamed, silenced parts who notice injustice but feel powerless to name it.

To help change the system, we must first acknowledge and integrate those parts. Tap into a higher Self and speak from a place of compassion, curiosity, and courage. Begin by asking: What part of me is afraid to challenge the narrative that wealth equals success? What part of me believes I must protect my status, even at the cost of justice? And what part of me is ready to step forward, to advocate, to lead?

By recognizing our internal dynamics, we can show up more authentically and powerfully in the external world. Change isn’t just structural—it’s personal. When we realign with our values and act in community, we reclaim our agency. And when we do the work—when we recognize our fractured parts and let go of the constraints of the old paradigm—we don’t just create space for collective change. We open the door to more possibilities for ourselves, individually. We allow creativity, connection, and purpose to emerge where once there was fear and conformity.

As part of the white collar workforce, we do have power—not just economic power, but cultural and organizational influence. Let’s use it to rebuild a system that doesn’t glorify kings, but uplifts all of us in community.

This morning as Venetian caterers are likely throwing away slices of uneaten ~$20,000 wedding cake, let's collectively use our brain power, hearts and energy to solve how we can sustainably break bread together for generations to come.