Philippa Kaur

WHEN VLADIMIR PUTIN’S tanks rolled into Ukraine in late February, crude-oil markets reacted instantly to the uncertainty and, in short order, to the sanctions imposed on Russia, the world’s second-biggest exporter of the black stuff. The war’s impact on another set of crucial oils—the edible vegetable fats such as sunflower oil, of which Ukraine and Russia are the world’s two biggest exporters—has taken longer to digest. It is now causing heartburn for the consumer-goods giants that use them by the tonne to make everything from snacks to lipstick.Exports from war-torn Ukraine have all but stopped. Russia has placed an export quota on its sunflower oil. Worries about scarce supplies have led countries including Egypt and Turkey to ban exports of edible oils. And from April 28th Indonesia has banned exports of palm oil, another widely traded variety.The archipelagic country sold $18bn-worth of the stuff abroad in 2020, accounting for half of all palm-oil exports. So the move sent prices, which had dipped after the initial war-induced spike, soaring again (see chart). A tonne of palm oil for delivery in May is trading at over $1,700, 70% higher than the average spot price in 2021. This is piling more inflationary pressure on global producers of consumer goods—and sabotaging their environmental bona fides.Unilever, a soap-to-soup group, spent $2.7bn on palm oil last year, around 15% of its total spending on commodities. Procter & Gamble, a similarly sprawling giant, and big packaged-goods firms like Mondelez and Nestlé are in a similar pickle. Everyone is paying more for soyabean and other alternative oils, too, so substituting one kind for another would bring little financial relief. Investors typically view the big consumer firms as being resilient to economic shocks. But as input prices rise some may be beginning to doubt the companies’ ability to pass on the extra costs to shoppers, who are becoming fed up with rising bills.The ban, which does not have a specified end date, will also complicate the companies’ efforts to present themselves as environmentally responsible. Palm-oil production has historically often come at the expense of rainforests, which were razed in places like Indonesia to make room for plantations. Today Nestlé says that 90% of the palm oil it purchased in 2021 was certified as deforestation-free, thanks to close monitoring of supply chains, from the plantation to the port. Such capacity has taken years to develop in Indonesia and will be hard to replicate elsewhere at short notice. If the Swiss giant and its rivals have to resort to buying oils from more opaque places, that could leave a greasy stain on their carefully manicured green reputations. ■For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in economics, business and markets, sign up to Money Talks, our weekly newsletter. More

SELIM BORA has had quite a run. In March his company, Summa, won a contract to rebuild and run Guinea Bissau’s new international airport. Months earlier it had completed a 50,000-seat national stadium in Senegal, after less than 18 months of work—a sprint-like pace for such projects. The company’s résumé also includes convention centres in the Democratic Republic of Congo and Equatorial Guinea, a sports arena in Rwanda, and airports in Niger, Senegal and Sierra Leone. “Ten years ago we had no projects in Africa outside of Libya,” recalls Mr Bora, taking in the view from his office in Istanbul. “Today 99% of our work is in Africa.”Turkey’s construction industry is an international heavyweight. Of the world’s 250 biggest contractors, 40 are Turkish, behind only China and America. Many have long had a big footprint in north Africa. Of late they have begun making inroads in the continent’s south. Last year alone the value of projects undertaken by Turkish builders in sub-Saharan Africa was $5bn, or 17% of all Turkish building projects abroad, up from a paltry 0.3% before 2008. The region has overtaken Europe (10%) and the Middle East (13%), and is second only to countries of the former Soviet Union. In parts of Africa Turks are even giving Chinese builders, which continue to dominate construction in Africa, a run for their money.Many of the Turkish construction firms got their African start in Libya in the 2000s, where they locked up billions of dollars in contracts. The toppling of the country’s dictator, Muammar Qaddafi, in 2011 and the ensuing civil war forced them to flee. They found new opportunities south of the Sahara, where their reputation regularly preceded them: many African leaders who had visited Libya and admired Turkish projects there were eager to work with the companies responsible for them.Some assistance for Turkish projects comes from Turkey’s export-credit bank and public lenders from Japan. Both countries are, for their own strategic reasons, keen to check Chinese interests in Africa. Still, the Turks concede that they can rarely compete with Chinese rivals on price. “We cannot match the Chinese, because they come in with their own financing and we have to go to the markets,” says Basar Arioglu, chairman of Yapi Merkezi, another big construction firm.The Turkish firms are therefore stressing other selling points instead. They tend to work faster than Chinese rivals and to offer superior quality. Having completed a big railway project in Ethiopia a few years ago, Yapi Merkezi more recently beat Chinese rivals to build the first section of a Tanzanian railway connecting Dar es Salaam and Lake Victoria. In December it signed a $1.9bn deal to build the third section.The Turks are also happy to comply with African governments’ demands to hire local subcontractors and workers, which the Chinese have been more reluctant to do. This is in large part making a virtue out of necessity: whereas Chinese firms can afford to bring their own skilled workers, including engineers, to Africa, Turkish ones often cannot. Since Turkey lacks China’s resources to be in all places at once, Mr Arioglu observes, “the only way we can survive in the long run is to become local in all the countries we work in.” When Summa began working in Senegal in the 2010s, its workforce was 70% Turkish, remembers Mr Bora. That figure is now down to 30%.Some Africans still grouse about the Turkish presence in their countries. Like the Chinese, “they come and go,” grumbles one official, creating only fleeting jobs. Another complains that the Turks (and other newcomers) invest in construction, mining and ports rather than higher up the value chain, which would do more for Africa’s broader economic development. And they could launch more joint ventures with African companies.Such gripes are, however, outweighed by one last consideration increasingly prized by African governments. “We came at a lucky time,” recalls Mr Arioglu, “when both Ethiopia and Tanzania were looking for alternatives to Chinese companies.” As more sub-Saharan countries follow suit, being non-Chinese is a Turkish trait that China’s builders cannot match. ■ More

FOR MOST white-collar workers, it used to be very simple. Home was the place you left in order to go to work. The office was almost certainly the place you were heading to. Co-working spaces were for entrepreneurial people in T-shirts who wanted to hang out with other entrepreneurial people in T-shirts. You could stay at a hotel on a work trip but it was not a place to get actual work done, which is why a hotel’s “business centre” defined all of business as using a printer.The pandemic has thrown these neat categories up into the air. Most obviously, home is now also a place of work. According to a recent Gallup survey, three-quarters of American workers whose jobs can be performed remotely expect to spend time doing just that in the future. And offices are increasingly where you go to put the company into company—through collaborative work as well as through social activities.But the boldest version of remote working extends well beyond these two locations. “Working from anywhere” envisages a completely untethered existence, in which people can do their jobs in Alaska or Zanzibar. Plenty of destinations are keen to blur the lines between business and leisure (“bleisure”, the world’s ugliest chunk of word-vomit). Hotels are revamping some of their rooms as offices and rolling out work-from-hotel offers. Entire countries are reinventing themselves as places to mix play and work (“plork”?): the Bahamas, Costa Rica and Malta are among those that offer visas for digital nomads.The work-from-anywhere world edged a little closer on April 28th, when Brian Chesky, Airbnb’s boss, outlined new policies for employees of the property-renting platform. As well as being able to move wherever they want in their country of employment without any cost-of-living adjustment, Airbnb staff can also spend up to 90 days each year living and working abroad. Mr Chesky has been living out of Airbnb properties himself for the past few months, and thinks this is the future.The idea of a globe-trotting existence sounds wonderful. Nevertheless, plenty of barriers remain. Some are practical. The legal, payroll and tax ramifications of working from different locations in the course of a year are an administrative headache (Mr Chesky admits as much, and says that he will open-source Airbnb’s solution to this problem).Mundane issues like IT support become more complicated when you are abroad. Working from anywhere is only feasible if your equipment functions reliably. If the Wi-Fi at your Airbnb reminds you of what life was like with modems, your options may be limited. If you spill suntan lotion on your laptop, the people on the hotel’s reception desk are more likely to offer you sympathy than a replacement computer.Another set of obstacles is more personal. The carefree promise of working from anywhere is far easier to realise if you don’t have actual cares. Children of a certain age need to go to school; partners may not be able to work remotely and have careers of their own to manage.The option to work from anywhere will be most attractive to people who have well-paid jobs and fewer obligations: childless tech workers, say. For many other people, the “anywhere” in working from anywhere will still boil down to a simple choice between their home and their office. That might be a recipe for resentment within teams. Imagine dialling into a Zoom call covered in baby drool, and hearing Greg from product wax lyrical about how amazing Chamonix is at this time of year.Resentment may even run the other way. Hybrid work has already smudged the boundary between professional and personal lives. Making everywhere a place of work smears them further. Countries that used to be places to get away from it all will become places to bring it all with you. Turning down meetings when you are on a proper vacation is wholly reasonable; it is not an option when you are plorking on a jobliday. Antigua and Barbuda’s tourism slogan, “The beach is just the beginning”, sounds a lot more idyllic if the punchline in your head isn’t, “There’s also the weekly sales review”.Adding to the menu of working options for sought-after employees makes sense. Mr Chesky’s new policies will probably help him attract better people to Airbnb. They are certainly aligned with the service he is selling. But for the foreseeable future, working from anywhere will be a perk for a lucky few rather than a blueprint for things to come.Read more from Bartleby, our columnist on management and work:The case for Easter eggs and other treats (Apr 30th)Startups for the modern workplace (Apr 23rd)How to sign off an email (Apr 16th)For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in economics, business and markets, sign up to Money Talks, our weekly newsletter. More

“WHITE HOT”, a new documentary, traces the rise and fall of Abercrombie & Fitch, an American fashion label that soared in the early 2000s before crashing just as dramatically. The film explores the firm’s obsession with employing a certain type of staff—handsome, chiselled, white—which led to damaging claims of racism and sexual harassment. But just as harmful to Abercrombie was that it became dated. Its low-rise jeans, cropped ­T-shirts and migraine-inducing cologne, “Fierce”, became inseparably linked with Americans who came of age around the turn of the century. The price of being so closely associated with one generation was that the next wanted nothing to do with it.Facebook, which took off around the same time, may be experiencing a similar problem. Its millennial identity is embodied in its 37-year-old founder, Mark Zuckerberg, who still wears his college uniform of skinny jeans and hoodie (though these days his hoodies are bespoke). The social network, which began as a way for oversexed Harvard undergraduates to rate each other’s looks, is now seen by youngsters “as a place for people in their 40s and 50s”, in the words of one leaked internal memo. Investors consider ­Facebook unfashionable, too: its parent company, Meta, has lost 39% of its market value this year, including a plunge of $232bn in February, the biggest one-day drop in stockmarket history.Some of Facebook’s problems are overstated. With 2bn daily users, nearly one in three humans, growth was bound to sputter. Its loss of 1m users in the last quarter of 2021—the firm’s first ever fall—was attributed to a rise in the price of mobile data in India. A decline in European users in the latest quarter followed Meta’s ejection from Russia. Privacy rules introduced by Apple are a more serious problem, expected to cost Meta about $10bn this year by making it harder to target ads for iPhone users. But the company is devising workarounds. In February it said that since September it had clawed back half of the 15% reduction in its ability to determine ads’ effectiveness. Similarly, it may be better able than most to absorb the cost of new tech rules being written in Europe. Firms like Meta “have a cockroach-like ability to find ways to maintain business as usual”, says Mark Shmulik of Bernstein, a broker.Yet if these hurdles can be overcome at a price, the ageing of ­Facebook’s audience seems inexorable. In rich countries, which matter most to advertisers, young users appear to be drifting away. Frances Haugen, a former Facebook executive, made headlines last year for blowing the whistle on failures of content moderation. But her more important revelation was that engagement among young Americans had plummeted. In Facebook’s five most important countries, account registrations for under-18s had fallen by a quarter within a year, she said. Independent estimates corroborate her claims. In Britain 18- to 24-year-olds are spending half as much time on Facebook and Instagram, its sister app, as they were four years ago, estimates Enders Analysis, a research firm. Mr Zuckerberg admitted last year that, amid competition from TikTok and others, Facebook had neglected young people: “Our services have gotten dialled to be the best for most people who use them, rather than specifically for young adults.”In the past, saving the flagship app was Mr Zuckerberg’s priority. After the acquisition of Instagram in 2012, Facebook reportedly limited its adoptive sibling’s ability to hire staff, out of fear that it would cannibalise Facebook’s users—“like the big sister that wants to dress you up for the party but does not want you to be prettier than she is”, in the words of a former Instagram executive quoted in “No Filter”, a book by Sarah Frier. Today Mr Zuckerberg seems willing to sacrifice his first-born to protect the wider business. Efforts to attract young people have focused on other apps, such as Messenger Kids and Instagram Kids (which was shelved last year). Reels, Meta’s TikTok clone, was rolled out first on Instagram. Last year Mr Zuckerberg even dropped the Facebook name from his company, the better to insulate the business from its least fashionable brand. Where once Mr Zuckerberg’s obsession was repairing the ageing Facebook mothership, now he is scrambling lifeboats in all directions: four new virtual-reality headsets are expected in the next two years, as well as a smart watch.The Face that launched a thousand shopsThat is the right thing to do. But it raises the question of what will become of the world’s biggest social network as it begins to decay. Once-mighty sites like MySpace endure, like abandoned digital ruins. Far in the future, will Facebook, too, become a ghost town?Not necessarily. Young users are unlikely ever to return to Facebook for social networking, which they increasingly do on apps like Snapchat or BeReal, a photo-messaging service that is spreading on college campuses. But networking is only one function of social media. People also use it to be entertained, and increasingly to buy things. Facebook is losing its appeal as a place to socialise, but it may reinvent itself as a platform for other activities.In entertainment, TikTok is well ahead. Meta’s first attempt to copy it, with Lasso, in 2018, failed. Having proved a hit on Instagram, where it accounts for 20% of time spent, Reels is building an audience on Facebook, too. Facebook’s newsfeed is being revamped along TikTokian lines, to recommend content suggested by artificial intelligence, whether or not it was posted by a friend. Facebook has long run an eBay-esque Marketplace, and in the pandemic launched Shops, to bring more e-commerce onto its own platform. Its latest earnings call promised investment in a service to let users send messages to companies through ads.Abercrombie has dropped its elitist style in favour of “championing inclusivity and creating a sense of belonging”. Half-naked hunks are out, replaced by plus-size models in comfy athleisure wear, and last year revenue was back to 80% of its peak. Facebook will likewise never be cool again. But there is plenty of less glamorous money to be made.For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in economics, business and markets, sign up to Money Talks, our weekly newsletter. More

JACK MA, CHINA’S most famous entrepreneur, has not been one to mince his words about the role of government and business. At a meeting with corporate leaders in Bali in 2018 he told the audience that it is not the government that makes business and innovation happen. That is the work of entrepreneurs, he insisted: “They have the ideas and dreams.”A harsh crackdown that began in late 2020 on China’s largest consumer-internet groups has made such inspiring sentiments harder to sustain. For the first time the leading firms are suffering slowing revenue growth. Alibaba’s revenues rose by just 10% in the final three months of 2021, marking its slowest quarterly expansion since going public in 2014. Tencent, an internet-services and video-game Goliath, notched 8% revenue growth in the same period, its slowest rate since being a public company. JD.com, another e-commerce group, announced solid revenues but Richard Liu, its founder and chairman, resigned in April, one of many high-profile entrepreneurs to do so in the past couple of years. Although Meituan, a delivery giant, reported revenue growth of 30%, local media reported it plans to axe up to 20% of its employees in core business units. Shares in those four companies, along with Pinduoduo, yet another e-commerce group, have shed about $1.5trn in value since February of last year.The government’s campaign is moving into a new phase in 2022. The sorry state of the Chinese economy has forced regulators to delay further planned punishment for companies in the hope that they can help recharge growth. In the most positive signal for the sector in over a year, the central government said on April 29th that it planned to normalise regulation and “promote the healthy development of the platform economy”.The share prices of several companies, including Alibaba, soared on the news. But some new rules have only been put off for a later date, according to the Wall Street Journal. And much damage has already been done. The entrepreneurs behind China’s biggest tech successes have come to a grim reckoning: that because of government meddling they will be unable to innovate, and may even become boring.When Mr Ma celebrated Chinese enterprise in Bali, Alibaba and Tencent were by then two of China’s biggest private investors, pushing into an array of businesses within the country and abroad. Acquisitions seemed to ensure them an early toehold in hot new areas of growth. Online education and health, media and entertainment, banking and lending services, promising data-harvesting businesses: all were fair game. Mr Ma proved how powerful a tech entrepreneur’s financial dreams could be. By 2020 Ant had swallowed up 15%, or 1.7trn yuan ($257bn) of the market for total outstanding consumer loans in China.For a time the empire-building of Mr Ma and other Chinese entrepreneurs bore a striking resemblance to the expansionary tendencies of America’s tech titans. As Jeff Bezos, founder of Amazon, was buying the Washington Post, and Jack Dorsey of Twitter, a social-media group, was launching Block, a payments platform, Mr Ma was scooping up his own media assets and building a finance conglomerate.Bottling up the genieAmerican tech bosses are still reshaping and expanding their empires. Mark Zuckerberg, founder of Facebook, is seeking to turn his social-media group into a “metaverse company”, bringing virtual reality to the mainstream. Elon Musk, boss of Tesla, an electric-car maker, is buying Twitter. Chinese empire-builders, by contrast, are tempering their ambitions.Beijing’s regulatory crackdown has greatly discouraged risk-taking. Tencent’s hefty expansion into online education in 2019 is now a dead end, as is that whole industry, after sweeping new rules on the services that can be offered to school-age pupils were announced last year. Investors want nothing to do with Chinese fintech after Ant’s initial public offering was crushed by Communist Party leaders in late 2020. Forget about massive data-crunching businesses, too, where the government’s new framework for control and ownership over personal and financial data will limit private innovation. Online video-games, Tencent’s largest revenue generator, have also come under attack. The government has signalled that it will no longer tolerate private investment in news-gathering, putting Mr Ma’s media empire at risk. It may even be planning to take small stakes in tech groups in order to guide their development.The companies’ strategies reflect limited options for rapid growth. Take Alibaba and its three core areas of operation: international, such as Lazada, an e-commerce group based in Singapore; within China, dominated by e-commerce; and a tech division that counts cloud computing as its biggest engine of growth. Alibaba’s solution to a long-expected slowdown in Chinese e-commerce as the market becomes saturated has been to move downmarket into smaller cities across the country with the expansion of Taobao Deals, a platform that allows groups of people to buy products at lower cost. Alibaba has recently started playing down this strategy to analysts and investors, who are underwhelmed by the low margins associated with such businesses.Alibaba’s global business has grown rapidly, mainly because of the fast expansion of Lazada. But its retail operations abroad have contributed only about 5% of overall annual revenues since 2017 and are unlikely ever to make up a meaningful part of the Alibaba empire. Its prospects of breaking into developed markets in America and Europe are close to non-existent. Some of that pessimism is based on America’s increasing distrust of Chinese companies. In 2018 Ant’s attempt to buy an American payments group was shot down by regulators in Washington on national-security grounds. This has pushed Alibaba to focus more on developing markets with much less spending power.Chinese regulators, too, have clamped down on the firms’ foreign investments. They have also stepped up prevention of monopolistic behaviour at home, stifling domestic investments. Alibaba was one of China’s biggest corporate acquirers in 2018, when it pulled off about $18bn in mergers and acquisitions. In 2021 that slumped to $5.7bn, over four-fifths of which was spent within China, according to Refinitiv, a data company. The acquisitive Tencent’s dealmaking was valued at $20bn last year, down from $32bn in 2018 (see chart). The company also sold about $16bn in shares in JD.com in December, sparking fears that regulators were pushing it to unwind its sprawling empire.As customary sources of revenues come under further pressure China’s internet giants have gamely talked up a new stage of innovation—one in which the firms’ ambitions are much more clearly defined by the state. The government wants China’s future tech giants to make or design semiconductors and artificial-intelligence (AI) software, and run cloud-computing businesses. It has been designating specific areas in which companies should lead, giving an unambiguous green light for private entrepreneurs to go after the next big thing, as long as it lines up with policy goals. Baidu, best known as China’s online-search champion, is the government’s first choice for leading AI and autonomous-driving businesses. On April 28th the firm was awarded China’s first permit allowing driverless ride-hailing on public roads.Many tech companies have taken the hint. Alibaba relies heavily on the success of its cloud-computing division, which leads the market and brought in 8% of total revenue in the last quarter of 2021. In February Daniel Zhang, Ailbaba’s chief executive, told analysts that cloud-computing could be a trillion-yuan business by 2025 and be transformed into his firm’s main activity. Tencent and Baidu have large and growing cloud operations, too. Most business-to-business services will one day be dominated by the incumbent tech groups, says Elinor Leung of CLSA, an investment bank.Such top-down delegation of entrepreneurial activity cannot be completely written off, says Sam Hsu of the Wharton School in Pennsylvania. State-backed research and development is commonplace in even the most market-driven economies. The momentum building in China may eventually enhance the underlying technologies on which a new wave of enterprise will take root.Finding state-endorsed technologies to invest in is certainly politically expedient for the largest internet platforms, says Robin Zhu of Bernstein, a broker. Robin Li, the founder of Baidu, has embraced his firm’s party-picked mission with such zeal that he even wrote a book on autonomous driving last year. Yet even self-driving cars and other state-backed projects will probably fall short of the growth rates to which the companies grew accustomed in the heady 2010s.Alibaba is again a case in point. Aliyun, its party-approved cloud business, has suffered big setbacks recently. It lost ByteDance, the owner of TikTok, Western teenagers’ favourite time sink, as a customer. A steady stream of state-controlled companies are leaving it for cloud platforms owned by other state groups. China’s big telecoms firms, which have competing businesses, are expected to eat up market share in the lower-value-added part of cloud services. There are limits to how much Aliyun can earn in foreign markets, where a distrust of Chinese technology has led to the banishment of tech compatriots such as Huawei, a telecoms-equipment maker. Aliyun’s revenues grew by 20% year on year in the last quarter of 2021. Not bad, you might think. But much slower than analysts had anticipated.For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in economics, business and markets, sign up to Money Talks, our weekly newsletter. More

RESTORING THE supremacy of America’s First Amendment on Twitter seems priority number one for Elon Musk. Inconveniently, his acquisition of Twitter comes as several countries are passing laws to regulate how social-media firms should moderate content.The European Union’s Digital Services Act (DSA), which was agreed on April 23rd, will do most to stymie Mr Musk’s plans to turn Twitter back into a place where almost anything goes. “Be it cars or social media, any company operating in Europe needs to comply with our rules—regardless of their shareholding,” Thierry Breton, the EU’s commissioner for the internal market, warned (on Twitter, naturally) hours after the buy-out was announced.Bureaucrats in Brussels will not now tell Twitter and other social-media firms which type of speech they should take down, explains Julian Jaursch of SNV, a think-tank based in Berlin. Instead, the thrust of the DSA, which is set to apply fully on January 1st 2024, is to push services to systematise and strengthen their content moderation. For instance, Twitter will have to be more transparent over how it polices its platform, follow regulators’ advice on how to improve things, provide a way for users to flag bad content easily and give vetted researchers access to key data. Repeated violations can lead to hefty fines: up to 6% of global annual sales.Surprisingly, given Britain’s long tradition of protecting free speech, its Online Safety Bill, which was recently introduced in Parliament, goes further. Details still need to be hammered out but the bill will require internet platforms, among other things, to go after not only illegal content, such as child pornography, but “legal but harmful” abuses such as racism or bullying. Fines are higher, too: up to 10% of global revenues.Other countries, including Australia and India, have recently passed their versions of such laws. Even in America there is a big debate about how to reform Section 230, the provision in the Communications Decency Act that shields online services from liability for content published on their platforms. Yet it is unlikely to result in legislation in the foreseeable future. Democrats want stricter rules whereas Republicans fear censorship—and Congress is paralysed.Yet even without all these laws, Mr Musk may soon come to realise some content moderation is needed. After years of debate and experiment, even a few free-speech advocates argue that, while tricky, if done well it “actually enables more free speech”, in the words of Mike Masnick of Techdirt, a blog. “What content moderation does,” he recently wrote, “is create spaces where more people can feel free to talk.”For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in economics, business and markets, sign up to Money Talks, our weekly newsletter.This article appeared in the Business section of the print edition under the headline “Moderating power” More

HAVE YOU ever actually read a terms-and-conditions document? WordPress, a service for building websites whose clients include the White House and Disney, thinks anyone who has deserves congratulations. Its terms of service are the usual endless scroll of legalese, until you reach section 14, on disclaimers. Buried in the verbiage about warranties and non-infringement is a short, odd sentence: “If you’re reading this, here’s a treat.” Click on the link, and you see a picture of some appetising Texas brisket. Suitably revived, you can then move on to the stuff about jurisdictions and applicable law.Coming across an Easter egg, the name given to unexpected messages or features hidden somewhere in a product, is not like seeing funny advertising or following a humorous corporate social-media account. Easter eggs are winks, not gags; asides rather than stand-up. A new paper on their use in software, by Matthew Lakier and Daniel Vogel of the University of Waterloo in Canada, describes various motivations for them, from rewarding users’ curiosity and acknowledging the work of developers to building hype and recruiting employees. But their defining characteristic is that they are playful.On Google’s search engine, treats famously abound: if you search for the word “askew”, for example, the results page is somewhat off-kilter. Tesla cars are jampacked with references to pop culture: entering 007 into a text box on the car’s console, for example, will change the image of the car to one used by James Bond in “The Spy Who Loved Me”. Tapping repeatedly on the software version number in the settings menu of an Android phone will usually open up a game (on version 11, the game is unlocked by repeatedly turning a dial that goes all the way up to that number, an in-joke nestled within an in-joke).Not everyone likes playfulness in their products. Microsoft got rid of Easter eggs from its software in 2002, when it launched an initiative called Trustworthy Computing. It worried that they might introduce vulnerabilities, prompt questions among users about what else might be lurking in its code, or simply get people asking why its engineers did not have anything better to do. “It’s about trust. It’s about being professional,” explained a blog by one of its developers in 2005.Obviously, playfulness has limits, particularly when applied to products that must not go wrong or to services whose reputation rests on sobriety. You probably don’t want engineers at Airbus or Boeing to spend too much time on giggles. The idea of a frisky auditor sounds more like a fetish than a recipe for commercial success. Giving rein to employees’ creativity has risks: jokes can easily backfire. But Easter eggs do not have to be embedded in code to have an impact: playfulness is a mindset which can show up in design choices or tweaks to wording. And in many contexts, irreverence can foster loyalty rather than weaken it.Making references that rely on users’ knowledge of a product is a way of adding to a sense of community. Hit a broken page on the Marvel website and you’ll be taken to one of a series of quirky 404 pages; one shows Captain America grimacing and the tagline “ HYDRA is currently attacking this page!” Elon Musk routinely uses playfulness to signal his anti-establishment credentials to his army of fans: by including the number “420” in his recent offer price for Twitter, he appeared to be making a reference to marijuana. (If you find this funny, you’ll be thrilled to know that Tesla vehicles can also make fart noises.)In-jokes can be used to reinforce brands. While readers of the New Yorker wait for their app to load, messages like “Captioning cartoons” and “Checking facts” appear at the bottom of the screen. On an iPhone’s web browser, Apple uses circular-rimmed glasses as the icon for its reading-list feature, in an apparent tribute to Steve Jobs.Showing playfulness is above all a way of bestowing humanity on companies and their products. Slack, a messaging platform, offers users a chance to pick various notification sounds. The explanation for the one marked “hummus” is that a British employee said this word in a way that tickled colleagues: it is her voice you can hear.There is no utility at all to this feature, or to knowing the story behind it. But far from eroding trust, the decision to include this sound in the product creates a sense that a group of actual humans is behind it. Playfulness may sound unprofessional. It can be seriously useful.Read more from Bartleby, our columnist on management and work:Startups for the modern workplace (Apr 23rd)How to sign off an email (Apr 16th)How to make hybrid work a success (Apr 9th)This article appeared in the Business section of the print edition under the headline “Easter eggs and other treats” More

INFLATION IS MAKING up for lost time. A word that many thought had gone the way of peroxide hair and trench coats in the early 1980s is now back on almost every CEO’s lips as they run through a barrage of compounding shocks—war, commodity crisis, supply-chain disruption and labour shortages—in their companies’ first-quarter results. From December to March, almost three-quarters of firms in the S&P 500 mentioned inflation in earnings calls, according to FactSet, a data gatherer. Such is the novelty, it runs the risk of making such turgid occasions almost riveting.In rich countries, producer prices are surging at their fastest rate in 40 years. That sounds bad. On the ground some say it feels awful. Thierry Piéton, chief financial officer of Renault, said the French carmaker initially predicted raw-material costs would double this year. Now it thinks they will triple. Elon Musk says Tesla’s suppliers are requesting 20-30% increases in parts for electric cars compared to this time last year. Others talk of five-fold increases in the costs of sending containers between Europe and Asia, a dearth of truck drivers in America, and a scramble for everything from corn syrup to coffee beans and lithium.Amid such a maelstrom, the perils of getting inflation wrong are obvious. You only need to look at Netflix, trying to raise prices in the midst of a brutally expensive streaming war, to get a sense of the risks involved. Yet in general, some of the world’s best-known companies are coping. After years of negligible increases, they have managed to push up prices without alienating their consumers. How long they can continue to do so is one of the biggest questions in business today.In some cases, as Mark Schneider, boss of Nestlé, the world’s biggest food company, puts it, the public understands that “something has to give.” War, after all, is on the TV, and the pandemic is still fresh in people’s minds. Inflation is less alien by the day. In other cases, pricing is done more sneakily: offering premium products to those who are still able to splash out, or cutting costs for those for whom affordability is the overriding concern. Many of the biggest firms do both.The immediate advantage goes to those with the strongest brands and market shares. That gives them more flexibility to raise prices. Coca-Cola, with almost half of the world’s $180bn fizzy-drinks market, used price and volume increases to deliver bumper earnings, which one analyst described as a “masterclass in pricing power.” Nestlé, which has barely increased prices for years, raised them by 5.2% year on year in the first quarter, its biggest increase since 2008. There may be more to come, it reckons. Mr Musk said Tesla’s price increases were high enough to cover the full amount of cost increases he expects this year. Yet still the vehicles continue to fly out the door.Such firms benefit from another factor associated with brand power: premiumisation, or their ability to raise the cost of already pricey products. The trend appears to be holding fast. In Nestlé’s case there are, as yet, few signs that well-heeled consumers are trading down from, say, Nespresso pods to Starbucks capsules to (heaven forbid) spoonfuls of Nescafé.Pet owners are the most bounteous. Nestlé’s Purina pet-care division, with telltale products like “Fancy Feast”, achieved the largest price increases across all categories during the quarter. Parents are far more parsimonious; they are much less willing to pay a high price for baby formula—though Kimberly-Clark, another consumer-goods company, has high hopes for premiumisation of nappies in China. As Michael Hsu, its CEO, put it, “the value per baby is less than half of what it is in developed markets like the United States”. Consumers in rich countries are also better able to cope with price rises than those in poorer ones. Firms like Coca-Cola offer better-packaged premium products in America and Europe, and more value-conscious ones in emerging markets.So much for the haves. What about the have-nots? If firms can’t raise prices, why not shrink the products they sell instead. This tactic, baptised in Britain in 2013 as shrinkflation, dates back a lot further. Hershey’s, an American confectioner, proudly recalls how in the 1950s it responded to fluctuations in cocoa-bean prices by regularly changing the weight of the bar, rather than the five-cent price. No one admits to shrinkflation these days. But they are rebranding it in ways that are cool, thrifty—and in some cases even environmentally virtuous.Renault, whose executives describe Dacia, a subsidiary making its cheapest cars, as an “everyday-low-price sort of brand”—somewhat like a soap powder—is hot on the trend. It is slashing the number of different parts across its models; that means more leverage with suppliers since fewer parts are bought but in larger volumes. Likewise, there’s plenty of talk among snack producers about reducing packaging sizes of cheap products, not just to cut costs but to save on waste. Coca-Cola is selling drinks by the cupful in India. In Latin America it is expanding its use of refillable bottles. In America’s south-west, it is piloting a scheme for use of returnable glass bottles. Rather like hotels asking guests to use fewer towels to spare the environment, it will surely be good for the bottom line, too.ElastoplastThe good news is that consumers have, by and large, taken the inflationary shock in their stride so far. As chief executives have repeated in recent weeks, the sensitivity of shoppers to rising prices, or what they (and economists) call price elasticity, is not as bad as they had feared. But it is still only early days. Many consumers may not know yet how convulsive an inflationary environment can be. If prices continue to increase, and outpace growth in incomes, eventually the shock will sink in. Then the biggest question will not be how price-elastic people are, but whether spending snaps altogether. ■For more expert analysis of the biggest stories in economics, business and markets, sign up to Money Talks, our weekly newsletter.Read more from Schumpeter, our columnist on global business:Elon Musk’s Twitter saga is capitalism gone rogue (Apr 23rd)How much of a risk is opacity for China’s Shein? (Apr 16th)Save globalisation! Buy a Chinese EV (Apr 9th)This article appeared in the Business section of the print edition under the headline “Top dogs and babies’ bottoms” More