Economists might not be an obvious source of advice on parenting, the intricacies of etiquette or the dark arts of seduction. Even seen in the most flattering light, the economist can appear a remote figure: resolutely rational, untroubled by indecision or weakness of the will, a Spock-like creature too wedded to theory to be able to relate to mere human concerns. At worst he can look like a social naif, if not an outright sociopath; a man (or occasionally a woman) who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
At least such is the traditional image of the economist; and who is Dear Economist to demur?
He is not, it would be fair to say, as sympathetic as more traditional agony aunts. He is blunt. He is rude. He loves jargon. When confronted with a woman who enjoys the dating game but worries that she might leave it too late to settle down, Dear Economist offers not a shoulder to cry on but a frank explanation of optimal experimentation theory. When a dinner party guest wonders how much to spend on a bottle of wine, Dear Economist ignores the Good Wine Guide and reaches for the Journal of Wine Economics.
But – and this is the crucial question – is the advice any good?
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