The Economics of Love

Seven months after a great initial public offering... the price of our love share is even higher, and the investment pays ever-increasing returns...
Je t'aimerais toujours, mon chèr Germán

The New York Times
July 13, 2008
Everybody’s Business

Lessons in Love, by Way of Economics
By BEN STEIN

AS my fine professor of economics at Columbia, C. Lowell Harriss (who just celebrated his 96th birthday) used to tell us, economics is the study of the allocation of scarce goods and services. What could be scarcer or more precious than love? It is rare, hard to come by and often fragile.
My primary life study has been about love. Second comes economics, so here, in the form of a few rules, is a little amalgam of the two fields: the economics of love. (I last wrote about this subject 20 years or so ago, and it’s time to update it.)
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In general, and with rare exceptions, the returns in love situations are roughly proportional to the amount of time and devotion invested. The amount of love you get from an investment in love is correlated, if only roughly, to the amount of yourself you invest in the relationship.
If you invest caring, patience and unselfishness, you get those things back. (This assumes, of course, that you are having a relationship with someone who loves you, and not a one-sided love affair with someone who isn’t interested.)
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High-quality bonds consistently yield more return than junk, and so it is with high-quality love. As for the returns on bonds, I know that my comment will come as a surprise to people who have been brainwashed into thinking that junk bonds are free money. They aren’t. The data from the maven of bond research, W. Braddock Hickman, shows that junk debt outperforms high quality only in rare situations, because of the default risk.
In love, the data is even clearer. Stay with high-quality human beings. And once you find that you are in a junk relationship, sell immediately. Junk situations can look appealing and seductive, but junk is junk. Be wary of it unless you control the market.
(Or, as I like to tell college students, the absolutely surest way to ruin your life is to have a relationship with someone with many serious problems, and to think that you can change this person.)
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Research pays off. The most appealing and seductive (that word again) exterior can hide the most danger and chance of loss. For most of us, diversification in love, at least beyond a very small number, is impossible, so it’s necessary to do a lot of research on the choice you make. It is a rare man or woman who can resist the outward and the surface. But exteriors can hide far too much.
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In every long-term romantic situation, returns are greater when there is a monopoly. If you have to share your love with others, if you have to compete even after a brief while with others, forget the whole thing. You want to have monopoly bonds with your long-term lover. At least most situations work out better this way. ( I am too old to consider short-term romantic events. Those were my life when Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon were in the White House.)
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The returns on your investment should at least equal the cost of the investment. If you are getting less back than you put in over a considerable period of time, back off.
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Long-term investment pays off. The impatient day player will fare poorly without inside information or market-controlling power. He or she will have a few good days but years of agony in the world of love.
To coin a phrase: Fall in love in haste, repent at leisure.
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Realistic expectations are everything. If you have unrealistic expectations, they will rarely be met. If you think that you can go from nowhere to having someone wonderful in love with you, you are probably wrong.
You need expectations that match reality before you can make some progress. There may be exceptions, but they are rare.
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When you have a winner, stick with your winner. Whether in love or in the stock market, winners are to be prized.
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Have a dog or many dogs or cats in your life. These are your anchors to windward and your unfailing source of love.
Ben Franklin summed it up well. In times of stress, the three best things to have are an old dog, an old wife and ready money. How right he was.
THERE is more that could be said about the economics of love, but these thoughts may divert you while you are thinking about your future.
And let me close with another thought. I am far from glib about the economy. It has a lot of pitfalls facing it. As workers and investors, we know that many dangers lurk in our paths.
But so far, these things have always worked themselves out and this one will, too. In the meantime, they say that falling in love is wonderful, and that the best is falling in love with what you have.

Ben Stein is a lawyer, writer, actor and economist. E-mail: ebiz@nytimes.com.

De vuelta

La vida sigue.

Sobreviví a la Expedición 1808, como atinadamente lee la camiseta mandada a hacer por Perla Martínez, la productora ejecutiva del programa de televisión que grabamos siete chicos en varias capitales de Iberoamérica y otras ciudades en México.

Muchos planes, muchas decisiones que tomar en un año que prácticamente comienza hoy.
Ignoro qué tanto cambiará mi vida al finalizar esta suerte de cuenta regresiva.
Con todo, espero tener seguro el calor de tu abrazo y la seguridad de tu mirada al hacer el amor.

Video de prueba

Economista de la Expedición 1808

En tu cuarto

No hay caricias más tiernas que las que me regalan tus manos

My golden compass points to you

Alfie's lesson

Live your life as if each day was the last and find yourself someone worthy to love.

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Chér Germán: J'espere que tu n'oublies jamais cette nuit.

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J'ai trouvé c'est que j'étais en cherchant...

Tus besos saben a que sabes, o lo único malo de la Costumbre es que cada día me gusta más

No me canso de repetir lo maravillosamente afortunado que soy al haberte conocido. Llegaste a mi vida en el momento preciso. En tí me he reencontrado conmigo mismo: aprehenderte lentamente es saborear las aguas de un oasis a mitad de un fatigoso e hirviente desierto. Siento que me has quitado la arena de los ojos y me has devuelto el aliento que un viento huracanado me robó.

El viernes conociste a mis dos amigas de generación más queridas y compartimos cervezas, bromas y besos furtivos con insospechadas compañías. Me gustan tus labios en Coyoacán, me abriga tu sonrisa clara en la frialdad de la noche, me fascina tu mirada infinita y tus manos de dedos largos y caricias suaves.

Tras tu clase de griego moderno y mis dos compromisos laborales (estimado sr. V. y adorada sra. L.), nos vemos, algo muertos de hambre. Tenemos antojo de comida china: el agua de naranja acompaña dos platos para cada uno; por poco no nos cabe el postre. Te enteras de un proyecto que podría (o no) suceder en poco tiempo, y no te alejas: te noto más cercano, más fresco, más sincero. Caminamos al metrobús, llegamos a tu depa. La Gorda nos mira juguetona desde la levedad de su canina existencia.

Que se cierre esa puerta que no me deja estar a solas con tus besos. Los minutos pasan raudos, incontables. El ritmo lento es virtud y las tres interrupciones, castigo. Me conoce A., tu roomie, y salimos prestos para Antara. Te gustan los jardínes y las plantas: te adivino pacífico y en efecto, resultas un remanso de tranquilidad impensable en estos tiempos de relaciones líquidas. Te conoce Fer Tapia (más panameño que nunca). Departimos. Platicamos de todo, y la decoración y Sharper Image nos miran, más comerciales que nunca.

Siguiente destino: Pabellón Polanco. La música navideña de grandes bandas no puede ponerme de mejor humor. Vamos a mi segundo Starbucks favorito (acabo de recordar que el de Dr. Gálvez me gusta más). Te enteras donde vive el Dr. B. Los besos en la mesa cobran una víctima: tu latte. Reímos como niños y apuramos nuestros pasos.

Me preguntas si mi vida ha sido difícil. Te respondo que no lo sé, que dejé por mucho tiempo que mi pasado me determinara, que estoy dispuesto a vivir el presente como el único momento que realmente importa. Tú dices que tu vida ha sido un punto intermedio, yo admiro que hayas dejado Morelia, familia, amigos, todo. Ya te lo decía Mónica y ya lo suponía yo: dejaste mucho para hacer lo que tenías y querías hacer. Te estás labrando tu propio presente, self-made man (yo te miro y admiro).

Entramos a ver The golden compass. La historia atrapa, Nicole Kidman actúa como nunca, tus besos son el mejor azúcar para el té de frambuesa. Veremos Encantada, y terminaremos mañana El efecto mariposa. Caminamos, busco la ruta más pintoresca (la joie de [se] promener), te cuento sobre la escasez y la fragmentación monetaria en México y me entusiasmo como nunca contándote por qué me encanta la historia económica. Admiramos el ególatra volumen de Moliére 222 a. k. a. Corporativo Grupo Bal. Tu lengua hace divertido el recorrido. Masaryk es un inusual desierto decembrino.

El Hotel W es testigo silencioso de nuestra cena-antojo. Llega el momento de despedirse en el metro. Bastan un beso y una mirada y regresamos a la hidra de veinticinco millones de cabezas. Pero esta noche ambos sabemos que no estamos solos. I care about you. I will take care of you.