The Goddess Effect Act III, part seven

On 'thought theft' and mental unlocks

On Tuesday, I went to a book party to celebrate the publication of Jane Buckingham’s novel, A Lie for a Lie. The party would have fit in perfectly at Evolve.

David Hockney-esque pool? Check. Instagram-certified pizza slinger? Check. Dozens of well heeled cosmopolitans, branded beach balls, and sponsored potato chips? Check, check, and check.

It was everything a Beverly Hills book party ought to be, and now I’ve got #goals for the INCIDENTALS launch.

But let’s take it back, way back, to the imagined conference that descends on the island of Lāna'i in the spring of 2018. A drug that makes you think bigger and better: who wouldn’t want it? That’s the governing principle behind probitas, the supplement revealed in chapter 24 of the heretofore unseen directors cut of The Goddess Effect. As you’ll see, Adam, the founder of the Gig and the former startup whisperer, is worried about whether the drug will have its intended effect. Only one way to find out!

If you’re catching up, might I suggest:

The Goddess Effect

Act III, part one

Act III, part two

Act III, part three

Act III, part four

Act III, part five

Act III, part six

24

Adam’s assistant had selected a decent group of candidates, but Adam couldn’t count on all 50 of them to come to the after hours brainstorm. Things happened, at these conferences. Even the most well intentioned of attendees drank too much at happy hour (it was an open bar, after all), turned a power nap into a full night of sleep, dove headfirst down the rabbit hole of a potential hook up. Last week, in Dane’s sound proof wine cellar, seated in high backed chairs around a concrete table, Adam brought this up to his partners. One thousand people had bought tickets to Evolve. Were they absolutely sure that they’d weeded out the best 150?

“What if the next Kevin Systrom, or Kathryn Bigelow, or Anthony Bourdain is at Evolve but we somehow missed them? Don’t you want backup, something more than what our assistants gave us?”

“Nicole does fuck up my lunch order a lot,” Dane said, swirling his Cabernet. 

“Bigelow won’t return my calls, so let me just say, for the record, that I do not want another of her,” said Paul, jabbing the table with his finger, “but, yeah, I guess I see your point. But who the hell is gonna sort through the rest of the attendees?”

“Thankfully, there’s an app for that,” Adam said with a self-satisfied grin. He’d gotten one of his founders to program a bot into the Evolve app that analyzed the appearance and credentials of all attendees and sent invitations, via push notification, to only the most worthy. It performed the analysis in real time, so if a girl had submitted a picture that portrayed her to be a 10 even though she was generally a four, the app would factor that into its algorithm that and withhold an invitation (the app also ignored anyone who had registered as male). As with paper versions, once the invitations were sent, they couldn’t be recalled, so if someone decided to get obscenely inebriated between 4 p.m. and 11 p.m., when the V.I.P. brainstorm started, they’d be dealt with by a bouncer at the door. 

“We’re not going to know every single person who walks into the suite, but all of them will have been vetted in some way, and increasing our pool means we increase the chances of one, or hopefully, all, of us leaving Lāna'i with a big, money making, game changing proposition,” Adam said. “So what do you say?”

Paul shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “You’re the tech whiz.” The three of them clinked together their thin glass goblets.

Now, in the primary bedroom of his two floor suite at the Oracle of Lāna'i, with 15 minutes until the start of the first night’s brainstorm, Adam attempted to summon the conviction he’d had in Dane’s cellar. He was nervous. What if this was a total wash, another however many millions down the drain? What if Paul and Dane sued him for the money they lost? What if — and this was the main source of the pit forming in his stomach — what he was doing was not smart and forward thinking, but somehow devious and wrong?

For weeks now, Adam had been turning over the same rationalization in his head: thought theft was nothing new. It happened it fashion all the time, in the literary world, in art. A million French dudes had painted like Monet, did Monet “steal” waterlilies from them? Or haystacks? Of course not. “Theft” was a defeatist way to think about it, he should really stop doing that. He was merely manufacturing the conditions for ideas to flow freely, and in an open forum, as in an open market, everything was up for grabs. Often, a Big Idea was on the tip of many tongues, it just took one person to elucidate it coherently. If he was going to be that person, tonight, he had to have his wits about him, stay focused, and stay away from the probitas, as much as he wanted to partake.

He slid open the top drawer of the dresser and helped himself to two brain boosts, unadulterated nootropics, the best on the market. He caught his reflection in the mirror above, ran a hand over the top of his head, balled up his fists, and threw a one-two punch at the man staring back. “You’ve got this,” he grunted.