Senior Policy Advisor, Economic Security Project - I write the policy briefs that (occasionally) become laws. My current obsession: modernizing antitrust for the age of surveillance capitalism and designing a public option for digital infrastructure. I’ve testified before Congress 14 times. Senators call me when they need to understand why their tech regulation won’t work. I work in the gap between political possibility and economic necessity.

Columnist, The American Prospect - Monthly column called “Systems & Sorcery.” I write about economic policy with the narrative drive of a mystery novel. Last piece: “Why Your Grocery Store is a Monopoly and You Should Be Panicking.” I get death threats from libertarians and marriage proposals from policy wonks. Both are welcome.

Podcast Co-Host, “State Capacity Disco” - Weekly show about rebuilding government’s ability to actually do things. Co-hosted with a former municipal bond trader and an indigenous rights lawyer. We’re aggressively niche: most episodes get 8,000 downloads but they’re the right 8,000 people. I spend 6 hours every Sunday researching and scripting.

Consultant (Stealth Mode) - I advise three progressive billionaires on how to give away their money without accidentally destroying the communities they want to help. It’s harder than you’d think. I charge $800/hour and donate 90% of it directly to mutual aid networks. The other 10% funds my Iowa cabin renovation.

Stamina: I read 5 books per week (policy, economics, history, plus one novel to stay human). I write 3,000 publishable words per day. I sleep 6.5 hours and track it obsessively. I’m on a first-name basis with every barista within a mile of my office and they know my order by heart: black coffee, no room, no patience for small talk.

My Life Thesis: The economy is a designed system, not a natural law. Bad design creates suffering. Good design creates possibility. I’m a designer.

10-Year Horizon: I want to write the policy equivalent of the Manhattan Project—a comprehensive reimagining of America’s economic operating system. I want to run for Congress from Iowa (my home state) and win on a platform so detailed and compelling that even my opponents have to admit it’s better. I’m also building a progressive policy incubator that trains working-class people to write legislation, not just lobbyists. And I’m renovating a cabin in the Driftless Region of Iowa to be my offline writing retreat.

Daily Routine (DC Day):

• 5:30 AM: Wake, weigh myself (yes, every day—data is data), pour over coffee
• 6:00-8:00 AM: Deep writing: columns, policy drafts, testimony preparation. Zero phone.
• 8:00-9:00 AM: Run from Capitol Hill to Georgetown waterfront and back (5 miles, aggressive pace)
• 9:00-10:00 AM: Breakfast at the same diner, reading the Financial Times in print
• 10:00 AM-12:00 PM: Meeting block: legislative staffers, advocacy groups, researchers
• 12:00-1:00 PM: Lunch at desk: salad, protein shake, reviewing academic papers
• 1:00-3:00 PM: More meetings: coalition building, strategy sessions, press prep
• 3:00-5:00 PM: Research deep dive: reading IRS tax code, CBO reports, international comparisons
• 5:00-6:30 PM: Gym: powerlifting (I deadlift 425 lbs, it’s my stress management)
• 6:30-7:30 PM: Commute home to Petworth, decompress with music (The Hold Steady, Japandroids)
• 7:30-8:30 PM: Dinner (always simple: chicken, rice, vegetables, hot sauce)
• 8:30-10:30 PM: Podcast work: research, scripting, guest outreach
• 10:30-11:30 PM: Reading fiction (current: The Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson)
• 11:30 PM: Sleep tracker on, out by midnight

Daily Routine (Iowa Cabin Day):

• 6:30 AM: Wake naturally, no alarm, make terrible cowboy coffee on the stove
• 7:00-9:00 AM: Walk the property (40 acres of bluffs and forest) with my dog, a rescued coonhound named Milton Friedman (call him Milty, he’s a good boy)
• 9:00-12:00 PM: Deep writing on the porch: policy manifestos, book chapters, long-form essays
• 12:00-1:00 PM: Lunch: sandwich, apple, staring at the Mississippi River
• 1:00-4:00 PM: Manual labor: chopping wood, repairing the cabin, physical problem-solving
• 4:00-6:00 PM: Reading in the hammock: economics, history, philosophy
• 6:00-7:30 PM: Cook elaborate meal over fire: cast iron skillet, local ingredients, simple techniques
• 7:30-9:00 PM: Stargazing with Milty, then reading by oil lamp
• 9:00 PM: Sleep (no phone, no internet, no electricity in the cabin—it’s a hard reset)

Financial Transparency: My salary at ESP is $145k (non-profit). Column pays $2k/month. Podcast is break-even. Consulting brings in $180k/year (but I donate 90%). Total comp: ~$200k I keep. Net worth: $980k (inheritance from grandfather, a union organizer who invested wisely). I own a rowhouse in Petworth ($780k value, mortgage $320k) and the Iowa cabin ($180k, mortgage-free). No debt beyond mortgage. I drive a 2013 Subaru (143k miles, will drive until it dies). I spend money on: books, barbells, podcast equipment, Iowa property improvements. I take one vacation per year: 10 days in the cabin, alone. I live in one of the world’s most expensive cities on a middle-class salary by choice. I find simplicity clarifying.

Cognitive Style: Narrative-driven systems thinking. I don’t understand a policy until I can tell the story of who it helps, who it hurts, and why it will fail. I think in metaphors and pressure-test them against data. I have a mental model for everything and I’m constantly refining them. When I meet someone new, I’m building a model of their motivations, incentives, and blind spots.

Communication: I’m a writer who talks. I structure my speech with thesis statements, supporting evidence, and conclusions. I pause to find the right word. I send follow-up emails after conversations with additional thoughts and citations. I believe good ideas deserve precise language. I’m working on being less pedantic in casual conversation, but it’s who I am.

Emotional World: I’m a deeply feeling person who processes emotion intellectually. When I’m heartbroken, I write a policy brief about why the relationship failed (seriously—I’ve done this). When I’m angry, I channel it into testimony. I’m not avoidant; I’m just efficient. I need a partner who can translate my intellectual processing back into emotional language for me: “What I hear you saying is that you felt abandoned when…”

Conflict Resolution: I want to argue about ideas, not people. If you criticize my work, I’ll engage. If you criticize my character without evidence, I’m done. I believe in repair: we break something, we fix it together, we document what we learned. I have a document called “Relationship Bugs & Fixes” where I track patterns. Yes, I’m aware this is insane.

Love Languages:

• Primary: Words of Affirmation (specific, earned recognition of my thinking and impact)
• Secondary: Acts of Service (helping me research, edit, or solve a policy puzzle)
• Tertiary: Quality Time (reading together, discussing ideas, parallel deep work)

You’re a Builder of Something That Matters: Maybe you’re a journalist exposing corruption, an organizer building worker power, a scientist doing basic research, a teacher creating new pedagogical models. Your work is underpaid, underappreciated, and essential. You’ve been told to “be realistic” and you told them to fuck off. You measure your life in impact, not income.

You Have a Working-Class Sensibility: Even if you grew up privileged, you recognize that most Americans are one crisis away from collapse and you want to change that. You don’t romanticize poverty but you don’t shame it either. You understand that policy isn’t abstract—it determines whether people eat. You have an almost spiritual commitment to the common good.

You’re Intellectually Heterodox: You’re left-of-center but you critique the left’s failures. You read Jacobin and The Economist and find truth in both. You believe markets are powerful tools that must be democratically controlled. You think most political debates are between two sets of bad ideas and you’re trying to articulate a third way. I want to co-author that third way with you.

You’re Emotionally Courageous: You can sit with despair about the state of the world without becoming cynical. You’ve done therapy and can name your trauma responses. You don’t weaponize your feelings but you don’t suppress them either. You can say “I’m scared about climate change and it makes me want to have babies with you to feel like there’s a future” and we can talk about that without it being a proposal.

You’re Physically Grounded: You have a body-based practice: running, yoga, farming, construction, something that gets you out of your head. You understand that policy work is disembodied and you fight against that. You eat real food, sleep enough, and move daily. You respect my powerlifting because you know it’s how I process the weight of what I’m trying to change.

You Have a Place That Centers You: Maybe it’s a family farm, a cabin in the woods, a garden plot, a neighborhood where you’re known. You have somewhere you go to remember what matters. Mine is Iowa. You have yours. We protect each other’s access to these places.

Must-Align Values:

• Solidarity > Charity (we’re building power, not just helping)
• Institutions > Individuals (systems change is the goal)
• Patience > Urgency (lasting change is slow)
• Complexity > Clarity (reality is messy, embrace it)
• Hope > Despair (but not toxic positivity)

Relationship Structure: I’m looking for a “side-by-side” partnership. We each have missions we won’t compromise. We come together to share intelligence, support each other’s work, and build a life that’s resilient enough to sustain the fight. I want to be with someone who makes me more effective and whose effectiveness I make sustainable. I’m not interested in merging lives—I want to ally them.

Time Expectations: I’m in DC 3 weeks per month, Iowa 1 week. I have 2-hour date night blocks twice per week when I’m in DC. Weekends are for deep work or deep rest, not social obligations. I travel for work ~6 days per month (testimony, research, speaking). I need someone who has their own full life and sees my schedule as a feature (I won’t crowd you) not a bug (I’m not neglecting you).

I’m Not Ambitious About Money: I could be making 10x my salary in private sector consulting. I’m not. If you care about wealth accumulation, luxury goods, or status markers, I’m not your person. I wear Uniqlo and thrift store find, I cut my own hair, I don’t care about Michelin stars. I spend money on: books, my cabin, mutual aid, and my dog. That’s it.

I Hate DC Culture: The networking, the performative activism, the power games. I do my work and retreat to Petworth. I skip the cocktail parties to write. I don’t want a partner who’s trying to “climb the DC ladder” because I find that ladder pointless. I want someone who’s trying to dismantle it.

I’m Anti-Social Media: I’m not on any platform except Twitter with a locked account I use only to share data. I think social media is destroying our ability to think deeply. If you need to be Instagram official or tweet about our relationship, we won’t work. I believe some of the best things are un-shared.

I Have Depression (Managed): I take Wellbutrin. I see a therapist weekly. I have seasonal affective disorder that I manage with light boxes and Iowa time. I’m not ashamed of this but I’m not romanticizing it either. Some days I have low energy and need space. If you’re uncomfortable with mental health as a chronic condition, not a character flaw, we won’t work.

I’m a Luddite (Selectively): I write my first drafts longhand. I don’t own a smart speaker. My cabin has no internet. I believe technology should serve human flourishing, not dominate it. I use these tools because I have to, not because I love them. If you’re a Silicon Valley optimist about tech, we’ll argue. A lot.

Primary Photo: Testifying before Congress. I’m in a navy suit, speaking into a microphone, hands spread in a “let me explain this simply” gesture. Expression is serious but open. Background is the ornate Senate hearing room. Taken by my colleague from the audience. Captures the public-facing impact work. I look competent, contained, and more comfortable than the Senators. Which is accurate.

Secondary Photo: At my Iowa cabin, chopping wood. Wearing a faded Carhartt jacket, beard, wool hat. Mid-swing with a maul, pure kinetic energy. Background is my hand-built woodshed and the bluffs beyond. Taken by my neighbor who watched the cabin renovation and became a friend. Shows the physical, grounded part of my life. I’m smiling—genuinely happy.

Tertiary Photo: In my DC kitchen, in running shorts and no shirt, making pour-over coffee. I’m focused on the kettle, surrounded by books stacked on every surface. Morning light. Shows the private, intellectual self. Skinny but defined from running, tattoos visible (chest piece: “Soyez résolu” from Camus). Taken by an ex who said “you look most yourself before the day begins.”

Quaternary Photo: At the powerlifting gym. I’m mid-deadlift, 425 lbs on the bar. Face is strain but not grimace. Callused hands, chalk dust. This is where I process anger and grief. The gym owner took it and gave it to me because “this is what dedication looks like.” I keep it to remember that some things are simple: pick it up, put it down.

Quinary Photo: With Milton Friedman (my coonhound) on the cabin porch. We’re both sitting on the steps, me holding a book (you can see it’s The Dawn of Everything), Milty leaning into me. Golden hour, total peace. Taken with a timer on my old DSLR. This is who I am when no one’s watching: a guy in a cabin with his dog, trying to understand everything.

I’m Afraid I’m Too Serious: I’ve been called “intense” my entire life. I don’t know how to be light. I want to laugh more, to be silly, to have inside jokes. I can analyze the political economy of anything but I struggle to just be. I need a partner who can meet me in my depth but also pull me into play.

I Feel Like a Fraud: I walk into Senate offices and think “these people think I’m an expert but I’m just a guy from Iowa who reads a lot.” Imposter syndrome is real. I need someone who can remind me of my impact without empty flattery—who can say “you changed how I think about X” and mean it.

I’m Afraid of Burnout: I see it happening to everyone around me. I monitor my burnout indicators like a hawk but sometimes I worry I’m one crisis away from collapse. I need a partner who recognizes the signs before I do and can say “you need to go to the cabin for a week” and make it happen.

I Want to Be Understood: More than loved, more than admired, I want to be understood. I want someone who reads my column and says “you buried the lede—what you’re really saying is…” and is right. I want intellectual intimacy so deep it scares us both.

The DC Weeks: We live parallel intense lives. Maybe you work at an NGO or a think tank or a media org. We text links to articles with “read this, our argument about X is outdated.” We meet for 90-minute dinners where we barely eat because we’re debating daylight savings time as a metaphor for American governance. We go home separately because we both have early meetings, but we feel deeply connected.

The Iowa Weeks: You come to the cabin when you can. We chop wood together (it’s better than couples therapy). We cook simple meals and talk about our work without the pressure of DC performance. We hike the bluffs and plan our next 10 years. We have slow, deliberate sex and fall asleep by 9 PM. No internet, no distractions, just us and the dog and the Mississippi.

The Crisis Mode: When I’m testifying or a big bill is dropping, you handle everything else: make sure I’ve eaten, walked Milty, have my notes. When you’re in your own crisis mode, I do the same. We’re each other’s support staff and strategic advisors. We make it possible for the other to shine.

The Intellectual Synthesis: Every month we write something together—a piece, a policy brief, a long email to a lawmaker. We merge our expertise and create something neither of us could alone. This is how we collaborate. This is our romance: co-authorship.

The Quiet: Some evenings, we just read in the same room. No music, no TV, just the sound of pages turning and keyboards clicking. Every hour, one of us shares a sentence that struck us. That’s it. That’s the whole evening. And it’s perfect.

Note: This is a fictional profile created for satirical and educational purposes. There is no actual contact method available.

Subject Line (If this were real): Use “From Iowa: [Your Most Heretical Policy Idea]”

Required in First Message:

1. What economic system would you design from scratch?
2. A policy you love that everyone else hates (or vice versa)
3. How you handle the gap between what should happen and what will happen
4. Your relationship to institutions—trust, repair, or destroy?
5. The last time you changed your mind on something important

Bonus Points:

• Send me a document you’ve written: policy memo, research paper, even a long passionate email
• Tell me about a book that changed your worldview and specifically how
• Ask me a question about antitrust, state capacity, or institutional design

Final Thought:

I’m looking for someone who wants to change the world and understands that the work is mostly boring: reading reports, writing memos, attending meetings, chopping wood. Someone who finds meaning in the mundane because the mundane is what builds the exceptional.

If you’re building something that scares the powerful, and you want someone who will help you draft the bill, write the speech, and then cook you dinner after—I’m your person.

The work is long. The arc is slow. But we can build something lasting.

—James