Observe how the world's most consequential negotiations now unfold beneath crystal chandeliers and gilded mirrors. Peace treaties signed at Versailles, trade wars settled over wine service, the fate of continents decided by men more concerned with their reflection than their reflection upon history. There is something deliciously absurd about it all—and yet also terrifying, for when statecraft becomes spectacle, we must ask ourselves: are we witnessing the triumph of reason, or merely its most elaborate masquerade?

The modern leader understands that power, like fashion, must be performed. He knows that a photograph in the right setting matters more than a well-reasoned argument; that being called a 'handsome fellow' at a summit carries more weight than sound economic policy. Meanwhile, the machinery of state grinds on with indifference to this theatre. Missiles are approved, borders are redrawn, currencies tremble—all while cameras capture the carefully composed smile, the strategic handshake, the symbolic dinner that will be forgotten in a week.

What astonishes me most is how we have collectively agreed to this fiction. We treat the pageantry as the substance. A government announces a controversial appointment; we discuss not its competence but its audacity. An institution faces dismantling; we focus on the politics of its announcement rather than the vacuum it will leave. We have become an audience so enamoured with the performance that we scarcely notice the stage is on fire.

Perhaps this has always been true. Perhaps I am merely watching the same old games play out under brighter lights. But there is a difference between the secret backroom dealings of yesteryear and today's transparent circus. Once, power hid itself; now it flaunts itself, convinced that shamelessness is strength. It invites us to admire not just the outcome but the audacity of the performance itself. And we, weary and distracted, applaud.

The question is not whether we will continue to be entertained by the spectacle—we clearly will. The question is whether, in our fascination with the dinner and the decor, we have forgotten what the meal was actually meant to nourish.