The Disappearance

When you first arrived on this page, you may have noticed a quote attributed to The Washington Post. It’s important to understand that it was never intended as a compliment. In fact, it was later used as part of what became a coordinated and highly consequential media narrative that emerged in late 2016—often referred to as The Black Friday Report, and more broadly as the beginning of the so-called “Russian propaganda” smear.

Whether history ultimately records one specific article as the catalyst is a matter for others to debate. What matters here is the outcome. In the wake of that reporting, a small number of writers—including myself—found that years of published work, media citations, and archived material effectively vanished from public visibility. Not only did past articles disappear from search results, but citing my name became professionally risky for outlets that might otherwise have done so.

The practical effect was simple and lasting: more than a decade of published work was rendered largely inaccessible, almost overnight. That absence has never fully corrected itself.

In the years since, The Washington Post itself has publicly revisited and disavowed key aspects of the original reporting. Even so, the downstream consequences remain. My online footprint, like that of a few others, still reflects the residue of that period rather than the body of work that preceded it.

For that reason, when you hear me reference “the archives,” it is not rhetorical. I retained records of what I published, where it appeared, and how widely it circulated. When necessary, I can produce that documentation. You’ll see examples as you continue reading.

That context explains the gap many people notice—and rightly question—when searching for my earlier work today. It’s also the backdrop for everything that follows.

Why I Changed The Model

Now let’s turn to why I do what I do today.

Every day, we’re surrounded by screens competing for attention—large ones, small ones, and everything in between. Headlines announce the “most important story of the moment,” demanding urgency and reaction. Too often, what follows is little more than repackaged noise: attention engineered through provocation rather than insight.

It’s tempting to assume this problem belongs solely to social media. It doesn’t. In many respects, this is now the prevailing condition of mainstream business and financial media as well. Speed is rewarded. Volume is amplified. And certainty—real or manufactured—is treated as a substitute for judgment.

I’m fully aware that this is a broad characterization. There are thoughtful, intelligent people working inside that system—many of whom I respect. But increasingly, meaningful dissent or nuance is filtered out unless it conforms to a narrow narrative of reassurance: that markets will rise, risks are manageable, and authority figures have everything under control.

That environment is not conducive to honest analysis.

For nearly two decades, my work existed squarely within that ecosystem. I wrote extensively on business, capital markets, central banking, Wall Street, technology, entrepreneurship, and motivation. Much of that work reached wide audiences through major media outlets around the world. At scale, that experience demonstrated something important: I had developed a disciplined understanding of the subjects I covered, tested in public.

But over time, it became clear that reach and effectiveness were no longer aligned.

Writing for mass distribution increasingly required compression, simplification, or concession—trading depth for immediacy, and clarity for shareability. That tradeoff no longer made sense to me. So rather than continue producing work for a system that discouraged sustained thought, I chose to change the model entirely.

That decision brings us to why you’re here.

What MYTR is – and Isn’t

In December of 2019, I made a deliberate decision to stop publishing for mass media and mass audiences. In its place, I built something fundamentally different: The MYTR Broadcast™.

It is recorded live, daily, Monday through Friday. There are no guests. No callers. No commercials. Just me, the audience, and the subjects I believe genuinely matter in business and life. Often, an entire program is devoted to a single topic, examined in depth rather than rushed through for the sake of variety or momentum.

I don’t do “news” for news’ sake. I don’t do politics as theater, either. When legislation or policy is discussed, it’s only in terms of what it actually means—practically and concretely—for business, markets, and individual decision-making. I leave the personality contests and sound-bite debates to others.

The audience here is global. They come from different industries, different countries, and different stages of professional life. What they share is not ideology or background, but intent. They are looking for information and insight they can use—not affirmation, not distraction, and not slogans.

The format itself reflects that intent. There is no other program currently delivering uninterrupted, host-driven analysis at this length, live, five days a week. Strip away commercials, traffic, weather, callers, and guest segments from most long-form shows and you’re left with surprisingly little substance. I know this because I’ve measured it.

MYTR is structured as a direct conversation between the listener and me—sifting through what matters, discarding what doesn’t, and arriving at conclusions most never reach because they’re never given the time or space to think them through.

Which leads to the only question that matters:

Is this for you?

Here’s the answer most won’t give: it isn’t for everyone.

Subscribers here tend to differ widely in scale and circumstance, but they share one defining trait—they take direct responsibility for their own outcomes. Their work, their decisions, their families, their futures. I refer to this mindset as The Business of I.

Within this community, discussion assumes adulthood in the original sense of the word. Ideas are examined without theatrics. Disagreement is expected. Being “triggered” is not a feature—it’s a signal that something else may be at work.

If certain foundational statements about history, markets, or human behavior feel intolerable rather than debatable, this likely isn’t a good fit. And that’s fine.

But if you’re looking for a place where the focus is on what’s actually happening, why it matters, and how to think about it clearly—without pandering or pretense—then MYTR may be worth your time.

If so, you can explore the options below.
And if not, I genuinely wish you well.

— MSC