I miss the days when billionaires were seen and not heard ...Middle East

This week, yet another billionaire bestowed upon us his deep and meaningful thoughts about society. This time it was the turn of Sir Jim Ratcliffe, who claimed the UK is being colonised by immigrants.

The backlash was swift, from politicians to Manchester United fan groups, and it apparently didn’t go down well with players, either.

Now look, I have nothing against billionaires. Some of my best friends are billionaires. I just often think back wistfully to a simpler time when they knew their place: in their ivory towers, on top of their piles of wealth, keeping their salient, thought-provoking, man-of-the-people comments to themselves. Or rocking their Billionaire Boys Club t-shirts down at the one of the men-only clubs they love so much, exchanging tips on the best ways to avoid paying tax.

I just miss the days when billionaires were seen and not heard. Now we have to contend with their daily monologues and attempts to take over the world. Elon Musk’s musings on global race relations and politics over on X are well documented. What happened to the good old days when billionaires were content with telling their life story to a ghost-writer, and then hanging out on their private estates on some far-flung tax haven? Guys, we didn’t know what we had until it was gone.

I do wonder, though, if we all underestimated just how lonely it is at the top – and therefore missed the slow rise of the blathering billionaire. If we had just listened more carefully to Kelis and Andre 3000’s 2004 hit “Millionaire” maybe we would have seen this coming. Andre 3000, always so lyrically on point with his assessment of culture, laid it out for us at the top of verse one: “Mama I’m a millionaire but I feel like a bum.”

With great wealth comes emptiness, and presumably boredom too. When you have anything you could possibly want at your disposal at pretty much any time of day, it must suck the joy out of life. But it’s we the people who have to deal with the billionaire’s version of a toddler’s temper tantrum, their toys regularly thrown out the pram in the form of the views they just have to share on the state of the world. Loudly.

This also involves spending a lot of time trying to convince people they’re “just like us” while flashing their Patek Philippe watches and John Lobb brogues, flying on their private jets to grab coffee, doing summers on their yachts in Italy, and paying less to HMRC than Mavis down at Morrisons. This is all a distraction while they complete their biggest mission: a global takeover.

The world has been colonised by billionaires in plain sight. Billionaire wealth has jumped three times faster in 2025, to its highest peak ever – $18.3trn. The fear many have is that jump comes with more political power.

In their quest to defeat Andre 3000’s aforementioned emptiness, what was once a bashful billionaire, full of class and decorum, has evolved into the blathering billionaire intent on becoming the real-life comic book villain they adored growing up. Elon Musk, for example, appeared to morph into Lex Luthor back in 2024 with his rants on X claiming civil war was inevitable in the UK, and comparing Britain with the Soviet Union.

So where does it leave us high street huns? How can we possibly live our lives in peace when it seems as though those with far more cash and far more power appear hell-bent on stoking division? Although Sir Jim gave a sort of apology for his choice of words, they went far and wide and the damage was already done. But let’s not forget, his life is far removed from ours: his is not a life spent contemplating the week in the checkout queue in Lidl. It’s hard to understand the impact of words when your ivory tower is so tall. 

Maybe we ought to remember that, yes, money brings power, but in its own way, having joy in our lives gives us power too. We don’t need to look for competition, revenge, world domination, or turn to racism and hate in order to feel heard, or like we matter. We just need joy. Would you rather sit in that ivory tower, counting your Euros by-way-of-Monaco, lonely as a lamb, blathering on, or be sat on the sofa watching The Traitors with your family, enjoying a can of Marks and Spencer’s finest Pink Passion Star Martini, coveting Claudia Winkleman’s wardrobe?

Maybe our next campaign should be to save billionaires from themselves.

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