Gay men have long been rumored to run Silicon Valley. No one can say exactly when, or if, gay men started running Silicon Valley. They seem to have dominated its upper ranks at least the past five years, maybe more. On platforms like X, the clues are there: whispers of private-island retreats, tech executives going "gay for clout," and the suggestion that a "seed round" is not, strictly speaking, a financial term. It is an idea so taken for granted, in fact, that when I call up a well-connected hedge fund manager to ask his thoughts about what is sometimes referred to in industry circles as the "gay tech mafia," he audibly yawns. "This has always been the case." It had been the case, the hedge funder says, back in 2012, when he was raising money from a venture capitalist whose office was staffed with dozens of "attractive, strong young men," all of whom were "under 30" and looked as though they had freshly decamped from "the high school debate club." "They were all sleeping with each other and starting companies," he says. And it is absolutely the case now, he adds, when gay men are running influential companies in Silicon Valley and maintain entire social calendars with scarcely a straight man, much less a woman, in sight. "Of course the gay tech mafia exists," he continues. "This is not some Illuminati conspiracy theory. And you do not have to be gay to join. They like straight guys who sleep with them even more." Ever since I started covering Silicon Valley in 2017, I've heard variations of this rumor--that "gays," as an AI founder named Emmett Chen-Ran has quipped, "run this joint." On its face, a gay tech mafia seemed too dumb to warrant actual investigative inquiry.

Nick Land believes that digital superintelligence is going to kill us all. In San Francisco, his followers ask: What if, instead of trying to stop an A.I. takeover, you work to bring it on as fast as possible? In the spring of 1994, at a philosophy conference on a run-down modernist campus in the English Midlands, a group of academics, media theorists, artists, hackers, and d.j.s gathered to hear a young professor give a talk at a conference called "Virtual Futures." It was ten o'clock in the morning, and most of the attendees were wiped out from a rave that had taken place in the student union the night before. But the talk--titled "Meltdown"--was highly anticipated. The professor, Nick Land, was tenured in the philosophy department at the University of Warwick, at the time one of the top philosophy programs in the U.K. Land had gained a cult following for his radical anti-humanism, his wild predictions about the future of technology, and his erratic teaching style. Soon, his academic presentations would become increasingly "experimental"; at a conference in 1996, he lay on the floor, reciting cut-up poetry in what an attendee described as a "demon voice" while jungle music played in the background.

The post-chatbot era has begun. Americans are living in parallel AI universes. For much of the country, AI has come to mean ChatGPT, Google's AI overviews, and the slop that now clogs social-media feeds. Meanwhile, tech hobbyists are becoming radicalized by bots that can work for hours on end, collapsing months of work into weeks, or weeks into an afternoon. Recently, more people have started to play around with tools such as Claude Code .

There have always been two sides to the Meta CEO. But since the beginning of Trump's second term, the nice side has taken a back seat. Ruthlessness is now the name of the game. January 31, 2024, is an uncomfortable day in Washington. An icy wind is whistling around the corners of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, right next to the Capitol. Inside, the atmosphere is not much more welcoming. Indeed, it feels downright hostile. In the large hall, women and men are holding up signs - silent, in mourning and protest. On them are pictures of girls and boys, 12, 13, 14, 15 years old. Harassed, sexually abused, mistreated on social networks on the internet. Many of the children have died from the consequences. And the man primarily to blame is said to be the one sitting in a blue suit in the front row: Mark Zuckerberg, 39 years old at the time. His usually radiant boyish face is expressionless.

We asked attendees of Super Bowl LX's pregame festivities for their takes on the competing halftime shows, the potential for ICE actions, and the influence of Silicon Valley on the event. To say this year's Super Bowl came at a charged time in American culture and politics is, perhaps, an understatement. While the pair of teams who took the field Sunday--the Seattle Seahawks and the New England Patriots--comprised a pretty classic matchup (no underdogs here!), the rest of the event was set to be anything but. Santa Clara's Levi's Stadium is in the heart of Silicon Valley, just a few miles from the corporate headquarters of Nvidia and AMD, whose chips are powering the AI arms race that had competitors OpenAI and Anthropic sparring via rival Super Bowl ads . There was an explosion in sports "trading" activity on sites like Kalshi and Polymarket in the lead-up to the game, even in states like California where traditional sports betting is illegal. Sunday could prove to be an extraordinary success for prediction markets, as the industry becomes more mainstream . Fresh off a historic Grammy Album of the Year win (a first for a Spanish-language album), the unapologetically political Puerto Rican rapper and singer Bad Bunny headlined --a choice that sparked a perhaps inevitable MAGA backlash. Meanwhile, Turning Point USA organized an alternative program called The All-American Halftime Show, featuring the likes of Kid Rock and Brantley Gilbert. Never mind that Bad Bunny is Puerto Rican, and therefore an American citizen. Rumors were even buzzing about possible actions by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents at the Super Bowl. Even though the NFL and California governor Gavin Newsom said on Thursday that there would be " no immigration enforcement tied to the game," anti-ICE protesters were on the streets. We caught up with football fans at a tailgate five minutes away from Levi's Stadium to hear their thoughts on all the drama. Here's what they had to say.

Founders used to be wedded to their companies. Now, anyone can be lured away for the right price. Since the middle of last year, there have been at least three major AI "acqui-hires" in Silicon Valley. Meta invested more than $14 billion in Scale AI and brought on its CEO, Alexandr Wang; Google spent a cool $2.4 billion to license Windsurf's technology and fold its cofounders and research teams into DeepMind; and Nvidia wagered $20 billion on Groq's inference technology and hired its CEO and other staffers. The frontier AI labs, meanwhile, have been playing a high stakes and seemingly never-ending game of talent musical chairs.

The latest batch of Jeffrey Epstein files shed light on the convicted sex offender's ties to Silicon Valley--and Peter Thiel's exacting approach to food. Peter Thiel--the billionaire venture capitalist, PayPal, and Palantir cofounder, and outspoken commentator on all matters relating to the "Antichrist"--appears at least 2,200 times in the latest batch of files released by the Department of Justice related to convicted sex offender and disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein . The tranche of records demonstrate how Epstein managed to cultivate an extensive network of wealthy and influential figures in Silicon Valley. A number of them, including Thiel, continued to interact with Epstein even after his 2008 guilty plea for solicitation of prostitution and of procurement of minors to engage in prostitution. The new files show that Thiel arranged to meet with Epstein several times between 2014 and 2017.

Decisions outsourced, chatbots for friends, the natural world an afterthought: Silicon Valley is giving us life void of connection. There is a way out - but it's going to take collective effort Summer after summer, I used to descend into a creek that had carved a deep bed shaded by trees and lined with blackberry bushes whose long thorny canes arced down from the banks, dripping with sprays of fruit. Down in that creek, I'd spend hours picking until I had a few gallons of berries, until my hands and wrists were covered in scratches from the thorns and stained purple from the juice, until the tranquillity of that place had soaked into me. The berries on a single spray might range from green through shades of red to the darkness that gives the fruit its name. Partly by sight and partly by touch, I determined which berries were too hard and which too soft, picking only the ones in between, while listening to birds and the hum of bees, to the music of water flowing, noticing small jewel-like insects among the berries, dragonflies in the open air, water striders in the creek's calm stretches. I went there for berries, but I also went there for the quiet, the calm, the feeling of cool water on my feet and sometimes up to my knees as I waded in where the picking was good. At home I made jars of jam. When I gave them away I was trying to give not just my jam - which was admittedly runny and seedy - but something of the peace of that creek, of summer itself.

Silicon Valley's top CEOs have been noticeably silent after the Minneapolis shooting. Hours after Alex Pretti was killed by federal agents in Minneapolis on Saturday, Apple CEO Tim Cook and Amazon CEO Andy Jassy showed up for a movie night at the White House. Along with other business executives and several prominent Donald Trump supporters, they attended a private screening of, a new documentary about the president's wife. The moviegoers were treated to buckets of popcorn and sugar cookies frosted with the first lady's name. Silicon Valley's top executives have seemingly taken every opportunity to cozy up to Trump.

While many tech workers protested President Donald Trump's policies during his first term, Silicon Valley's rank and file has been quieter over the past year as their bosses genuflect to his administration. But that may be changing following the killings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti in Minneapolis. Last week, following the killing of Good, more than 200 Silicon Valley staffers published a letter urging tech leaders to use their platforms to call for ICE's removal from U.S. cities. As of Tuesday, following the killing of Pretti, the letter has more than 450 signatories, including employees from Google, Amazon and TikTok. The letter argues that tech leaders have a unique ability to influence Trump.