I read Dan Neil's columns because I love his writing not because I'm interested in cars. This week's review of the 2024 Dodge Hornet R/T: An Italian Stallion, Made for America (WSJ, 29 Jun 2023) has a lovely passage that suggests that car companies have distinct characters—evidence, perhaps, that they're ogregores.
A recent YouTube video discussed what NATO could learn from Sweden's use of the Saab Gripen fighter. The aircraft was specifically designed for austere and dispersed operations, reflecting Sweden's country-specific military doctrine of highly decentralized defensive operations. However, due to this inherent association with Sweden's doctrine, it is unlikely that the Gripen could be easily adapted for NATO operations. This is an example of an organization developing a character and repertoire that is a synthesis of its individual members, tools, and protocols.
My recent post, Bud Light Blunders: An Ogregore Story, delved into a controversy surrounding personalized cans of beer sent to a transgender influencer. Bud Light's behavior resembled that of an ogregore. But was its antagonist also an ogregore?
I’m trying to understand how ogregores (greater-than-human techno-social entities that affect our lives) behave. The recent controversy involving Bud Light and a transgender Instagram influencer clearly demonstrates a pattern: when companies perform well, their leaders take the credit, but when they falter, blame falls on lower-level employees and the overall corporate structure. Given that successes often garner more media attention than failures, the role of leadership in corporate actions tends to be overstated. To understand the collective roots of corporate action, one must delve deeper.
