The author's dad is Chilean and went by a Spanish and English version of his name.
Courtesy of the author
I had three other Lauren's in my class, and I secretly wanted to be the only one.
My chilean father went by George, as a way to assimilate to his life in the US.
I wanted to have a name in Spanish and English, like he did.
My first day of 5th grade continues to be memorable decades later. When the teacher did roll call in a class of 30 students, three of us had the name Lauren. I was surprised. I secretly wished I was the only one.
I've always loved my name, and up until age 10, I had no idea Lauren was popular. Over the years, I'd become used to parents in the early 80s naming their kids just like me.
My Chilean father, Jorge, moved to the United States when he was 28 years old. Everyone called him George. His official documents, such as his passport and driver's license, had his birth name — Jorge. Like most immigrants, he did his best to assimilate. Adopting an English version of his name was one way to minimize calling attention to himself and help him blend into the melting pot of the United States. He made it easier for his colleagues and clients to say his name.
As a kid, I thought it was cool that he had two names — one in Spanish and one in English. I wanted to have two names, too, like him, even though my dad didn't teach me Spanish.
My name doesn't exist in Spanish
When I'd visit my abuelita a couple of times a year, who didn't speak much English — she learned it when she was 50 years old, I'd always ask her, "How would you say my name in Spanish?" Her reply was always the same — "Your name doesn't exist in Spanish." I felt let down, bummed.
I didn't understand it at the time, but I was seeking and wanting to be a part of something bigger — intangible, of course. I wanted something that seemed within reach and yet so far away. I understand now, as an adult, that I wanted to be a part of my dad's culture and connect with him and his family, including my abuelita. I wanted to feel like I belonged.
Questioning whether my name existed in Spanish was my way of creating a connection with my abuelita despite language differences. After all, neither one of us spoke the other's native tongue. I may not have been successful or received the answer I was hoping for, but now I understand my question had a deeper meaning.
I started saying my name differently when speaking in Spanish
In my late 20s, I moved to Spain to teach English as a language assistant in a high school. My real goal was to learn Spanish and speak fluently. I quickly learned that when I said my name, whether it was to make a reservation at a restaurant or deal with in-person bureaucratic paperwork, most Spaniards would ask me to repeat my name numerous times. Over time, I stopped saying my name as if I were in the United States (Lor-in). Instead, I deferred to pronouncing my name as it sounds in Spanish (Lao-wren) to save myself time and frustration from reiterating it too many times.
Similar to what I imagine my dad must have experienced living in the United States, I learned it's easier to adapt. Not only is it more convenient for the other person, but it also saves me the hassle of repeating myself and being reminded constantly that I'm foreign.
It turns out my abuelita wasn't exactly right. Lauren may not be a Spanish name or have a direct translation, yet it's possible to pronounce it in Spanish. My name is adaptable in both languages. I appreciate that my name can have two pronunciations, even if it's a reminder that I'm from somewhere else. And as a daughter of a Chilean immigrant, it may be ironic that I was always seeking to blend in and belong.
"I noticed that introversion and extroversion don't really capture the nuance of how we approach socializing, solitude, and connection in our lives," Kasley Killam, MPH and author of "The Art and Science of Connection" (out on June 18) told Business Insider. From both her research and experiences talking to communities all over the world, she came up with four social styles that people generally fall under: butterfly, wallflower, firefly, and evergreen.
She said that besides only looking at the quantity of connection a person craves, these styles also address the "quality of connection that people prefer."
Killam shared what each style says about relationships — and why it's still good to push yourself out of your comfort zone, no matter where you fall.
Butterfly, happy with all kinds of talk
A nod to "social butterfly," the butterfly personality style describes "someone who likes a really high amount of interaction but is comfortable and happy with more casual connection," Killam said.
It doesn't mean that they only like small talk — butterflies are excited to get deep, too, she said. They're just glad to be engaged in all types of conversations, and often.
Wallflower, content with some distance
As the name suggests, a wallflower is "a bit more shy but really comfortable and happy with less frequent interaction," Killam said. They can also be fine with more casual connections, she said.
In the book, she also mentioned that wallflowers often prefer staying out of the limelight, but that doesn't mean they enjoy feeling like floater friends. Like anyone else, they "have the inner desire and ability to love and be loved," she said.
Firefly, deep conversations with recharge time
Fireflies burn bright before disappearing into the night, describing someone who loves deeper interactions but also craves solitude.
Killam identifies as a firefly herself. "I love deep conversations with friends and family," she said, whether one-on-one or in small groups. But she also requires time to recharge alone.
Evergreen, a pro at opening up
Evergreen plants stay lush all year long, not just seasonally. Similarly, an evergreen is "someone who likes a lot of frequent interaction, and also deeper," Killam said.
While they might look like butterflies at first glance, Killam said the kinds of conversations they have speak to their nature. Taylor, a woman she mentioned in the book, "really only enjoys and feels fulfilled by socializing with people who she has deep connections to," such as close friends and family. Evergreens are the people who phone a best friend or parent every day.
Your social type should be flexible
Killam said there's no one perfect style, and that each has pros and cons. That means "there's value in stretching beyond what might be comfortable to explore what ultimately is best for each of us," she said.
For instance, she said more introverted styles like wallflowers and fireflies benefit from pushing themselves to socialize more. As a firefly, "the times in my life when I felt most meaningfully connected are times when I socialized more than I would typically choose," Killam said.
Meanwhile, if you're an extroverted style like an evergreen or butterfly, you should try to "cultivate a connection with yourself and to prioritize some alone time as well," Killam said. That way, you can "go deep in the relationships that are most important."
Sugary beverages add around 500 calories a day to many people's diets, increasing your risk of heart health issues. Start by cutting back on sodas, sweetened coffees, and alcohol.
Oleh_Slobodeniuk/Getty Images
A cardiologist said the biggest heart health mistake is waiting too long to make healthy changes.
Factors like diet and exercise play a big role in your risk of heart disease, heart attack, and stroke.
A simple way to make your diet more heart-healthy is to switch up your drinks first.
If you want to live a long life, the best time to pay attention to your heart health is right now, according to a doctor.
The biggest mistake people make about heart health is waiting until it's too late to take action, said Dr. Gregory Katz, a cardiologist at NYU Langone.
"People think it's something that happens suddenly. Sometimes they look up and are like, 'How the hell did I have a heart attack or stroke?' The seeds are planted very early on," Katz told Business Insider.
Your habits today, such as eating well and exercising, can make a big difference in protecting your heart and preventing heart disease, heart attack, and stroke later in life, he said.
While medication can help, patients sometimes put off taking drugs that could help them manage their risk in favor of trying to change their habits first.
"Taking medication is not a moral failing. That's an important message," Katz said.
The trick is focusing on changes you can actually stick to, according to Katz.
"People are not honest with themselves about what lifestyle changes they're actually going to make," he said. "A large percentage of patients tell themselves they'll make changes, and suddenly five years later, their cholesterol is still high."
To make heart-healthy habits stick, focus on making small, sustainable changes — one of the simplest is reducing your sugar intake from drinks, Katz said.
In contrast, diets for better heart health involve eating lots of veggies, whole grains, legumes, and unsaturated fats like olive oil, which help lower your cholesterol.
But it can be tough to transform your diet overnight, and making too many changes at once can backfire
One of the simplest ways to make your diet more heart-healthy is to cut back on sweetened drinks or boozy beverages, according to Katz.
"Drinking calories and drinking alcohol are the biggest modifiable risk factors. The number of people I see drinking 500 calories a day blows my mind," he said. "Just because it's simple doesn't make it easy."
Sodas, juices, sugary coffees, and cocktails can all contribute to health risks like heart disease, type 2 diabetes, and cancer, evidence suggests.
A dietitian previously told BI a good strategy to cut back on sweet drinks is to replace them with alternatives like:
Online business owners who rely on TikTok to generate sales are preparing for the worst in the face of a ban.
iStock; Rebecca Zisser/BI
Mason Kuhr, 25, launched an online business selling wellness products in 2021 after college.
His business brought in $3.8 million in sales in 12 months, partly due to advertising on TikTok.
Kuhr predicts his sales could drop 50% if TikTok is banned in the US. He's preparing for the worst.
This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Mason Kuhr, a 25-year-old business owner living in the US, about the potential TikTok ban. The following has been edited for length and clarity.
I'm skeptical about a TikTok ban in the US. But if it were to happen, I estimate that my $3.8 million business would be cut by half. So, I choose to be prepared rather than caught off guard.
I launched my business, The Stampede Network, in 2021. I was 22, fresh out of college, and at the end of my athletics career. I moved into my parent's basement without knowing what I wanted to do, but I knew it wasn't working 9-to-5.
I lived with my parents with no income of my own. I had some savings. I used it all to experiment with dropshipping, but nothing took off.
My weight-loss journey was the beginning of my business
I started struggling with weight issues. After completing a self-transformation program and getting back in shape, I signed up for TikTok in March 2021 and started posting about my weight-loss journey.
Four months later, my TikTok account had 10,000 followers; by the end of 2021, I had 74,000 followers.
I unsuccessfully tried to monetize my following by selling ebooks, fitness programs, and merchandise.
Flipping through different wellness forums searching for new products to sell, I stumbled upon a discussion about a company making bee bread pastilles made of pollen. The company offered fulfillment services for third-party sellers, so I ordered a sample.
Bee bread is a natural superfood, and I loved the product. I added them to my Shopify store, connected with the manufacturer's order fulfillment service, and made a 60-second TikTok video about my new product. In a matter of minutes, people went crazy about it.
By the end of the day, the video had generated over 1.2 million views. And I had made over $25,000 in sales.
I've relied on the same sales tactic from day one
The pastilles sold well, but I realized one product wouldn't be enough for my business to grow. I've continually expanded my offering, introducing new wellness products to boost sales and brand recognition. I switched from third-party fulfillment services to ordering products in bulk and handling order fulfillment in-house. In the last 12 months, we made $3.8 million in sales.
I regularly create and post content on my TikTok promoting my product. I experiment with messages, hooks, and angles.
I hire other TikTokers using Creators Corner to replicate my best-performing videos. These creators produce their videos, sticking to my script but adding a personal touch.
Later, I gather all the creators' stats to see which posts have generated the most traction. This data shows me which pain points and messages resonate most with the audience.
Finally, I produce a new video that embodies all the best-performing elements and scale it up with targeted ad spending to maximize sales. I can spend as much as $150,000 a month on TikTok ads.
Last year, I made $3.8 million in sales, with a third from TikTok
My company's revenue is evenly split between TikTok Shop, Amazon, and Shopify store sales. If TikTok were taken down, I'd lose one-third of my sales overnight.
However, many customers discover my products on TikTok and then purchase them on Amazon or Shopify. So, TikTok's impact on my business is greater than the direct sales it generates. In total, my revenue might drop by up to 50%.
The Stampede Network would be one of many businesses in the US that would suffer if TikTok was banned.
I understand why US officials are suspicious of TikTok. If the Chinese government owns and controls the platform, I see how it risks national security. Conversely, TikTok brings a lot of money into the American economy, so the government is cautious about hasty decisions regarding its ban.
I feel that TikTok doesn't believe the ban will happen. They've made enormous investments to launch their shop feature in the US, including the Fulfilled by TikTok services and fulfillment centers nationwide. I'm skeptical the ban will ever go through.
I have an action plan in place if TikTok gets taken down
In such a case, YouTube would become my business' primary social media platform. I'm getting familiar with the platform since its audience differs from TikTok's.
For example, TikTok users are highly spontaneous buyers. Whereas YouTube users make more informed buying decisions. I'm learning how to talk to a YouTube audience to succeed on this platform.
If you're freaking out about the TikTok ban, I'd suggest you choose a back-up platform and start to make yourself familiar with its users. Experiment with content and ads to learn what works and what doesn't.
I also suggest growing your email list. I regularly remind my TikTok followers to subscribe, allowing us to stay in touch, whatever happens. Email is a powerful tool for both community building and generating sales.
And while TikTok is still here, I'm just going to milk it as much as possible — I'm planning to spend on ads like there is no tomorrow. Because there might not be.
The lawsuit says that Jorge Guillen drowned after being electrocuted in a jacuzzi.
ImagineGolf/Getty Images
A Texas woman is seeking over $1 million in damages after her husband died at a Mexican resort.
The wrongful-death lawsuit claims that he died after being electrocuted in a jacuzzi and drowned.
The lawsuit accuses three companies linked to the resort of negligence.
A Texas woman is seeking over $1 million in damages, saying she watched her husband get electrocuted and then drown while in a hot tub during a family vacation in Mexico.
In a wrongful-death lawsuit filed in El Paso County District Court in Texas, first published by Inside Edition, Lizzette Zambrano accused three companies associated with the Sonoran Sea Resort of negligence.
It follows the death of her husband, Jorge Guillen, on June 11, 2024, while they were on holiday at the resort in Sonora, northern Mexico.
According to the lawsuit, Guillen stepped into the hot tub and was immediately "exposed to an electrical current in the water," causing him to keel over and become submerged.
The lawsuit said that Zambrano tried to grab her husband from the water but she was also electrocuted and fell into the jacuzzi.
According to the lawsuit, another guest managed to pull Zambrano out, but attempts to get Guillen, using a shepherd's cross and other items, were unsuccessful.
"The metal from the objects carried the electrical current and began shocking the rescuers," the lawsuit said.
Zambrano claims in the lawsuit that resort staff did not try to engage the emergency shutoff for the jacuzzi or try to rescue her or her husband.
Guillen died of drowning, the lawsuit said, while Zambrano was hospitalized but survived the incident.
According to the lawsuit, the defendants showed negligence by not providing warnings about faulty jacuzzi wiring, and breached their duty of care by failing to keep the resort reasonably safe.
Casago, the vacation rental company that manages the resort, did not immediately respond to Business Insider's request for comment.
Guillen is described in the lawsuit as "an industrious, affectionate, loving, compassionate, energetic, cooperative, patient, and attentive father."
The couple's family has raised more than $55,000 on a GoFundMe campaign, which says it is fundraising to bring Guillen's body home and to cover Zambrano's medical expenses.
August Miller, left, at 434 pounds and, right, at 271 pounds today.
Courtesy of August Miller.
August Miller was told by his doctor that he was morbidly obese.
It was a wake-up call for the dad who'd already been diagnosed with pre-diabetes.
Miller lost 163 pounds on the Weight Watchers plan and said he is glad to be alive.
This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with August Miller. It has been edited for length and clarity.
I'm 6ft 2 tall and maintained a healthy weight growing up. I was pretty athletic and served in the military after high school.
Then, in my early 20s, I started getting heavier. My wife, Teresa, got pregnant with our daughter, Sarah, now 33, and I did the classic thing of gaining sympathy weight.
I became your typical fast foodie. I had a problem with portions, and it didn't help that I worked as a DJ. I'd finish work at 2 a.m. and stop at burger joints on the way home.
I was scared that I'd break a chair because of my size
It was the worst thing because I'd eat so much before bed. I also drank a lot of soda — at least two cans of Coke a day. Then, at weekends, I'd get through those 2-liter bottles in no time at all.
I did zero exercise. At that age, I didn't think about my health and longevity. You think you're unbeatable and going to live forever.
Still, I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I dreaded visiting a restaurant with booths because I couldn't fit in. I'd ask for a chair to be placed at the end of the table.
Social situations were difficult for me at the time. I'd look at the seating beforehand if I went to a wedding. I was always afraid I would break the chair.
Miller and his wife, Teresa, before he lost weight.
Courtesy of August Miller
Then, in December 2017, I had what I can only describe as a "bad doctor's visit." I hadn't seen a doctor in a long while because, like many guys, I kept putting it off.
I stepped on the scale, and it registered 434 pounds. I was shocked. As far as I knew, I hadn't developed any medical conditions. But I was wrong. I was diagnosed with pre-diabetes.
Teresa had expressed concern about my weight in the past — but always in a loving way. But it's a wake-up call when a doctor says your BMI is off the charts and you're morbidly obese.
I knew that I wanted to stay alive for my wife and daughter. I didn't want to leave them without a husband or dad.
I could choose the food that I liked — as long as I counted the points
Teresa had previously succeeded with Weight Watchers, so I agreed to attend a meeting in January 2018. The meeting was predominantly women, and I felt a bit out of place, but it was nothing to put me off.
They explained the plan, where certain foods have a certain number of points. You were held accountable. I'm now an engineer and like to work with figures and charts. I also downloaded the app, which made it so much easier to keep track of my progress.
It wasn't restricting and I could pick the foods that I liked. I just had to know their point value and the best portions. I used a kitchen scale and finally paid attention to what I put down my throat.
Miller drew support from family, including his daughter, Sarah.
Courtesy of August Miller
Teresa and I shopped together and planned our menus for the whole week. I'd have oatmeal almost every morning and some fruit with my coffee.
For lunch and dinner, I'd have a lean protein such as chicken or pork loin with a salad or vegetable and a serving of brown rice. I'm Mexican American and don't like anything bland. I used marinades and hot sauces.
As for exercise, I started incorporating movement into my day. I began with walking and then riding a bike. Then, I got into spin classes. Now, I'm an avid Peloton fan. I ride five to six days a week. I also take our two dogs on long walks.
My family has supported me all the way
The weight has come off slowly and surely. It's usual to lose more initially, then ebbs and flows. I now weigh 271 pounds and intend to lose another 20 to 25 pounds to reach my goal. I'm no longer pre-diabetic. I happily sit in a booth at a diner.
Meanwhile, Teresa has been my biggest cheerleader. Sarah said she is very proud of her dad. They're relieved to know that I'm here for them.
Do you have an interesting story about weight loss that you'd like to share with Business Insider? Please send details to jridley@businessinsider.com.
Noah K. Murray/AP, Michael Conroy/AP, Jose A. Bernat Bacete/Getty, Tyler Le/BI
Caitlin Clark, a 22-year-old Iowa graduate, is having an unusual start to professional life.
Her star rose fast in college. She became the leading basketball scorer in NCAA history — for men and women — and smashed all kinds of other records, drawing legions of new fans and also historic partnership deals. Since being drafted into the WNBA in April as the No. 1 overall pick, Clark is having an impressive, albeit inconsistent, rookie campaign. She has struggled at times with the increased physicality at this level, which is extremely normal.
But nothing that Clark does — or that is done to Clark — is treated as normal.
On Sunday, Clark was flagrant-fouled by the Chicago Sky's Angel Reese in the third quarter, and it made headline news on CNN, Fox News, ESPN, Bleacher Report, and even Deadline, the Hollywood news site.
That was just the latest bulletin in a months-long news cycle trailing everything Clark does. ESPN's Stephen A. Smith said WNBA players should go easier on Clark in games if they want to keep up record viewership: "Protect the golden goose." When Clark was not picked for the Olympic team in June — likely because of Team USA's depth at the guard position and Clark's lack of international experience — Republican governor Nikki Haley tweeted in outrage: "I think the Olympic selection committee should be asked do we want the best team to represent our country or not?" After Clark was hard-fouled in a recent game, a GOP congressman from Indiana wrote an open letter to WNBA commissioner Cathy Engelbert, asking her to do something about "excessive" physical play. He said Clark's "exceptionalism" was being met with "resentment and repeated attacks from fellow players."
Caitlin Clark just signed a deal with Wilson, the basketball manufacturer — a first for any athlete since Michael Jordan
Michael Hickey/Getty Images
All this attention positions Clark as the de facto face of the WNBA, which is predominantly Black with a strong and vocal LGBTQ population. Clark, herself, largely stays out of it. She doesn't comment on the uproar, except to say she's focused on playing basketball. And yet, her name has become a kerosene canister to inflame a thinly-veiled debate about race, gender, and representation in America.
These days, watching Caitlin Clark play basketball has become a Rorschach test for a deeply divided country.
How Caitlin Clark become the center of a culture war
Being a female athlete is inherently an act of political defiance. In the US, it took a 1972 law about gender equality in education, Title IX, to inadvertently drag public institutions kicking and screaming into providing resources for women's sport, and many remain noncompliant today. Because of this, activism and women's sports often go hand-in-hand, with champions fighting not just for medals, but for equal pay, racial and LGBTQ equality, and maternal rights. Four years ago, WNBA players actually helped flip a Senate seat in Georgia.
In recent years, we've seen some outspoken female athletes used as props to push political agendas, most notably Megan Rapinoe, the women's soccer player who became a target for her outspoken hatred of Donald Trump, and Brittney Griner, the WNBA player who was wrongfully imprisoned in Russia for most of 2022.
Clark is different. She, herself, does not talk politics. She shoots threes and dishes dimes. She attends her contractual media interviews, and fields offers from the world's biggest shoe brands who have been trying to partner with her since she was at school.
But it's getting tougher for Clark (and the rest of the WNBA) to focus on work alone.
Fouls that wouldn't even be a footnote in NBA coverage — fouls that other women across the WNBA commit and take every game — are suddenly talking points. Male sports commentators who have never given the WNBA airtime are dedicating multiple segments to Clark's Black opponents, calling them jealous bullies who are out to hurt her. Matt Leinart, a former football player-turned-media personality, said on X that the WNBA should suspend Reese for an unintentional foul because it was "bad for the game." ESPN's Pat McAfee, a football pundit, compared Clark to Eminem in an inflammatory rant, saying that people don't want to give her credit because she's white.
Last week, security had to intervene whenChennedy Carter, a Chicago Sky player, was confronted by a man outside a hotel in Washington, DC. The man was demanding to know if Carter had reached out to Clark after hard-fouling her in a recent game — a play that, while excessive, was overdramatized by a GOP congressman to issue a formal complaint to the WNBA. Fellow WNBA players started making statements, calling for the firestorm to stop. Many Black players, including Clark's own teammates, spoke up about experiencing excessive racist abuse on social media in recent weeks.
When asked about her name being used "as a weapon in the culture wars dividing the country," Clark initially side-stepped the question. "I don't see it. That's not where my focus is," she said. "My focus is here and on basketball. That's where it needs to be, that's where it has been, and I'm just trying to get better on a daily basis."
Some WNBA fans and players took issue with that response. "Silence is a luxury," Connecticut Sun forward Dijonai Carrington wrote on X. Carrington vocalized a brewing frustration about one (white, straight) rookie being awarded more mainstream credit, plaudits, and sympathy than we've ever really seen in the WNBA's existence.
The WNBA is stacked with phenomenally talented Black players, including Angel Reese (center left).
Emilee Chinn/Getty Images
Black women built, sustained, at times even saved the WNBA during its first 28 years. Their stories often go untold: a study found that in 2020, four of the five most talked about WNBA players in the media were white, despite 80% of the postseason awards being won by Black players.
And their compensation falls short, too. Media fanfare propelled Clarkinto a historic $28 million deal with Nike, which reportedly came with a signature shoe— a huge moment for women's basketball, but one that stoked controversy because the only other two WNBA players with signature shoes, Sabrina Ionescu and Breanna Stewart, are also white. (Two weeks later, Nike said A'ja Wilson, a Black two-time MVP who has been with Nike since she was the top draft pick in 2018, will have a signature shoe in 2025.)
The hope that this new era of WNBA fandom could be everything for everyone is turning into exasperation.
This all says more about commentators than it does about Clark
Caitlin Clark is in a unique position, thrust into a role of advocate and spokesperson for the WNBA.
Icon Sportswire/Getty Images
The chaotic coverage of Clark doesn't tell us much about her or the league. It does underscore that the sports media ecosystem is wholly unprepared for the rise of women's basketball.
Even before Clark, the price of the WNBA's media rights deal was expected to double in 2025, bringing a game-changing influx of cash to the table — money that can turn salaries from livable to luxurious, and investments into profit.
But this moment, which has been building for decades, is being undercut by commentators and brands who are fixated on Clark. While there's no doubt her exceptional skill is a big reason why ratings nearly tripled during the first month of the season, it doesn't do Clark or the WNBA any favors to paint her as a precious legend in a league of her own who needs to be protected.
All these projections — from Clark's supporters and detractors — infantilize every player on the court. She is strong, and played the best game of her WNBA career so far on Sunday. She's working hard to diversify her game, to adjust to the next level, on and off the court. In one of her most recent interviews, Clark got more direct than ever. "Everybody in our world deserves the same amount of respect," Clark told James Boyd of The Athletic. "The women in our league deserve the same amount of respect, so people should not be using my name to push those agendas."
She's growing. It's time for the rest of us to do the same.
This scenario might tempt some to rail against the so-called "duopoly" of politics or bemoan the fact that neither the Republican Party nor the Democratic Party are able to field more popular candidates.
But it's important to understand that Biden and Trump are set to be their party's nominees for quite different reasons.
Republican voters had a lot of choices. They resoundingly chose Trump.
It might be easy to forget at this point, but Trump had lots of opponents.
Over a dozen people challenged Trump for the 2024 GOP presidential nomination, including one senator, one governor, three former governors, a former member of his cabinet, and his own vice president.
Trump handily beat all of them, winning a majority of the vote in all but two places: Vermont and Washington, DC.
It's not like they didn't raise enough money, bring enough experience, or were failed to effectively prosecute the case against Trump. Nikki Haley, the candidate who lasted the longest of all of the contenders, did all of those things.
It's just that GOP voters — who make up roughly a third of the electorate — overwhelmingly chose Trump, and the highest levels of the party once again fell in line behind him.
Polls showed Democrats open to alternatives. They never got a credible one.
On the other hand, Democrats ended up being stuck with Biden, despite plenty of indication that there was room for an alternative.
In July 2022, polling showed that nearly two-thirds of Democrats did not want Biden to run for a second term. In February of this year, a New York Times/Siena College poll found that 45% of Democrats said that Biden should not be the nominee, versus 46% who said he should.
Marlene Engelhorn, recorded at the Republica festival, 2023.
Monika Skolimowska/picture alliance via Getty Image
Austrian heiress Marlene Engelhorn asked 50 strangers to help distribute $27 million in inheritance.
Engelhorn, whose ancestor was a rich industrialist, advocates for higher taxes on the ultrawealthy.
The group proposed giving money to 77 charitable initiatives, including environmental and women's groups.
Earlier this year a 32-year-old Austrian heiress asked a group of complete strangers to decide how best to distribute roughly $27 million of her inheritance.
It should be awarded to 77 charitable initiatives over several years, the group said, including several women's shelter associations, children's charities, and climate crisis organizations.
The largest sum, of about $1.75 million, was earmarked for the environmental group Naturschutzbund Österreich, with other potential beneficiaries including the World Inequality Lab, Reporters Without Borders, and Catholic charity Caritas.
Marlene Engelhorn inherited a fortune as the descendant of Friedrich Englehorn, a 19th-century German industrialist who founded BASF, which would become the world's largest chemical producer.
Fifty people, aged 16 to 85, were ultimately chosen to decide how the bulk of the money would be spent.
They came from all walks of life and met over six weekends, hearing from experts in redistribution, poverty research, and law before making their decision.
Participants received stipends for childcare and travel expenses.
Englehorn's decision to give away her money, and have others decide how to go about it, received plenty of attention earlier this year.
In a mission statement, Englehorn explained her motives: "Our tax system favors precisely those who already live in abundance: work is taxed highly, wealth is taxed low or not at all."
Englehorn also told The Guardian: "To not redistribute wealth is as much of a distributional decision as to redistribute it."
She's previously called on the Austrian state to tax her 90% of the inheritance, telling Le Monde in 2022 that it was "unfair" to receive such a huge sum, given that she had never worked for it.
Englehorn has advocated for higher taxes on the world's wealthiest people. She also cofounded Tax Me Now, a collective of wealthy people in German-speaking countries calling on global leaders to tax their extreme wealth.
Englehorn, contacted via Tax Me Now, did not immediately respond to Business Insider's request for comment.
Melissa Noble (middle) and her friends while having a picnic in Bhutan.
Courtesy Melissa Noble
My friends and I traveled together through Southeast Asia in our 20s.
We just took another trip together, this time to Bhutan, nearly two decades later.
Though much has changed, our friendships are still strong.
I walked around Singapore Changi Airport feeling like a kid at summer camp for the first time. It was my first trip away from my family in a decade.
"Will I be OK?" I wondered. "What if I feel homesick and want to go home to my children and husband?"
I sat down and checked my backpack for the 10th time to make sure my passport and wallet were still inside. Then, I took a deep breath and wondered why I felt so anxious.
An earlier version of me used to travel alone all the time when I was in my 20s, filled with a naïve optimism that everything would work out. Yet there I was, at 39, feeling completely out of my depth.
I connected to WiFi, and my phone lit up with a message. I felt a rush of relief as I remembered I wasn't alone on the other side of the world. Three of my college friends were heading to Bhutan with me.
They had just touched down from Brisbane and wanted to know where to meet up. "See you at the gate," I wrote, and started making my way through the terminal.
Suddenly, I heard my college bestie call out my name. "Millllllls," she yelled. It was like a scene from a bad romcom, as she came sprinting along the travelator and tackled me. We laughed and hugged, then made our way to the other women.
Melissa Noble and her friends traveled together throughout Cambodia and Vietnam when they were in their 20s.
Courtesy Melissa Noble
Three of us are moms who ditched our husbands at home with the kids. The fourth friend decided to join us literally a couple of weeks before the trip, much to our delight.
We've all had vastly different life experiences, but we share an enduring bond — the kind that's formed during those early foundational years and lasts the ages. We met at college and traveled through Cambodia and Vietnam together in our early 20s.
Over the next eight nights, we had the time of our lives in Bhutan. It had been almost 20 years since the four of us had traveled together, but somehow, we picked up right where we left off. Another friend also joined along the way, and she fit in perfectly with the group.
During the holiday, I had so many revelations. The main one was how much I love traveling with girlfriends at different life stages.
We laughed more than I thought possible
There were times when we laughed so much that we cried, starting with our layover in Kathmandu on the way to Bhutan. I had woken up to go to the toilet, and when I reappeared in our twin room, my friend thought I was an intruder. She let out a blood-curdling scream that shook the walls. "It's me, Carmen," I said, then we both collapsed in a fit of hysterics, laughing until our stomachs ached.
Another time, we talked about something serious in a restaurant when the only other patron let out an almighty belch. We all looked at each other, then keeled over with laughter.
But the funniest moment of all was when our somewhat conservative Bhutanese guide took us to a hot spring in Gasa and appeared in his very tight undies. Up until that point, he had been wearing his traditional robe, known as a gho.
We were all sitting in the hot springs nearby as he took a 10-minute shower, meticulously scrubbing every inch of his hair and body. My friend piped up something like, "Queue 'Mysterious Girl' by Peter Andre," and we all lost it. It was so immature, but all of us were enjoying ourselves.
Melissa Noble, right, and her friends recently went to Bhutan.
Courtesy Melissa Noble
We had the best conversations
Another thing I loved was our deep and varied conversations. Nothing had been off limits during our trip together around Southeast Asia, and the same was true during this trip.
We talked about old relationships and current ones; parenting and puberty; religion and life after death. We discussed the merits of early sex education and the importance of teaching our sons about consent.
Sometimes, we chatted about lighter topics like eyelash curlers and brands of face cream, but I enjoyed those conversations, too. Often, we told stories about our earlier trip together, and through shared experiences, we briefly re-lived our youth.
We embraced the comfortable silences
Part of what I found incredible was how easy and familiar it felt to travel with these friends despite such a long gap between holidays.
There were times when we would embrace the comfortable silences while hiking in the mountains, enjoying the silent companionship rather than filling the void with constant chatter.
The silences never felt awkward, but instead offered opportunities for thoughtfulness and reflection, leading to a deeper sense of connection between us.
Melissa Noble and her friends connected while traveling.
Courtesy Melissa Noble
We rallied together and enjoyed the sisterhood
There's nothing quite like the bond of female friendship, and I really felt the solidarity of sisterhood during our trip. When women come together, they empower one another to be stronger and offer a tremendous well of emotional support.
When one of my friends began her cycle earlier than anticipated on a remote hike, we all rallied together and pooled our sanitary pads to get her through.
When I had a moment of height-induced panic on a hike, my friends reassured me I would be OK and encouraged me to keep going.
When another friend ended up in tears because her daughter had received some bad news, we hugged her and tried to support her through it.
There were so many beautiful moments of connection like these that I will hold in my heart in years to come.
So, what's next for our traveling girl squad? We all lead very busy lives, and most of us live in different areas of Australia and the world (our fifth friend is based in Hong Kong). It's hard to know when exactly we might have the opportunity to connect again for another overseas adventure.
However, one thing's for sure. The memories of our trip will sustain us until we meet again — and there will be a next time, even if it's another decade in the making.