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Reinventing corporate relocation

In the intricate world of corporate relocation, where global workforces navigate hybrid work, visa complexities, and geopolitical shifts, Matt Tebbe, president and CEO of Cartus Corporation, is charting a new course. A subsidiary of Anywhere Real Estate, Cartus manages employee relocations for over a third of Fortune 100 companies. Since taking the helm in July 2023, Tebbe has brought clarity, akin to a systems thinker, to the role, as revealed in an interview with CEO.com. His vision — rooted in adaptability, technology, and human-centric solutions — aims to redefine how companies move people in an unpredictable era.Tebbe’s path to Cartus reflects a career spent solving complex problems. With an MBA from Yale’s School of Management, he began at Booz Allen Hamilton, sharpening his operational expertise. He later spent nearly a decade at Equifax, leading HR technology in Australia and New Zealand, where he integrated Veda, a major acquisition, and launched Australia’s largest native pre-employment screening business. Before Cartus, he served as general manager of group products at Riverside Insights, overseeing a business unit that supports over six thousand schools. “I’ve always been drawn to roles where you can make things better, not just bigger,” he told CEO.com.When Tebbe joined Cartus, the company faced a transformed landscape. The pandemic had upended traditional mobility, with remote work and global disruptions complicating relocations. Cartus held steady under interim CEO Eric Barnes, but Tebbe was tasked with accelerating its evolution. “Matthew has a gift for seeing around corners,” Don Casey, president and CEO of Anywhere Integrated Services, said in a 2023 press release announcing Tebbe’s appointment. Tebbe’s response has been to lean into the complexity. “We’re seeing trends that no one could have predicted five years ago,” he said in the interview. “Hybrid work is here to stay, but it’s not one-size-fits-all. Some employees want to relocate for opportunity; others need flexibility to stay put. Our job is to make both possible.”This philosophy underpins Cartus’s 2023 brand refresh, with the tagline “Where Mobility Meets Agility.” For Tebbe, it’s more than marketing—it’s a mandate. “The relocation industry isn’t just about moving bodies from point A to point B,” he said. “It’s about understanding what makes people thrive in a new place — culture, community, opportunity.” To achieve this, he’s betting big on artificial intelligence. “AI can analyze patterns—housing markets, cultural fit, even employee sentiment — and give us insights that make moves more successful,” he said. Cartus is piloting AI-driven tools to predict outcomes, from costs to employee satisfaction, though Tebbe emphasizes balance. “It’s not about replacing people,” he noted. “It’s about giving our experts better data to do what they do best: solve problems.”This blend of innovation and empathy defines Tebbe’s leadership. He speaks often of “unlocking growth,” a phrase that peppers his LinkedIn posts and Cartus’s communications. But growth, for him, transcends revenue. “I want Cartus to be the company that clients trust, not because we’re the biggest, but because we’re the most thoughtful,” he said. His track record — empowering teams at Equifax, championing equity at Riverside — suggests he means it. His focus on value over cost is deliberate. “Cost matters, but value matters more,” he said. “If we can show clients that a thoughtful move saves money in the long run — through retention, productivity, morale — they’ll listen.”

The market's fever: How Trump's Fed fight fuels volatility

The financial markets seem to have caught a fever, a jittery oscillation that’s sent stock indices lurching and bond yields twitching. The proximate cause, or so the headlines insisted, was a public spat between President Donald Trump and Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell. This clash felt less like a policy debate and more like a personal vendetta on the global stage. Trump, never one to shy away from spectacle, declared that Powell’s “termination cannot come fast enough,” a statement that sent ripples of unease through Wall Street and beyond. By Tuesday, April 22, he had backpedaled, denying any intent to fire the Fed chief, but the damage was done. The S&P 500 wobbled, the dollar dipped, and pundits fretted over the sanctity of central bank independence. Yet, as Fisher Investments’ MarketMinder argued in a sober analysis, the volatility was less about the specifics of Trump’s outburst and more about a more profound, almost primal market sentiment — a “fear morph” that thrives in moments of uncertainty.To understand this episode, one must first grasp the peculiar alchemy of markets in the Trump era. The former and now current president has always been a maestro of disruption, wielding tweets and offhand remarks like a conductor’s baton. His first term was a masterclass in this art: tariff threats against China would tank futures one day, only for a conciliatory phone call to send them soaring the next. In 2025, this pattern has returned with a vengeance. Fisher’s commentary notes that Trump’s tiff with Powell was not an isolated event but part of a broader narrative of policy unpredictability, from “Liberation Day” tariffs to musings on federal layoffs. Whether followed through on or not, each pronouncement acts as a spark in a tinder-dry market, igniting volatility that feels irrational and inevitable.This disconnect between the breathless narratives and the mundane data reveals a truth about markets: they are as much a psychological phenomenon as an economic one. Nobel laureate Robert Shiller has long argued that markets are driven by “narrative economics,” the stories we tell ourselves about what’s happening and why. In this case, the story was one of existential threat: Trump’s attack on Powell was framed as an assault on the Federal Reserve’s independence, a sacred cow of modern economics. The fear was not baseless. A 1935 Supreme Court precedent, Humphrey’s Executor v. United States, underpins the Fed’s autonomy, stipulating that its members can only be removed “for cause.” Trump’s team has signaled an intent to challenge this, raising the specter of a politicized central bank. The historical context adds nuance. The Fed has not always been an untouchable institution. In the 1970s, President Richard Nixon pressured then-Fed Chair Arthur Burns to keep interest rates low ahead of the 1972 election, a move many economists believe fueled the decade’s stagflation. More recently, Trump’s first term saw him repeatedly criticize Powell, calling him “clueless” and lamenting high interest rates. For his part, Powell has maintained a stoic resolve, emphasizing the Fed’s data-driven mandate. In a December 2024 press conference, he described the economy as “strong,” even as markets fretted over fewer anticipated rate cuts. This resilience suggests that Powell is unlikely to bend to Trump’s bluster, but the mere suggestion of interference is enough to unsettle investors.Beyond the headlines, the market’s volatility reflects broader unease about the economic landscape. The Fisher commentary situates the Trump-Powell spat within a correction sentiment — a sharp, sentiment-driven drop of 10 to 20 percent, distinct from deeper, fundamentally driven bear markets. Corrections, they argue, are often fueled by “false fears,” exaggerated worries that lower expectations and set the stage for positive surprises. In early 2025, such fears abounded: tariffs on Mexico and Canada, announced with fanfare and then partially walked back, sparked volatility but failed to derail economic growth. The Atlanta Fed’s real-time GDP tracker showed continued expansion, even amid concerns about tariffs. Similarly, as measured by the University of Michigan’s gauge, consumer sentiment tanked in March, yet retail sales data suggested spending remained robust.This resilience points to a paradox: markets may thrash about, but the underlying economy often plods along. Of course, the U.S. economy has a remarkable ability to shrug off political noise. Markets are forward-looking, pricing in not just current events but expectations of future outcomes. In 2025, those expectations are clouded by uncertainty about trade policy, monetary policy, and the political will to navigate a narrowly divided Congress.Ultimately, the Trump-Powell tiff is less about the Fed’s independence than about the stories we tell ourselves in times of uncertainty. The markets, like a feverish patient, will eventually cool, driven not by headlines but by the slow grind of economic reality. For now, the volatility is a mirror, reflecting our anxieties and hopes. As Fisher Investments put it, “Patience and discipline generally prove wise and right.” In a world of soundbites and sell-offs, that may be the most radical advice of all.

From luxury to legacy: How Rachel Springate is redefining venture capital

In the frenetic world of venture capital, where sharp elbows and sharper pitches are the currency of success, Rachel Springate stands out not by shouting the loudest but by listening intently. As a founding partner of Muse Capital, a Los Angeles-based seed-stage venture fund, Springate has carved a niche by blending intuition, a global perspective, and a relentless focus on underserved markets. Her journey — from a British transplant navigating luxury lifestyle sales to a Kauffman Fellow shaping the future of consumer tech — reads like a master class in reinvention. However, it’s her approach to venture capital, rooted in relationships and a defiant optimism about entrepreneurship’s potential, that marks her as a singular force.In a recent CEO.com interview, Springate provided insights into Muse Capital’s mission and her own winding path. There’s a warmth to her presence, a disarming mix of candor and conviction, as she leans into the conversation with the ease of someone who has spent decades building bridges between brands and CEOs, startups and Hollywood, and now, investors and founders. “I’ve always been fascinated by how people connect,” she says. “Venture capital, at its core, is about betting on those connections—on the people who can turn ideas into something real.”Springate’s entry into venture capital was anything but conventional. Born in the UK, she honed her skills in brand research, cultivating relationships with marketing directors at global giants like Coca-Cola and Apple. In 2006, she was headhunted by Quintessentially, a luxury lifestyle group, to launch its corporate sales division. For years, she jetted across continents, closing deals with the likes of Amex Centurion and Gucci Group, her Rolodex expanding with CEOs, celebrities, and entrepreneurs. “It was a crash course in human dynamics,” she recalls. “You learn how to read a room, how to build trust with people who have everything — and nothing — to prove.”Her pivot to tech came in 2012, sparked by a chance meeting with Troy Carter, the renowned artist manager and angel investor. Inspired by his ability to navigate the worlds of entertainment and technology, Springate relocated to New York and founded a consultancy to connect startups with her vast network. It was a leap driven by instinct, not a spreadsheet. “I saw this gap between Silicon Valley and Hollywood,” she explains. “Startups needed access to culture, to storytelling, and I knew I could help bridge that.” By 2016, along with partner Assia Grazioli-Venier, she launched Muse Capital, a fund focused on early-stage consumer technology with a focus on diversity and underserved markets.What sets Springate apart in the venture capital arena is her refusal to play by its unspoken rules. While others chase unicorns — those rare startups valued at a billion dollars or more — Springate seeks what she calls “authentic impact.” Muse Capital’s portfolio, which includes companies such as Eli Health and Queens Gaming Collective, reflects a deliberate focus on founders addressing previously overlooked needs, particularly in women’s health and gaming. “The venture world can be obsessed with scale for scale’s sake,” she says. “I’m more interested in businesses that solve real problems for real people, even if they don’t look like the next Airbnb.”This philosophy stems from her belief that entrepreneurship is evolving. In the CEO.com interview, she speaks passionately about a future where founders are less tied to traditional hubs like Silicon Valley. “The pandemic accelerated this,” she notes. “You’ve got incredible talent in places like Austin, Miami, even Dubai. Technology has democratized access, and that’s only going to grow.” She envisions a world where capital flows to diverse founders in unexpected places. This vision is actively supported by Muse Capital through its $30 million FirstLook Partners Fund I, announced in 2024.Springate’s approach to due diligence is equally distinctive. While many VCs focus heavily on metrics — such as traction, burn rate, and total addressable market — she gives equal importance to intangibles. “I spend a lot of time understanding the founder’s why,” she says. “What’s driving them? What’s their relationship with failure?” This human-centric lens, honed through years of navigating high-stakes relationships, enables her to identify potential where others perceive risk. It’s why Muse has supported founders like Marina Pavlovic Rivas of Eli Health, whose work in women’s health Springate champions with palpable pride. “When you see someone solving a problem they’ve lived, you know they’re not going to quit,” she says.Her emphasis on relationships also extends to her role as a mentor. As a Kauffman Fellow (Class 25), Springate has dedicated years to holding office hours for emerging managers, providing guidance on topics ranging from fundraising to mental health. “Venture can be isolating,” she admits. “You’re making high-stakes decisions with incomplete information. Sharing what I’ve learned — especially the mistakes — feels like my responsibility.” Her LinkedIn posts brim with gratitude for these interactions, whether she’s celebrating a founder’s milestone or reflecting on a health equity summit that “recharged her soul.”Yet Springate’s optimism is tempered by realism. She’s candid about the challenges of being a woman in a male-dominated field. “You have to be twice as good to get half the attention,” she says, echoing a sentiment familiar to many female VCs. Muse Capital’s commitment to diversity — both in its leadership and its investments — is her response. Studies consistently show that diverse teams drive better financial performance and innovation, she points out. “It’s not just the right thing to do; it’s the smart thing,” she says, citing her partnership with Grazioli-Venier as a case study in complementary strengths.As she looks to the future, Springate is bullish on entrepreneurship’s potential to address global challenges. She views consumer tech as a frontier for social good, encompassing health equity and sustainable systems. “The next wave of founders will be solving problems we haven’t even articulated yet,” she predicts. Her recent interest in the Middle East, sparked by a trip to Dubai in 2024, underscores her global outlook. “There’s so much untapped potential there,” she says. “It’s about finding the right partners and building trust.”As the CEO.com interview wraps, Springate leaves with a parting thought: “Venture capital isn’t just about money. It’s about belief — in people, in ideas, in what’s possible.” It’s a credo that defines her work at Muse Capital, where she invests not only in startups but also in a future where entrepreneurship reflects the world’s diversity and complexity. In an industry often criticized for its homogeneity, Springate serves as a reminder that the most transformative bets are frequently those placed on the overlooked. For her, that’s not simply a strategy — it’s a calling.

Trump grants 90 day tariff reprieve

President Donald Trump’s sweeping tariff plan took a dramatic turn on Tuesday as the White House announced a temporary reprieve, reducing the universal tariff rate to 10% for 90 days on most U.S. trading partners while escalating duties on China to an astonishing 125%. This move, intended as a negotiating tactic to reshape global trade, has instead unleashed chaos in financial markets and drawn sharp rebukes from both allies and adversaries.This announcement marks a shift from the administration’s earlier hardline stance. Just last week, Trump vowed to impose reciprocal tariffs — some as high as 50% — on dozens of countries, citing what he termed a “national emergency” due to trade deficits and currency manipulation. However, with over 75 nations reaching out to U.S. officials to negotiate, the president seems to have reconsidered, offering a three-month “pause” to promote dialogue.“We’ve had calls from all over the world—everyone wants to talk,” Trump said. “This is a chance for countries to come to the table, or they’ll face the full weight of American strength.”Trump’s tariff strategy relies on the assumption that foreign nations will surrender, resulting in the return of manufacturing to U.S. shores. However, experts argue that reshoring is not straightforward. Chris Snyder from Morgan Stanley predicts only modest gains — perhaps a 2% increase in output — without significant workforce retraining and infrastructure investment. Meanwhile, the potential for China to sell off U.S. treasuries remains a wild card.For now, the 90-day pause provides a temporary respite. However, as markets fluctuate and global tensions rise, the president’s tariff strategy remains a precarious endeavor — one that could either redefine America’s economic future or plunge it into turmoil.

Money Moves: David Snider's bet on brains over buzz

In a city like New York, where wealth is both a currency and a cult, David Snider moves with the quiet confidence of someone who has seen the machine from the inside and decided to tinker with its gears. At forty-something, with a résumé that reads like a tech-finance bildungsroman — Bain Capital, Compass, and now Harness Wealth — he’s the kind of person you’d expect to find sipping an oat-milk latte in a Flatiron co-working space, surrounded by the low buzz of venture capital pitches. But Snider isn’t here to disrupt for disruption’s sake. In a recent interview with CEO.com, we learned he’s here to tackle a problem that is both mundane and maddening, yet almost radical: helping people determine what to do with their money once they’ve earned it.Snider’s origin story isn’t the classic Silicon Valley garage-to-riches tale. He grew up in Massachusetts and attended Duke, then Harvard Business School — standard elite credentials, sure, but he didn’t leap straight into the startup fray. Instead, he spent years at Bain Capital, the private equity giant, where he helped orchestrate deals worth billions, including the IPO of Sensata Technologies, a sensor manufacturer that’s about as exciting as a spreadsheet but made a lot of people very rich. It was there, he says, that he learned the art of “optionality” — a term he uses often, meaning the ability to keep doors open and pivot when the moment demands it. “Private equity teaches you how to see the chessboard,” he tells me. “But it’s also a little like playing with someone else’s pieces.”By 2012, he was ready to move on. He joined Compass, a real estate tech startup, as its first business hire at a time when it was just a seed-funded glimmer in the eyes of founders Robert Reffkin and Ori Allon. Snider became its COO and CFO, guiding the company from a scrappy outfit to a $1.8 billion valuation before its 2021 IPO. It was a wild ride — eight rounds of fundraising, late-night strategy sessions, and the kind of growth that transforms a team into a tribe. “Compass was about taking a traditional industry and dragging it into the future,” he says. “We didn’t always get it right, but we learned how to scale chaos.”Yet, even as Compass soared, Snider felt restless. He had witnessed the other side of wealth creation — employees with stock options they didn’t understand, founders overwhelmed by tax complexities, and millionaires who had achieved greatness but were clueless about sustaining it. “I kept meeting people who had won the game but didn’t know the rules of the next one,” he says. That’s when Harness Wealth began to take shape, first as a vague idea during his time as an executive-in-residence at Bain Capital Ventures and then evolving into a genuine platform that connects high earners with advisers and equips them with technology to manage their financial lives. It’s not a robo-adviser, he insists — it’s a “supercharger” for human expertise. “The goal isn’t to replace advisers,” he says. “It’s to make them better.”Since its launch in 2018, Harness has raised $36 million, including a $15 million Series A in 2021 led by Jackson Square Ventures. Its clients — tech entrepreneurs, startup employees with equity windfalls, and the quietly affluent — aren’t the Forbes 400 set but the “mass affluent,” a term Snider uses without irony. These are people with enough money to require assistance but not so much that they have a family office on speed dial. The platform offers a sleek dashboard to track assets, tax scenarios, and estate plans, then connects users to a curated network of advisers — tax experts, financial planners, and estate attorneys — vetted with the rigor of a private equity due diligence team. “We’re not here to sell you a mutual fund,” Snider says. “We’re here to answer the question: What’s the best next step?”It’s a pitch that seems almost too sensible for the hype-driven tech world, where billion-dollar valuations often depend on sexier promises — AI that predicts the future, blockchain that remakes civilization. But Snider believes the real disruption lies in the unglamorous aspects: execution, clarity, trust. “The wealth management industry is a mess,” he says bluntly. “It’s fragmented, opaque, and half the time it’s more about selling products than solving problems.” He cites a statistic from the interview: Traditional advisers spend only eleven minutes a year discussing clients' actual goals. “Eleven minutes,” he repeats, shaking his head. “That’s not advice. That’s a sales call.”Snider is not above a bit of self-awareness about his own journey. He wrote a book in 2010, “Money Makers: Inside the New World of Finance and Business,” a breezy exploration of Wall Street’s power players that now feels like a time capsule of pre-crypto bravado. “I was younger, trying to make sense of it all,” he says with a half-smile. “Now I’m just trying to build something useful.” That utility-first ethos permeates Harness, which he leads with a team of thirty-five, many of whom are veterans of Compass or Bain. He takes pride in the culture — less bro-y than the startup stereotype, more “thoughtful hustle,” as he describes it. “We’ve got people who’ve experienced big wins and big messes,” he states. “That’s the kind of team you need when you’re handling people’s money.”Outside the office, Snider’s life is a study in balance, or at least an attempt at it. He’s married to Sarah, a former nonprofit executive, and they have two kids under ten. They live in the West Village, where he has been spotted jogging along the Hudson or grabbing coffee at a place that charges $6 for a pour-over. “Family keeps you grounded,” he says, although he admits the juggling isn’t easy. “You’re always optimizing — time, energy, attention. It’s not that different from running a company.”“Wealth isn’t going anywhere,” Snider says. “People will keep making it, and they’ll keep needing help managing it. The question is whether we can make the process less painful, more human.” It’s a modest ambition, maybe, but in a city obsessed with the next big thing, there’s something refreshing about a man who’s betting on the next smart one.

AI's Hollywood takeover

In a Los Angeles office, where the hum of traffic and the rustle of palm trees blend into a restless soundtrack, Bill O’Dowd oversees Dolphin Entertainment, a company he launched in 1996 when the internet was in its infancy and artificial intelligence lingered in the pages of speculative fiction. With a Harvard Law degree and a master’s in modern European history, Dowd stands apart from the typical entertainment mogul. As a strategist and architect, he has spent nearly three decades assembling a mosaic of media ventures — television production, feature films, and a “super group” of marketing agencies — while tracking the industry’s shifting tides. Today, those tides surge with a pressing question: What does artificial intelligence mean for a business built on human creativity, charisma, and unpredictability?O’Dowd’s insights shine in a recent CEO.com interview at a moment when AI has matured from a gimmick into a transformative force — rewriting scripts, conjuring visuals, and guiding marketers with algorithmic precision. With a calm authority that transforms corporate speak into something almost lyrical, he embraces the change. “Artificial intelligence is revolutionizing how we approach storytelling and audience engagement,” he states, a declaration that carries the weight of a mission. It’s not a hollow buzzword but a cornerstone of his strategy, rooted in nearly three decades of navigating Hollywood’s ebbs and flows.The entertainment industry has always been a restless reinventor, lurching from silent reels to sound stages, from radio waves to streaming platforms with the uneven gait of a wounded titan. AI, however, marks a distinct rupture. It’s not merely a new channel but a collaborator — a relentless partner that doesn’t strike, doesn’t rest, and doesn’t demand a vanity credit. O’Dowd frames this as an opportunity, not a peril. Dolphin Entertainment, with its galaxy of subsidiaries — 42West, The Door, Shore Fire Media, and the freshly minted Special Projects — has spent eight years forging what he refers to as a “Super Group of marketing companies” designed to amplify narratives across film, television, music, and influencers. Now, that engine turns toward AI, ready to channel its power into the company’s next act.“Phase one was really about putting the Super Group together,” O’Dowd explains in the transcript. “Phase two started in 2024, and that’s about going to market with entertainment assets that we have ownership stakes in.” The plan echoes Hollywood’s golden age — when studios owned the stars, the screens, and the stories — while betting on AI as a modern multiplier. It’s a tool to dissect audience data with surgical accuracy, churn out promotional content at breakneck speed, and nudge writers past blank-page paralysis.Imagine a Dolphin-produced series debuting in 2025, where AI scours X posts and TikTok pulses to decode viewer cravings — gritty dystopias, sweet rom-coms, or a hybrid born of data-driven whim. The script emerges from a collaboration between human writers and a language model steeped in award-winning archives, refined to craft lines that resonate powerfully. The marketing, led by 42West and Be Social, employs AI to customize ads for Gen Z scrollers, millennial bingers, and boomers glued to cable — each version enhanced in real time by engagement metrics. The result: a hit that feels both engineered and electric, a fusion of instinct and intelligence.O’Dowd doesn’t shy away from the friction. Hollywood, a delicate web of egos and gut instinct, teeters under AI’s looming presence. Actors fear digital doppelgängers; writers bristle at becoming prompt shepherds; studios prepare for audiences rejecting the synthetic. The labor strikes of recent years, still echoing in April 2025, highlighted the unease — a clamor for limits on AI’s influence. O’Dowd sidesteps despair, asserting that “AI won’t replace the creative spark.” He presents it as a tool, much like the camera or the editing room, with the human spirit still at the helm.Doubt might linger — pragmatism or polished optimism? Dolphin’s ledger boasts Emmy-nominated hits like Zoey 101, a NASDAQ ticker, and PR firms ranked among the nation’s finest, signaling O’Dowd’s knack for weathering storms. Yet AI looms larger than past challenges, redefining not just production but the essence of creation. When algorithms can draft a script in hours or deepfakes can summon a bygone icon, where lies the divide between maker and machine? Between truth and trickery?Ownership underpins O’Dowd’s response. Dolphin no longer merely markets stories; it claims stakes in them — films, products, and even ventures that extend beyond the traditional bounds of entertainment. “We’re always looking for entertainment assets where our form of marketing makes a difference,” he states, hinting at a future where Dolphin might own parts of a sci-fi saga, a trending beverage, or a smart device. AI, with its ability to identify patterns and enhance outreach, drives this advancement. Envision a Dolphin-backed film about AI-controlled cities, promoted by Shore Fire Media with algorithm-generated playlists, amplified by Be Social influencers whose posts are shaped by data, and linked to a co-owned tech line — a closed loop of creativity and profit.A specter haunts this radiant vision. AI’s efficiency could sand down an industry that revels in the erratic—the flukes that spark classics, the flops that find cults, the humanity no code can replicate. Dolphin’s Super Group might produce precision-tooled successes, but will they linger in the cultural marrow? Will audiences, swamped by choice, crave the rough edges AI might erase? And what if algorithms, bloated on yesterday, merely rehash it?O’Dowd stands firm, a veteran of bold bets — taking Dolphin public, snapping up eight companies in eight years, and facing Wall Street’s microcap skeptics. “We’re a stable growing company that happens to have the upside of a biotech,” he asserts, blending caution with bravado. It’s a nod to entertainment’s eternal wager, with AI as the latest dice roll.From his perch in Los Angeles, where the skyline melds ambition with sprawl, the streets below buzz with stories — some human, some machine, and most a blend of both. O’Dowd’s blueprint doesn’t choose a victor but choreographs their duet. In the era of AI, the entertainment industry may not reflect its youthful days of 1996 or the cusp of 2024. However, if Bill O’Dowd’s gambit succeeds, it will still command the stage.