Luxury ships attract outrage and political scrutiny. The ultra-rich are buying them in record numbers. Photo Illustration by Javier Jaén; Source photograph from Shutterstock “For the uninitiated, a pleasure boat the length of a football field can be bewildering,” Evan Osnos writes, in a fascinating and darkly funny exploration of the booming world of superyachts. To fit in, it helps to have a billion or so dollars. (The largest of these ships cost well over five hundred million.) But, short of that, you could start by learning some of the vocabulary—you know, fake it till you make it. What makes a yacht? (If it has a crew working aboard, it’s a yacht.) What about a superyacht? (Longer than ninety-eight feet.) A gigayacht? (Over two hundred and ninety-five feet—that’s football-field territory.) None of this gets to the central question, though, which is: why, as Osnos puts it, do “owners obsessed with secrecy seem determined to build the world’s most conspicuous machines”? He travels from Palm Beach to Monaco to the shipyards of Italy—speaking with designers, builders, captains, and others—to look for an answer. —Ian Crouch, newsletter editor Support The New Yorker’s coverage of wealth and power. Subscribe today » |
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