We’re All Drinking Someone Else’s Milkshake
There’s a scene in There Will Be Blood, where Daniel Plainview, a ruthless oilman, declares, “I drink your milkshake!” It’s an absurd, yet unsettling metaphor for how capitalism can function — the strong draining resources from the weak, with no remorse or care for the aftermath.
As I think about this expression, it pulls me deeper into an uncomfortable truth about the world we live in. It’s not just oil and land that get consumed. It’s people, communities, even cultures. Those with power, wealth, and resources thrive at the expense of others, drinking their milkshake dry until nothing but the hollow sound of emptiness remains.
I’ve never considered myself a part of that system — at least not consciously. I’m an observer, watching from the sidelines, maybe criticizing it from time to time. But am I really so different? Do I not participate, knowingly or unknowingly in this same relentless pursuit for more?
Capitalism, as they say, breeds innovation. It rewards those who are resourceful, ambitious, and relentless. But what the glossy narrative often omits is the exploitation behind these successes. For every skyscraper towering over the city, there’s a shadow it casts on the displaced families, the underpaid labourers, and the forgotten promises of prosperity.
It’s in this metaphorical “milkshake” that the entire game of capitalism becomes clear: you either own the straw, or you become the milkshake. Wealth, power, and influence flow towards the top, concentrating in fewer hands, while others are left drained.
Consider the corporations that tout progress — tech giants, oil conglomerates, financial empires. Their narratives are wrapped in innovation, efficiency, and wealth generation. But behind those narratives are the stories of exploitation — of natural resources ravaged beyond repair, of labour outsourced and underpaid, of smaller competitors obliterated in the name of dominance.
And we — yes, you and I — are not immune from complicity. Every time we buy a product, every time we invest in the markets, every time we benefit from cheap labour and convenient resources, we are, in some way, sipping from someone else’s milkshake.
We’re often taught that success is about climbing higher, pushing harder, and accumulating more. And so, we enter the rat race with the promise of reaching that elusive top. But what we don’t often see is what it costs to win — what it costs to drain someone else’s milkshake dry.
In the relentless pursuit of wealth and resources, we forget the human element. We forget the environmental impact. We forget that for one person to get ahead, another is often left behind. The global economy is littered with examples of entire industries being upended so a few can profit, leaving communities, ecosystems, and cultures to pick up the pieces.
I can’t help but think about how this mindset has shaped not just the economy, but our individual psyches. We live in a world where exploitation is normalized, even encouraged, as part of economic competition. After all, isn’t that what capitalism teaches us? To take what you can, as much as you can, before someone else does.
There’s something intoxicating about holding the straw. It’s not just about survival — it’s about power. It’s about feeling like you are the one in control. That you can dictate the terms. But is that really power? Or is it just an illusion?
The more I think about it, the more I realize that this relentless consumption — this act of drinking someone else’s milkshake — is unsustainable. There’s always someone with a longer straw. There’s always someone who can drink faster. And so, the cycle continues until there’s nothing left.
We become obsessed with taking, with accumulating, with possessing more and more, as if that will somehow make us whole. But at what cost? At what point do we realize that we’ve drained everything dry, including ourselves?
“I drink your milkshake” isn’t just a metaphor for capitalism. It’s a warning. A warning that the pursuit of wealth and resources at the expense of others will eventually leave us all hollow. It’s a reminder that our actions, whether we realize it or not, have consequences — consequences that ripple across communities, ecosystems, and even future generations.
Maybe it’s time to rethink what success really means. Maybe it’s time to put down the straw and consider the milkshake as something to be shared rather than consumed. Maybe it’s time to move beyond the relentless pursuit of more and find value in balance, equity, and sustainability.
Capitalism may encourage competition, but it doesn’t have to come at the cost of others. There’s room for innovation, for growth, for wealth — but it doesn’t have to be zero-sum. The world is abundant, but only if we choose to preserve that abundance rather than drain it dry.
In the end, it’s not just about who holds the straw. It’s about what we choose to do with it.
