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Novo Nordisk, a name that echoes with the promise of northern renewal, recently unveiled the results of trials concerning CagriSema, a compound born of amylin and semaglutide. The data, however, presented a curious paradox. After eighty-four weeks of application, the weight loss achieved – twenty-three percent – fell short of that yielded by Eli Lilly’s tirzepatide, a substance whose efficacy stands at twenty-five and a half percent. It is as if the labyrinth of metabolic pathways, so carefully mapped by Novo’s researchers, contained a hidden turn, a subtle obstruction that diverted the desired outcome. One is reminded of the apocryphal treatise, De Umbris Corporis—a text detailing the elusive nature of bodily form and its resistance to external manipulation.

The discerning eye, however, seeks not merely to avoid losses, but to identify those assets capable of generating a sustained, if modest, return – a cryptographic dividend, as it were. And so, we shall examine one token worthy of cautious consideration, and another best left to gather digital dust.

The story begins, as many do, with a name change. It was once Avago, you see, before it absorbed the original Broadcom back in 2016. A bit like a particularly ambitious amoeba, really. They then decided to keep the Broadcom name, which is perfectly logical if you’re a large corporation. For years, they made a vast array of chips – the tiny, essential components that power pretty much everything these days – for mobile phones, data centers, networking equipment, and a whole host of other things. It’s a surprisingly diverse business, chipmaking. You wouldn’t think so, staring at a silicon wafer, but there’s a lot going on.

They’ve laid out this little “snapshot.” VXUS, a paltry 0.05% expense ratio. IEMG, a slightly more aggressive 0.09%. It’s like choosing between two different brands of sandpaper when you’re being slowly eroded. And the one-year returns? 33.16% for VXUS, 38.88% for IEMG. Fantastic. As if past performance is any indication of future results. It’s statistically meaningless, you know? It’s like saying because I had a good tuna sandwich yesterday, I’m guaranteed a good day today. Ridiculous.

The Guild of Alchemists¹ (otherwise known as investment managers) are forever concocting these “ETFs.” Essentially, they’re baskets of shares, pre-arranged for your convenience. SPGM aims for the entire planetary market, a truly ambitious undertaking. IEFA, however, is more… selective. It focuses on the developed nations outside of North America. Think Europe, Asia, Australia – places with slightly more established plumbing, generally speaking.

This isn’t a celebration of prosperity, mind you. It’s a reckoning. A look at what these funds offer, stripped of the polished promises. Cost, yield, risk… these are the levers that move the world, and we, the observers, must understand them.

The facts, as laid out in a filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission, are these: Commodore Capital, after a period of faithful stewardship, sold every single one of its 2,338,287 Agios shares. The consequence? A diminution of the firm’s holdings to the tune of $93.86 million. A decidedly sticky wicket, as the cricketers might say. One can only assume they’ve discovered a more promising investment – perhaps a scheme involving trained pigeons and the delivery of miniature muffins.

Commodore Capital, a name whispered with a mixture of respect and weary resignation within the walled gardens of venture capital, had quietly, almost apologetically, dissolved its entire stake in the company – a holding of 3,200,000 shares, amounting to an estimated $69.06 million. The transaction, recorded with the bureaucratic precision of a priest documenting a death, was less a dramatic exit and more a slow, deliberate fading, like a photograph left too long in the sun.

For years, Lilly has been a reliable purveyor of remedies for a common affliction: excessive sugar in the bloodstream. A solid business, if you don’t dwell on the reasons for its existence. But recently, they’ve stumbled upon a far more lucrative field: the art of diminishing one’s physical dimensions. Zepbound, they call it. A rather grand name for a substance that encourages people to eat less. It’s become quite the sensation, this Zepbound, even outselling its diabetic cousin, Mounjaro. The world, it appears, is eager to be lighter. And Lilly, ever the astute merchant, is only too happy to oblige.