Herbalife: the customers are fictitious, the business opportunity

Host:
The city’s financial district glowed under a rain-slick night — towers of glass shimmering like illusions stacked on illusions. Down below, the streets were quiet except for the hum of passing cars and the distant, rhythmic pulse of ambition. Inside a nearly empty rooftop bar, high above it all, two figures sat by the window, the world reflecting in their half-empty glasses of whiskey.

Jack leaned forward, sleeves rolled up, his sharp grey eyes carrying the exhaustion of someone who’d seen too many balance sheets that lied better than people. Across from him, Jeeny, calm and poised, stirred her drink slowly, the ice clicking like a metronome keeping time with her thoughts.

On the napkin between them, scrawled in hurried ink, was a quote that had started their evening-long debate:

"Herbalife: the customers are fictitious, the business opportunity is a scam, the university degree is a fraud." — Bill Ackman

The words, brutal in their precision, cut through the air like cold metal — half accusation, half autopsy.

Jeeny: (reading it aloud softly) “He doesn’t mince words, does he? I remember watching that interview. He wasn’t just talking about a company — he was talking about belief, about how people can build empires out of deception.”

Jack: (smirking slightly) “Belief is the best product ever sold. Costs nothing to make, infinite profit margins. Ackman just had the nerve to point out what everyone else pretends not to see — that the dream economy is the most profitable con in the world.”

Host:
A bolt of lightning split the sky outside, illuminating the skyline for a heartbeat. The reflection of glass towers glimmered in their drinks — fragile, fleeting, magnificent.

Jeeny: (leaning in) “But isn’t that too cynical, Jack? Not every business that sells hope is a scam. People need something to believe in — the idea that they can change their lives, escape their routines. Herbalife, MLMs, self-help seminars — they all sell the same currency: possibility.”

Jack: (dryly) “And possibility is just desperation with better marketing. These companies don’t sell opportunity, Jeeny. They sell mirrors. They tell people, ‘You can be rich, you can be free,’ but the math doesn’t work. The system isn’t broken — it’s built that way. The customers don’t exist because the product is the believer.”

Jeeny: (defensive but composed) “But that’s not unique to Herbalife. Every system feeds off belief — religion, politics, even education. Ackman called their ‘university degree’ a fraud, but how different is it from paying six figures for a diploma that doesn’t guarantee a future?”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “Exactly. The con is universal — Herbalife’s just the parable. You pay for the story of success, not success itself. People love the narrative of triumph so much they’ll buy the script even if it’s fiction.”

Host:
The rain thickened, drumming softly on the wide glass window. The lights of the city below blurred — skyscrapers melting into their reflections, truth and illusion indistinguishable.

Jeeny: (sipping her drink, her voice lower) “But then what? If everything’s a con, what’s left to believe in? Do we stop dreaming? Stop striving?”

Jack: (leaning back, exhaling smoke from his cigarette) “No. You just learn to see clearly while you dream. The problem isn’t belief — it’s blindness. It’s when people mistake marketing for meaning.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “And maybe we all do that, at some level. Even you. You still chase something. The next deal, the next truth, the next reason to feel alive.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “Yeah. Difference is, I know it’s a chase. Most people think they’ve already arrived.”

Host:
The bartender passed by, collecting empty glasses with the soft clink of glass and metal. The room smelled faintly of bourbon and storm, and somewhere, a jazz record began to play — low, slow, melancholic.

Jeeny: (gazing out at the skyline) “It’s strange. Ackman framed it as moral outrage — but I think it was something more personal. You don’t fight scams unless you’ve seen what they do to people you care about. Maybe he wasn’t just angry at Herbalife. Maybe he was angry at the illusion of fairness that keeps people trapped.”

Jack: (nodding, eyes distant) “The illusion that the system rewards effort. That’s the biggest myth of all. People think capitalism’s a ladder. It’s not. It’s a carousel — it moves, it shines, it sings, but it never goes anywhere.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Then why stay on it?”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Because even illusions are beautiful in motion.”

Host:
The candle on their table flickered, the flame bending as if caught between agreement and exhaustion. Outside, the rain eased — a faint silver mist rising from the asphalt like the breath of the city itself.

Jeeny: (after a long pause) “Maybe we need the illusion. Maybe belief — even false belief — gives people the courage to act. To try. To fail. Without it, what’s left?”

Jack: (quietly) “Reality. It’s not as glamorous, but at least it’s yours. The truth doesn’t need to sell itself. It just waits for you to stop buying lies.”

Jeeny: (smiling sadly) “And yet most people never do.”

Jack: (his voice soft, but cutting) “Because the chains of deception are made of hope — and nobody wants to break hope.”

Host:
The record ended. The silence that followed felt heavier than the music. Jeeny closed her eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in. Jack stubbed out his cigarette, the smoke curling into the dim light like the ghost of another argument.

Through the glass, the city shimmered — not with truth, but with the glittering beauty of delusion, perfectly engineered and endlessly alive.

Jeeny: (quietly, almost to herself) “It’s hard, isn’t it? Living in a world where lies can be so beautifully built.”

Jack: (looking at her, voice steady) “Yeah. But maybe the real tragedy isn’t that we’re lied to — it’s that we’d rather live inside the dream than face the dullness of waking up.”

Jeeny: (after a moment) “Then I guess Voltaire was right — it’s difficult to free fools from the chains they revere.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “And the most dangerous fools are the ones who sell those chains.”

Host (closing):
Outside, the rain had stopped completely. The city glowed — slick, luminous, and deceitfully perfect.

Bill Ackman’s words still lingered in the air like an indictment and an elegy all at once:
"The customers are fictitious. The business opportunity is a scam. The university degree is a fraud."

And as Jack and Jeeny gathered their coats, stepping out into the gleaming night, they understood —
that the world itself might be one grand marketing pitch,
and survival, perhaps,
was not about believing the illusion,
but about seeing the lie, and choosing which part of it to live with.