In the New York trial of Sam Bankman-Fried, founder of the collapsed FTX crypto exchange, there was never a moment when he looked like talking his way to freedom: he was found guilty on seven charges of fraud and conspiracy and now awaits what’s likely to be a very long sentence. Justice has been swift and sure, barring an extraordinary reversal on appeal. But what should worry thoughtful observers is the fact that during the period of the trial, from 3 October to 2 November, the price of bitcoin rose from £22,700 to £28,700.

Perhaps investors saw the crypto currency as a safe haven after Hamas’s attack on Israel. Perhaps they just jumped on an irrational uptrend. More certainly, we can deduce that they paid little heed to the cautionary tale of FTX, which grew to be one of the world’s largest crypto businesses without regulatory oversight or any serious internal governance. That absence of controls enabled Bankman-Fried and his crew to divert billions of dollars of customer funds – and you might think crypto players would be deterred, at least temporarily.

But apparently not. The doctrine put about by Bankman-Fried and his ilk, that it’s cool to dabble in volatile crypto tokens beyond the reach of staid auditors and authorities or corrupt central bankers, is somehow pervasive. It connects to the idea, vividly displayed in the Covid Inquiry, that smart people make radical stuff happen through no-holds-barred social media, scorning conventional management structures.

It was evident too in the rise of WeWork, the shared-office venture once valued at $47 billion that liked to call itself a ‘community company committed to maximum global impact’ and acquired cult-like status under its founder, Adam Neumann. That was before he departed, having cashed out $700 million, in 2019. Having run up giant losses, the company declared bankruptcy this week.

I’m no psychologist, but I suspect the pattern running through these stories is a simple one of over-privileged kids kicking against parental restraint. It feels good to freewheel, break rules, be a bit anarchic, be part of an uprising. But kids need to grow up: in business as in government, visionary hype is a danger signal if it isn’t backed by honest self-appraisal and boring financial rigour.

Rose revived

A twist in the tale of former NatWest chief executive Dame Alison Rose. The Information Commissioner’s Office, which last month declared she had committed a double breach of data protection law in talking to Simon Jack of the BBC about Nigel Farage’s Coutts account, has backed down and apologised to her. Although NatWest itself was investigated, the ICO says, it did not in fact examine Rose’s conduct, did not find that she had breached the law and did not give her a proper opportunity to comment on its initial findings.

Alongside an internal report that described her remarks to Jack as an ‘honest mistake’, the ICO’s reversal supports my own first judgment in July that Rose’s politically driven forced exit from the bank was unnecessary. On the understanding, now revealed to be incorrect, that she really had been found to have infringed Farage’s rights, I advised her last week to go quietly and start looking for another job. This week she might be minded to re-apply for the old one.

Leaseholds and pedicabs

Two rather obscure promises stood out for me in the King’s speech. The first was to ‘make it cheaper and easier for leaseholders to buy their freeholds’ and outlaw ‘punitive service charges’ – welcome news for almost five million leasehold homeowners who, having in the vast majority of cases paid a purchase price that was no less than the freehold value, find themselves paying again for lease extensions or ripped off by ratcheting ground rents and rapacious managing agents. Michael Gove, as Secretary of State for Housing, reportedly wanted to scrap leaseholds altogether – to the horror of Tory grandees with urban estates. We’ll see how far he can move the goalposts in the brief time left for his reforming seal.

The second promise was to address ‘the scourge of unlicensed pedicabs in London’. These pink-lit, pop-blasting machines cluster outside my window every evening, touting rides to families coming out of the theatre next door. And (despite last week’s moan about Lime bikes and e-scooters) I rather like them and occasionally hire one to take me to clubland. License them if you must, but don’t wipe them out.

Tie or no tie?

Male dress codes are another thing that has fallen into anarchy: no man any longer knows what to wear when. MPs are now ‘expected’ rather than ‘encouraged’ to wear ties in the House. For the recent AI summit, the Prime Minister chose a narrow blue one to interview Elon Musk – who has probably never owned one and wore a black T-shirt. For a recent City speaking gig I opted for a traditional banker’s costume of dark suit and silk foulard, only to find today’s bankers in the audience dressed like journalists and their entrepreneur clients dressed like students. For our Innovators gala dinner this week, the organising team set aside ‘black tie’ and ‘business attire’ as male and stale, opting instead for ‘cocktail’ – which I initially took to mean a Carmen Miranda headdress and a miniature parasol.

The only way to cope with these confusions is to buy good shirts and be ready for quick changes. How? I think of the man Margaret Thatcher said always brought her solutions, not problems: Lord (David) Young of Graffham, whose life’s work in the cause of UK entrepreneurship will be celebrated next Monday at Drapers’ Hall in the City with a dinner and inaugural annual lecture – and who in later years always wore bow ties. Jaunty, elegant, easy to carry in an inside pocket, they’re the answer to every dress dilemma. You just have to learn to tie one in a moving taxi – or pedicab.