I was lying out on the beach in Golfe-Juan, toes buried in the sand, enjoying one of those rare, silent, holy moments during the Cannes Film Festival. No influencers posing in front of sponsored BMWs, no overcooked publicists glaring at you over iPads, no tourists gawking slowly at everyone in a tuxedo… just sun, salt, and the fleeting illusion that the world hadn’t completely lost the plot.

And then… it appeared.

A hulking, glistening monument to ego cut across the horizon: Jeff Bezos’s superyacht, Koru, slicing through the bay like a onyx scythe.

I sat up, squinting through the heat haze, watching it glide toward port. I had no idea yet what fresh hell it heralded.

But I was about to find out.

The Sea Was Angry That Day, And Rightfully So

Ah, Cannes. A sparkling jewel on the French Riviera where aging movie stars cling to relevance, influencers cosplay as movie stars, and billionaires treat the Croisette like a valet stand for their climate crimes. And this year, looming just offshore in the Golfe Juan, Koru floated like a luxurious oil slick, a half-billion-dollar schooner hovering like Chekhov’s yacht, waiting for its entrance cue.

Jeff Bezos and fiancée Lauren Sánchez are in town fresh off her bachelorette party for the Global Gift Gala, where she’s set to be honored for her contributions to environmental conservation.

You can’t script satire like this anymore. Not when reality is this fucking cooked.

Jeff’s Big Little Boat

Let’s talk about this floating metaphor for hubris. Koru is a 417-foot schooner with its own backup yacht , a shadow vessel that follows behind like a luxury parasite, carrying toys, staff, and most notably, the helipad. The main yacht is too elegant, too precious, to be burdened with such practicalities.

Together, the vessels burn through hundreds of gallons of diesel per hour. According to researchers from Indiana University and Oxfam, Bezos’s sailing yacht Koru emits approximately 7,154 metric tons of CO₂ annually, the equivalent of emissions from around 1,500 average cars. A single transatlantic trip emits about 230 metric tons of CO₂, roughly equal to the annual emissions of 50 average cars.

You know, the same cars Lauren Sánchez’s environmental foundation would like you to give up.

Decked Out in Deforestation

And it gets better, or worse, depending on your tolerance for hypocrisy. Turns out, Koru’s gleaming deck may be literally illegal.

Its signature honey-toned teak, the kind that gleams in billionaire real estate porn and yachting magazines, may have been sourced from Myanmar, a country under strict EU and U.S. sanctions since a violent 2021 military coup. The teak industry there is notorious for deforestation, forced labor, and enriching the very junta those sanctions are trying to weaken.

Dutch shipbuilder Oceanco had promised in 2019 to stop using Myanmar teak. But according to a new investigation by Dutch prosecutors, they may have broken that promise while building Koru. Not intentionally, they claim, just through good old-fashioned negligence.

The wood for Koru’s deck was supplied by a German partner; the furniture and interior finishes came through a Turkish firm. Oceanco now says it’s “impossible” to trace the origins of the teak used, a claim as convenient as it is damning. In other words: Jeff Bezos, the richest man alive, might be sailing on wood harvested in defiance of international sanctions, wood that helped finance a dictatorship.

So let’s just take stock: a $500 million megayacht, burning diesel and lined with possibly illicit teak, floating into the Riviera so its passenger can be honored for protecting the environment.

We are through the looking glass.

Welcome to Cannes, Home of Eco-Trolling

The yacht never even docked. It didn’t need to. Its presence was felt, looming offshore like a passive-aggressive ex. And as Koru lingered, massive, menacing, and somehow smug, it became clear: the week’s most absurd plot twist wasn’t even on land yet.

Back onshore, Eva Longoria & her Global Gift Gala are getting ready to roll out the champagne, and Lauren Sánchez, bronzed and beaming, is about to receive her green halo on the 19th. It’s the kind of event where rich people applaud each other for caring, where the vibe is “sustainable luxury” and the carbon footprint is politely ignored.

That’s like giving Elon Musk a humanitarian award or inviting Kim Kardashian to speak on wealth inequality.

Look, Lauren Sánchez is a lot of things: Emmy winning news anchor, helicopter pilot, woman who permanently looks like she’s just been freshly glazed. But climate activist? I’m gonna need to see some receipts, and no, not the NetJets ones.

In Cannes, the only thing more overinflated than the yachts is the self-regard.

To her credit, Sánchez has made gestures toward climate work, she’s Vice Chair of the Bezos Earth Fund. It’s funded by Jeff’s spare change: $10 billion over ten years, or about 7% of his net worth. In April 2024, Sánchez introduced the AI for Climate and Nature Grand Challenge, allocating up to $100 million in grants to projects leveraging artificial intelligence to tackle environmental issues. She’s flown drones over endangered animals, posed out in the wild in Vogue, and shared thoughtful captions about “urgency.”

But even good intentions buckle under the weight of bad optics. You can’t ride in on a carbon-belching sea fortress and accept an award for climate advocacy. That’s like setting a forest fire and accepting a plaque for your marshmallow-roasting technique.

You Break It, You Brand It

This whole farce is the natural consequence of the “philanthro-capitalist” delusion: the idea that billionaires can buy their way into virtue with just enough gala invitations, foundation launches, and pocket-change donations. The Bezos Earth Fund isn’t inherently bad. But it is a greenwashed PR machine built to distract from the reality that Amazon is a logistical Leviathan of fossil fuel usage, packaging waste, and union-busting.

It’s a branding problem disguised as benevolence. Like if BP started a yoga retreat for orcas.

And Cannes is the perfect place for this theater of delusion. It’s not a film festival anymore. It’s a runway for clout-chasing, trophy distribution, and moral dissonance so dense it should come with its own gravitational pull. Nothing screams “awareness” like sipping biodynamic rosé on a boat that emits the annual CO₂ of a small European village.

What the Yacht Really Represents

Koru, if you’re wondering, is a Māori word symbolizing “new beginnings,” which is cute coming from a man who divorced his wife, launched a midlife crisis into space, and decided the world would heal best if he bought New Zealand in boat form.

The yacht’s design is “inspired by nature,” with wood finishes and subtle nods to Polynesian culture, none of which, notably, include respecting Polynesian ecosystems. But this is how the ultra-rich think: if you aestheticize the environment hard enough, maybe people won’t notice you’re torching it.

Owning a yacht like this isn’t just tone-deaf; it’s aggressively symbolic of a class that believes they’re not just above the law, they’re above the weather. While the rest of us are told to compost, buy reusable straws, and take fewer showers during droughts, the world’s richest man floats into Cannes on a floating diesel inferno and gets a seat at the climate table via his fiancée’s perfectly bronzed décolleté.

The Irony Is the Point

And here’s what makes it all worse: this isn’t even accidental. The irony is the point. It’s not that Bezos and Sánchez are oblivious, it’s that they’ve calculated no one will care.

And judging by the fawning press coverage and yacht thirst traps clogging Instagram, they’re probably right.

We’re not just in the era of the billionaire. We’re in the era of billionaire moral cosplay, where obscene wealth and performative wokeness coexist without contradiction. One minute you’re flying to space “to see Earth’s fragility,” the next you’re launching rockets, torching oceans, and parking your teak-lined guilt barge off the coast of Cannes to go applaud your fiancé for saving the planet.

Final Scene: Champagne and Carbon Credits

In a just world, the only award Lauren Sánchez would be receiving at Cannes is Best Supporting Role in a Performance of Climate Denialism. But here we are: sipping champagne while the sea levels rise, applauding billionaires as they recycle the same six talking points about “urgency” and “innovation,” all while sailing literal metaphors into the bay.

Cannes isn’t the future. It’s a mirror, one held up to a civilization that knows exactly how bad things are, but would rather look hot in the group photo while it burns.

So go ahead. Pop the biodynamic rosé. Cue the drones. Strike a pose on the deck. And try not to inhale too deeply.

That sea breeze?

It’s mostly diesel.

And Koru? It’s not just a yacht.

It’s the Titanic, remade for the streaming era: sleeker, richer, and absolutely fucking doomed.