Charlie Munger on Contrarianism

At the 2023 DJCO meeting, Munger was asked about the bank stocks in the Daily Journal securities portfolio. The question was pointed: Berkshire had unloaded its bank stocks, and if those positions were not good enough for Berkshire shareholders, why were they good enough for Daily Journal shareholders? Munger's answer was structural. He might have different ideas than Berkshire, he said. If you owned marketable securities within a corporation located in California, you paid huge state and federal taxes if you sold things at a big gain, and that affected the willingness to sell. He then made a striking disclosure: those bank stocks he had bought on the bottom tick in the foreclosure crisis. Literally, Munger said, it was the bottom tick. They were practically all gain now, so he would immediately give the government forty-some percent of everything he sold out of those bank stocks. They were producing dividends that were almost tax free. Based on what he would get if he sold them and the return he was getting out of the dividends, he said, it's not so bad for us. The answer was that Daily Journal was not in a normal position. All factors considered, they were willing to hold them for a while. The decision, in other words, was not a vote against the underlying thesis. It was a vote for tax discipline. The big disadvantage in having a huge layer of federal corporate taxes and state taxes between the company and any money it made - in a state like California, especially - was that it trapped gains inside the corporate shell. Munger was telling the room that tax friction is a real input into hold-versus-sell decisions, that the bottom-tick buy had produced a position where the after-tax math of selling was inferior to the after-tax math of holding, and that the rational investor factors that into the decision rather than pretending it doesn't exist.

Munger used the 2022 platform to restate his view of derivatives, the asset class he and Buffett had been warning about publicly since the 2003 meeting. He told the audience that the world had become more complex, more leveraged, and more interconnected since the original warning, and that the derivatives web had grown rather than shrunk in the intervening two decades. The systemic fragility had, in his view, become worse, not better. He did not predict a specific crisis; he predicted the pattern - that the next serious credit event would, as in 2008, propagate through the derivatives counterparty web faster than the regulators could contain it. The prescription was unchanged: stay simple, stay liquid, stay out of contracts whose payoff depended on a counterparty's solvency in a crisis. He told the room that Berkshire itself held a large cash position precisely because Buffett and Munger believed that the optionality of being able to act in a crisis was worth more than the small incremental return they would have earned by deploying that cash in calm markets. The cash was not a waste; it was insurance on the franchise. He closed with a callback to the avoidance principle. The investor who stayed out of the derivatives web, out of the crypto speculation, and out of the structured products would, in the next crisis, be one of the few people with both the capital and the courage to act. That was the actual content of risk management, in Munger's view - not the elaborate value-at-risk models that the banks ran, but the simple discipline of refusing to own assets whose behavior in a crisis could not be underwritten. The simple discipline, repeated over decades, was what produced the long-run record.

Munger used the 2020 meeting, with markets still in panic from the COVID crash, to restate his views on what works in a crisis. He had been through many of them. The way he operated in any crisis, he said, was the way he operated out of one: underspend your income, invest the difference patiently, do not panic, and stay in the few things you genuinely understand. He was telling the room not to confuse activity with courage. The heroic move in a crash is rarely to swing; it is usually to refuse to swing badly. He was unsentimental about the price of panic. He told the audience that the people who sold into the crash were going to be the people who paid the tax of being wrong about timing forever. The investor who held great businesses through the decline, who refused to mark his mental portfolio to the panic price, was the investor who kept his options open. He pointedly did not recommend buying the dip aggressively, because that, too, was a form of panic - just panic in the other direction. The discipline was to keep the steady habits when the tape was screaming at you. He closed the COVID thought with a Costco callback. The right thing in a crash, in Munger's view, was to have already chosen your Costco's before the crash arrived, so that when the world fell apart you did not have to make new decisions under pressure. The work was done in the calm years; the harvest was reaped in the violent ones. That was the actual content of patience, not the popular image of patient suffering but the engineering reality of pre-positioning.

At the 2019 Daily Journal meeting, Munger offered his most compact summary of why Berkshire and the Daily Journal had outperformed. The answer, he said, was pretty simple. They tried to do less. They had never had the illusion they could just hire a bunch of bright young people and have them know more than anybody about canned soup and aerospace and utilities. They had never thought they could get really useful information on all subjects the way Jim Cramer pretends to have it. They had always realized that if they worked very hard, they could find a few things where they were right, and the few things were enough. He tied the point to expectations. If you had asked Warren Buffett for his single best idea in a given year, Munger said, and you had just followed it, you would have found that it worked beautifully. Buffett would not have tried to give you a whole heap of names - he would have given you one or two stocks, because he had more limited ambitions than the typical mutual fund manager. The discipline was not to know a lot, but to know a few things very well and to act on them only when the conviction was high. Munger closed the thought with the kicker: that is a very different way to approach the process than the way mutual funds approach it. The fund industry's job, structurally, is to be in everything so that no benchmark-relative argument can ever be made against it. Munger's job was to be in very few things so that the few things he was in were the ones where he had an edge. The two philosophies produce very different long-run returns.

At the 2017 Daily Journal meeting, Munger made one of his most explicit pitches for Chinese equities. Some very smart people were wading into China, he said, and he expected more to follow. His core observation was simple and structural: the great companies in China were cheaper than the great companies in the United States. He had been making the same observation privately for years, and at DJCO 2017 he made it on the record. Munger's reasoning was not a macro call. He was not predicting the renminbi, the Politburo's next move, or the exact timing of trade frictions. He was making a relative-value statement about the cost of buying world-class franchises in two markets. A great company in China, on the metrics he cared about - long-run return on capital, durability of the moat, growth runway - was available at a lower multiple than a comparable great company in the United States. That gap, in his view, was an opportunity for the patient investor who could underwrite the Chinese business honestly. The risk, he acknowledged, was real. China had governance, disclosure, and political-risk dimensions that American investors had to take seriously. But Munger's framing was that those risks had already been priced into the cheap multiples - that the market had over-discounted them. The implicit recommendation was to do the work, find the genuine franchises, and pay the cheaper price while other investors were still standing on the sideline. He would, of course, take his own advice in the BYD position - the Chinese EV maker he had championed at Berkshire a decade earlier and that, by 2017, was making real money.

At the 2017 Berkshire annual meeting, I told the audience that the previous decade, with its enormous expansion of the Chinese economy and the corresponding expansion of the Chinese capital markets, had been the most instructive of my investing life, not because I had made many new mistakes, but because the old mistakes had been repeated by a new generation of investors, at a scale that had produced the largest speculative bubble in Chinese real estate in modern history. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its broad patterns, repeats the same mistakes in every cycle, because the incentives facing the participants are the same in every cycle, and the biases facing the participants are the same in every cycle. The investor who recognises the patterns, and who refuses to participate in the new version of the old mistake, has a long-run advantage over the investor who assumes that the new version is different. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one I had most wanted to convey. I had made my own share of mistakes in the previous decade, by being too cautious during the expansion of the Chinese capital markets, and the cost of the caution had, in opportunity terms, been very large. The lesson I drew was that the disciplined investor must be willing to act during an expansion, even when the outlook is unclear, and even when the prices may go lower before they go higher. The 2017 meeting was, in this sense, a confession. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to wait for clarity, and to act when the prices were attractive, even at the cost of being early. The investor who builds the discipline of acting during the expansion will outperform the investor who waits for clarity. The contrarianism lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who refuses to participate in the speculative bubble, looks unfashionable during the boom, and he is told, repeatedly, that he is missing the opportunity of a lifetime. The same investor, during the crash, looks unfashionable in the opposite direction, because he is buying when the crowd is panic-selling, and the crowd cannot understand why anyone would buy into a falling market. The 2017 meeting was, in some ways, the most contrarian I had ever given. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to participate in the speculative bubble, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom. The investor who builds the discipline of refusal will outperform the investor who participates on the assumption that the new version is different.

At the 2013 Daily Journal annual meeting, I told the audience that the discipline of inversion, applied to the question of how to allocate capital, produced a different portfolio from the discipline of pursuing the highest expected return directly. The inverter asks the opposite question: what would guarantee the destruction of capital, and how can I avoid that? The capital-allocation-discipline point I tried to convey was that the investor who enumerates the failure modes, and who refuses to do the things that would produce them, has a long-run advantage over the investor who chases the highest expected return without considering the failure modes. The discipline required is to slow down, to write down the failure modes, and to refuse to act until the failure modes have been enumerated and the actions that would produce them have been refused, even at the cost of looking indecisive during the boom. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one I had most wanted to convey. I had made my own share of mistakes by pursuing the highest expected return without enumerating the failure modes, and the cost of those mistakes had, in dollar terms, been very large. The lesson I drew was that the disciplined investor must assume that the failure modes are present in every decision, and he must build the discipline of inversion into his process before the decision is made. The 2013 meeting was, in this sense, a confession. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to act until the failure modes had been enumerated and the actions that would produce them had been refused. The investor who builds the discipline of inversion will outperform the investor who chases the highest expected return directly. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who avoids the destruction of capital, and who allows the desired outcome to emerge from the avoidance, has a long-run advantage over the investor who chases the highest expected return directly, because the things that produce the destruction of capital are well known and easy to avoid, and the things that produce the highest expected return are difficult to obtain and easy to lose. The 2013 meeting was, in some ways, the most useful I had ever given. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to do the things that would produce the destruction of capital, and to allow the desired outcome to emerge from the avoidance. The investor who builds the discipline of inversion will outperform the investor with the higher IQ who chases the highest expected return directly.

At the 2012 Daily Journal annual meeting, I told the audience that the European debt crisis had been the most instructive event of the previous two years, because it had revealed, once again, that the credit cycle does not end in scarcity; it ends in abundance, when lenders, having forgotten the losses of the previous scarcity, begin lending freely again to borrowers who cannot repay. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its broad patterns, is the aggregate of the lenders acting on the assumption that the scarcity is over, and the investor who recognises the pattern, and who refuses to participate in the new abundance, has a long-run advantage over the investor who chases the new loans on the assumption that the scarcity is over. The discipline required is to read the history, to recognise the patterns, and to refuse to participate, even at the cost of looking unfashionable. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one I had most wanted to convey. I had made my own share of mistakes in the previous two years, by being too cautious during the European debt crisis, and the cost of the caution had, in opportunity terms, been very large. The lesson I drew was that the disciplined investor must be willing to act during a crisis, even when the outlook is unclear, and even when the prices may go lower before they go higher. The 2012 meeting was, in this sense, a confession. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to wait for clarity, and to act when the prices were attractive, even at the cost of being early. The investor who builds the discipline of acting during the crisis will outperform the investor who waits for clarity. The contrarianism lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who acts during a crisis, when the headlines are still terrifying, looks unfashionable in the extreme, because the crowd cannot understand why anyone would buy into a falling market. The same investor, during the recovery, looks unfashionable in the opposite direction, because he is holding on through the early volatility, and the crowd cannot understand why anyone would refuse to sell at the first sign of a paper loss. The 2012 meeting was, in some ways, the most contrarian I had ever given. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to wait for clarity, and to act when the prices were attractive, even at the cost of being early and unfashionable. The investor who builds the discipline of acting during the crisis will outperform the investor who waits for clarity.

At the USC Law commencement in May 2007, I told the graduating class that the most useful piece of mental machinery I had ever acquired was the habit of inversion. Most people, when they want to solve a problem, ask how to achieve the desired outcome. The inverter asks the opposite question: what would guarantee failure, and how can I avoid that? The contrarianism angle I tried to convey was that the habit of inversion, applied to investing, produces a different portfolio from the habit of pursuing the desired outcome. The investor who asks what would guarantee failure in his portfolio, and who then refuses to do those things, has a long-run advantage over the investor who chases the desired outcome without considering the failure modes. The discipline required is to enumerate the failure modes, to refuse to do the things that would guarantee failure, and to allow the desired outcome to emerge from the avoidance of the failures. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one I had most wanted to convey. I had made my own share of mistakes by pursuing the desired outcome without enumerating the failure modes, and the cost of those mistakes had, in dollar terms, been very large. The lesson I drew was that the disciplined investor must assume that the failure modes are present in every decision, and he must build the discipline of inversion into his process before the decision is made. The USC commencement was, in this sense, a confession. I told the graduating class that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to act until the failure modes had been enumerated and the actions that would produce them had been refused. The single discipline, applied over a working life, has been more valuable than any other I have learned. The contrarianism lesson I tried to add was that the habit of inversion, applied to the broader question of how to live a good life, produces a different life from the habit of pursuing the desired outcome directly. The man who asks what would guarantee a miserable life, and who then refuses to do those things, has a better life than the man who chases happiness directly, because the things that produce a miserable life are well known and easy to avoid, and the things that produce happiness are difficult to obtain and easy to lose. The USC commencement was, in some ways, the most personal I had ever given. I told the graduating class that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to do the things that would guarantee failure, and to allow the desired outcome to emerge from the avoidance. The same discipline, applied to investing and to life, has been the most useful thing I have learned in six decades of work.

At the USC Law commencement in May 2007, I told the graduating class that the most useful piece of mental machinery I had ever acquired was the discipline of avoiding stupidity, rather than seeking brilliance. Most people, when they want to succeed, ask how to be brilliant. The inverter asks the opposite question: what would guarantee stupidity, and how can I avoid that? The mistakes-and-learning point I tried to convey was that the investor who avoids stupidity, and who allows the desired outcome to emerge from the avoidance, has a long-run advantage over the investor who chases brilliance directly, because the things that produce stupidity are well known and easy to avoid, and the things that produce brilliance are difficult to obtain and easy to lose. The discipline required is to enumerate the stupidities, to refuse to do the things that would produce them, and to allow the desired outcome to emerge from the avoidance. The contrarianism angle was the one I had most wanted to add. The investor who avoids stupidity, and who allows the desired outcome to emerge from the avoidance, looks unfashionable during the boom, because he refuses to participate in the things that the boom is rewarding, and the things the boom is rewarding are often the things that produce stupidity. The same investor, during the crash, looks unfashionable in the opposite direction, because he is buying when the crowd is panic-selling, and the crowd cannot understand why anyone would buy into a falling market. The discipline required to refuse to participate in the boom, and to participate aggressively in the crash, is the single hardest discipline in investing, and it is the one that the avoidance framework was designed to support. The investor who has the framework has an enormous advantage over the investor who chases brilliance directly. The mistakes-and-learning lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who is honest about his own capacity for stupidity, and who builds the discipline of avoidance into his process, has an enormous advantage over the investor who assumes that he is too smart to be stupid. The USC commencement was, in some ways, the most personal I had ever given. I told the graduating class that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own stupidities, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to do the things that would produce them, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom. The investor who builds the discipline of avoidance, and who applies it consistently over a working life, will, in the long run, outperform the investor with the higher IQ who assumes he is too smart to be stupid. That single discipline has been more valuable than any other I have learned.

Munger used the 1997 platform to restate what he considered Berkshire's single most underappreciated advantage: the willingness to do less. He had tried, he said, never to operate under the illusion that he could hire a bunch of bright young people and have them know more than anybody about every industry under the sun. The honest framing was that with very hard work he and Buffett could find a few things where they were right, and the few things were enough. That was a reasonable expectation. Anything more ambitious than that, Munger suggested, was self-flattery. He contrasted Berkshire's approach with the institutional investor's approach. The fund manager was paid to be in the market, paid to have a view, paid to look active. Berkshire was paid by no one to be active. It could sit. It could go years without a serious move, then move aggressively when the rare opportunity arrived. The structural asymmetry - Berkshire had no benchmark to defend, no client to appease, no quarterly questionnaire to answer - was, in Munger's view, the single most underrated edge in long-term investing. He connected the do-less philosophy to position sizing. When the rare opportunity did arrive, the discipline was to size it correctly. A great idea deserves serious capital. Munger told the room that the temptation, when the world is calm, was to spread bets in the name of safety; the temptation, when the world is in crisis, was to small-size the great opportunity in the name of risk management. Both temptations were to be resisted. The whole trick was recognizing the rare fat pitch and then swinging hard.

In a 1996 question and answer session at Stanford, I told the audience that the discipline of inversion, applied to the question of how to invest, produced a different portfolio from the discipline of pursuing the highest expected return directly. The inverter asks the opposite question: what would guarantee the destruction of capital, and how can I avoid that? The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its broad patterns, repeats the same mistakes in every cycle, because the incentives facing the participants are the same in every cycle, and the biases facing the participants are the same in every cycle. The investor who recognises the patterns, and who refuses to participate in the new version of the old mistake, has a long-run advantage over the investor who assumes that the new version is different. The discipline required is to read the history, to recognise the patterns, and to refuse to participate. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one I had most wanted to convey. I had made my own share of mistakes by pursuing the highest expected return without enumerating the failure modes, and the cost of those mistakes had, in dollar terms, been very large. The lesson I drew was that the disciplined investor must assume that the failure modes are present in every decision, and he must build the discipline of inversion into his process before the decision is made. The 1996 session was, in this sense, a confession. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to act until the failure modes had been enumerated and the actions that would produce them had been refused. The investor who builds the discipline of inversion will outperform the investor who chases the highest expected return directly. The contrarianism lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who refuses to participate in the failure modes that the boom is rewarding, looks unfashionable during the boom, and he is told, repeatedly, that he is missing the opportunity of a lifetime. The same investor, during the crash, looks unfashionable in the opposite direction, because he is buying when the crowd is panic-selling, and the crowd cannot understand why anyone would buy into a falling market. The 1996 session was, in some ways, the most contrarian I had ever given. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to participate in the failure modes, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom. The investor who builds the discipline of refusal will outperform the investor who participates on the assumption that the new version is different.

In the 1995 Harvard speech I described social-proof tendency as one of the most powerful biases in human cognition. The bias is simple: when we are uncertain, we look to the behaviour of others to determine what to do, and we assume that the behaviour of others is the product of better information than we possess. In many cases, the assumption is wrong, because the behaviour of others is itself the product of social proof, in a recursive loop that produces the great bubbles and the great crashes of financial history. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its broad patterns, is the aggregate of the social-proof biases facing the participants, and the investor who recognises the bias in himself has a long-run advantage over the investor who assumes that the behaviour of the crowd is the product of better information. The contrarianism angle was the most important part. The investor who recognises social-proof bias in real time, and who refuses to participate in the crowd's behaviour, looks unfashionable during the boom and he is told, repeatedly, that he is missing the opportunity of a lifetime. The same investor, during the crash, looks unfashionable in the opposite direction, because he is buying when the crowd is panic-selling, and the crowd cannot understand why anyone would buy into a falling market. The discipline required to refuse to participate in the boom, and to participate aggressively in the crash, is the single hardest discipline in investing, and it is the one that the social-proof framework was designed to support. The investor who has the framework, and who has the temperament to act on it, has an enormous advantage over the investor who participates in the boom on the assumption that the crowd knows something he does not. The market-psychology lesson I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its broad patterns, is the aggregate of the social-proof biases facing the participants. The investor who recognises the bias in himself, and who builds the discipline of refusal into his process, has an enormous advantage over the investor who assumes that the crowd is better informed. The 1995 speech was, in some ways, the most contrarian I had ever given. I told the audience that the discipline I had extracted from my own mistakes was to refuse to act on the basis of the crowd's behaviour, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom, and to refuse to participate in the crash on the assumption that the prices would keep falling. That single discipline, applied over a working life, has been more valuable than any other I have learned, and it is the one I have tried hardest to convey to the students who visit Pasadena each spring.

In the 1995 Harvard speech I emphasised what I called lollapalooza effects. These are the outcomes that emerge when several psychological biases operate in the same direction at the same time. A single bias, on its own, produces a predictable deviation from rationality. Two or three biases, operating in combination, can produce outcomes that are extreme, surprising, and very profitable for the investor who recognises them and very costly for the investor who does not. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the great bubbles and the great crashes of financial history, in retrospect, are almost always the products of lollapalooza effects, in which incentive bias, social proof, reciprocation tendency, and doubt avoidance all pushed the crowd in the same direction at the same time, until the direction reversed and the same biases pushed the crowd in the opposite direction. The contrarianism angle was the most important part. The investor who recognises a lollapalooza effect in real time, and who refuses to participate, looks unfashionable during the boom and he is told, repeatedly, that he is missing the opportunity of a lifetime. The same investor, during the crash, looks unfashionable in the opposite direction, because he is buying when the crowd is panic-selling, and the crowd cannot understand why anyone would buy into a falling market. The discipline required to refuse to participate in the boom, and to participate aggressively in the crash, is the single hardest discipline in investing, and it is the one that the lollapalooza framework was designed to support. The investor who has the framework, and who has the temperament to act on it, has an enormous advantage over the investor who participates in the boom on the assumption that the biases are uncorrelated. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one I had most wanted to add. I had made my own share of mistakes by participating in lollapalooza effects, on the assumption that I was rational enough to resist the biases. I was not. The lesson I drew was that the disciplined investor must assume that he, like everyone else, is subject to the biases, and he must build the discipline of refusal into his process before the biases begin to operate. The 1995 speech was, in some ways, the most personal I had ever given. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to participate in situations where the biases were obviously operating, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom. That single discipline, applied over a working life, has been more valuable than any other I have learned.

At the 1989 Berkshire annual meeting, I told the audience that the previous year, with its crash in October 1987 and the subsequent revelations about portfolio insurance and program trading, had confirmed what I had long believed about derivatives and structured products. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its broad patterns, repeats the same mistakes in every cycle, because the incentives facing the participants are the same in every cycle, and the biases facing the participants are the same in every cycle. The investor who recognises the patterns, and who refuses to participate in the new version of the old mistake, has a long-run advantage over the investor who assumes that the new version is different. The discipline required is to read the history, to recognise the patterns, and to refuse to participate, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one I had most wanted to convey. I had made my own share of mistakes in the previous two years, by being too cautious during the recovery from the 1987 crash, and the cost of the caution had, in opportunity terms, been very large. The lesson I drew was that the disciplined investor must be willing to act during a recovery, even when the outlook is unclear, and even when the prices may go lower before they go higher. The 1989 meeting was, in this sense, a confession. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to wait for clarity, and to act when the prices were attractive, even at the cost of being early. The investor who builds the discipline of acting during the recovery will outperform the investor who waits for clarity. The contrarianism lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who refuses to participate in the derivatives and structured products that the boom is rewarding, looks unfashionable during the boom, and he is told, repeatedly, that he is missing the opportunity of a lifetime. The same investor, during the crash, looks unfashionable in the opposite direction, because he is buying when the crowd is panic-selling, and the crowd cannot understand why anyone would buy into a falling market. The 1989 meeting was, in some ways, the most contrarian I had ever given. I told the audience that the framework had been built, in large part, from my own mistakes, and that the discipline I had extracted was to refuse to participate in the derivatives and structured products, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom. The investor who builds the discipline of refusal will outperform the investor who participates on the assumption that the new version is different.