For most of my life, I’ve tried to create things of value. More specifically, things that the marketplace (of ideas, or just capitalism) would consider valuable.
I was never told to consider speaking to my concept of value. Not through school, not through work, the job market, the media landscape. Nowhere was a single sign post asking me to pause and consider what it all meant to me.
The value was purely externalized.
And that was “just how it is” for my life. I was raised in a system that forced me to focus-test ideas. Stress-test the market. Send samples, beg for attention. Hope for virality.
Of course this was exhausting. Of course this was demoralizing. And worst of all, it was homogenizing. Averaging, dulling. Rounded edges, palatability.
Fucking annoying, if I’m being honest.
I’m 43 now. Currently, as I type. I’m 43 years old. Old enough to know a world without cell phones or the internet. I watched the novelty of those new inventions creep into that mundane, averaged world.
Each ringing their own klaxon. Each barely nudging the apparatus forward.
In 2008, during the writers’ strike, I moved to Los Angeles. Hollywood was at a standstill as I unloaded the truck.
Remarkably, I landed an unpaid internship at Maverick.
Since production was at a standstill, I helped clean up their offices and prepare for the dissolution of Guy Oseary’s stake in the company. Divorce the music (i.e. Madonna, Alanis Morrisette) from the film division (Agent Cody Banks, Twilight, The Stepfather).
The most exciting part of my day was eating my sack lunch in the parking structure as I looked out on Nakatomi Plaza (the Fox building).
Things picked up, and the strike inevitably resolved. The crux of the holdout was Hollywood’s production-apparatus feigning a lack of familiarity with the monetization strategy of the internet, and lo, was reluctant to pay writers for the proceeds of newly emerging streaming platforms like Hulu.
I recall the line, something like: “It’s too new, we just don’t know yet.”
At its heart, the strike boiled down to a fight over who got paid when the apparatus met a new tool.
Sounds remarkably similar to our current confrontation with AI.
And the irony of AI, especially when used in a creative sense, is how easily it replicates the norm, the average, the rounded corners of consumer palatability.
It’s easy to understand why. AI trains on the available, the prevalent.
Some creatives have succeeded quite well in the system that fed the aparatus. They are among the loudest to criticize the use of AI.
I get that, and they are free to continue tossing their barbs.
I performed on the boundaries of media production for 20 years. Never too close to full control, a dutiful rower in the apparatus as it stood. I just liked making cool stuff. And the boundaries of normal were cool enough for a younger me.
Now? I prefer to derive value from within myself. Metrics that were used to define my success just don’t enter my mind as valuable indicators anymore.
AI gives me an outlet for grief that, up until now, had no ritual. The apparatus never offered one that meant anything to me. It was focused on the business of palatability.
Now, I prefer the toil. The struggle of pushing the output of these AI tools past passable, driving them as deep as I can into meaningful. Meaningful for me, and me alone.
And I think that’s exactly what we all must do now. Passable is table stakes. Passable is default. We can sneeze at an image generation model and land with something adhering to basic art conventions, color theory, framing, etc.
But what does it mean for you? What does it mean for me?
My toil started long ago. Maybe that’s why I’m so comfortable with the discomfort of AI helping me craft my message now.
Those who grew fat on the averaged success of the media apparatus are understandably annoyed with the toil required to dazzle with these new tools, new tricks.
I’d weep for them if I wasn’t rooting for the downfall of the entire media system. Rooting for their uncomfortable return to the toil.
And honestly, could my weekly writing ritual truly destroy all that is beautiful?
If you don’t mind, I’ll just stand on the boundaries and think my silly thoughts.
At least I find value in that.
And that’s enough for me.
Author’s note:
I drafted this essay on a Saturday morning, then worked through structure and pacing with Claude. This type of back-and-forth I’ve taken to calling intellectual patty cake.
From there I edited independently in Google Docs and brought it back to Claude for a final review pass.
The header art and endmark were generated in Leonardo through a long iterative prompt-and-response process.
The fingerprints are mine.
The practice is the point.