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Friday Morning Hope:
See more products that put us back in touch with ourselves, each other, and the world around us. Thanks Humane team, for being persistent and rethinking Human-Computer Interaction.
Friday Evening Pessimism:
I don’t think their first product (ai pin*) will take off. 🙁
*In Brazil, Aipim means Cassava Root. I used to plant on my front yard, I miss that.
Reflecting on the thought-provoking work1 of Sharra Vostral, it’s intriguing to explore how her concept of “BIOLOGICALLY INCOMPATIBLE TECHNOLOGY” can be applied in the current digital age.
In the ’80s, an innovative product was launched amid much fanfare – a smaller, lighter, and super absorbent tampon.
Unfortunately, this new product led to an outbreak of Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS), especially among young women. The company said that the product itself was harmful, but in a complex interplay of variables, it enabled Staphylococcus aureus to reproduce rapidly, producing a deadly toxin. This concept has since been recast as “biocatalyst technologies” in her latest book, “Toxic Shock,” which has truly captured my attention.
Ultimately, that particular tampon was removed from the market, but its users were blamed for using it “incorrectly,” a notion that persists and contributes to the stigma surrounding TSS today. The prevailing sentiment seems to be that if someone suffers from TSS, it’s her fault.
Fast forward to the present day, we are surrounded by new digital projects, many of which have unanticipated outcomes. Social media has often been implicated in a rise in depression and anxiety², and thousands of novel digital solutions are emerging. Particularly alarming is the sharp increase in suicides among young women², which brings to mind the young women affected by TSS decades ago.
These parallels lead me to ask:
– Are we, as product innovators and leaders, unintentionally developing what could be deemed “psychologically incompatible technology?”
– Are we fostering an era of anxiety and depression-catalyst technologies? Like a Digital Toxic Shock?
– Will we blame the users (again) if something unexpected happens?
We must remember to keep human well-being at the heart of technological advancement.
For a deeper dive, here are the articles that helped me connect these ideas:
1. Rely and Toxic Shock Syndrome: A Technological Health Crisis
2. Jonathan Haidt and Zach Rausch‘s research on the teen mental health crisis
3. Almost a Third of High-School Girls Considered Suicide in 2021
If you’re a non-engineer experimenting with prompt engineering, here’s the deal: understanding how LLMs actually work isn’t just a nice-to-have, it’s non-negotiable.
Take the Chain of Thought technique as an example. Using it after the model has already decided is like trying to screw in a bolt with a hammer, it’s just not going to work. At that point, the model isn’t “thinking” or “deliberating” anymore. It’s already locked in its answer and might just be scrambling to justify something wrong.
Sounds obvious, right? But tons of articles and tools (looking at you, Langchain) get this wrong. They miss the timing and end up using models to evaluate their own responses in ways that don’t make sense, leading to garbage conclusions.
If you want to build better AI solutions, get the basics down. Knowing how LLMs tick will save you headaches, lead to smarter results, and happier users.
Here’s a question: if tech is all about building the future, why does it still look like a reunion of the same dudes from your high school coding club?
Let’s be real, diversity isn’t just about being nice or ticking a box. It’s about making better stuff. When the same types of people build everything, we end up with products that don’t work for everyone, like AI that can’t recognize darker skin tones.
I came across some stories that really made me think about who’s not at the table and why that’s a problem:
These stories aren’t just inspiring; they’re a wake-up call. The more voices we bring into the room, the better we all do. So why are we still moving at the pace of molasses?
Let’s ask ourselves: who’s not here, and what are we losing because of it?
Living on an island farm wasn’t in the plan. It sounds like something out of an indie movie, but there I was, sharing space with a bunch of animals and a horse named Camila. A small horse, probably a pony (?). Her main job was keep the grass low and turn it into manure, that’s it. I was glad that people weren’t riding her. The one time I saw someone try, I hid her saddle and said it was stolen. First time admitting that. Hope her owner never reads this.
While she was getting her job done, I was coding and designing in my own unconventional way. No fancy degrees, just a lot of trial, error, and late-night debugging. Friends called me a “GoHorse” developer. They laughed. I laughed. It wasn’t a joke to me. It was an honest way to work, none of that “fake it till you make it” nonsense.
One Saturday, feeling burned out, I went outside to check on Camila. The farm was buzzing with chickens, cows, and birds putting on a full-blown concert.
In the quiet of the stable, Camila looked at me, unimpressed. I scratched behind her ears, grounding myself in something real.
I led her into the paddock, her brownish fur catching the sun. Her shining eyes, she had the most incredible black eye, deep and knowing. I loved that eye. As we walked, I thought about unicorns, the mythical distractions I’d chased in the startup world. Shiny big ideas, big promises, mostly letdowns. Horses, though? They’re the real deal. No sparkle, just steady work.
She stopped and stared at a distant hill. I followed her gaze, a wildflower pushing through the cracks of an old wall. It reminded me of half-baked ideas that somehow survive, despite the chaos.
“Maybe it’s not about chasing the impossible,” I thought. “Maybe it’s about nurturing what’s real.” Camila nickered. Either she read minds, or she was just hungry.
At one point, I tripped over a root, landing in the grass like a broken script. Camila gave me a nudge, as if saying, “Bugs happen.” I laughed. Laugh at myself is my second language, after JavaScript.
As the sun set, I realized something. Horses don’t promise the moon. They’re just there, solid and dependable, ready to move forward. Unicorns? They leave you empty-handed when reality kicks in.
I spent the last hour with Camila, untangling ropes and sharing my latest project fails. No buzzwords, no pretending, just keeping it real.
Walking home under the twilight sky, I felt clearer than I had all week. Maybe it’s time to build more horses in my life. Real, steady, built to last.
So here I am, back at my desk, inspired by Camila and the wildflower.
I’m here for real horses,
not unicorns.
I’m here to break even,
not break hearts.
Sometimes,
real is the most magical thing
of all.
(っ-,-)つ𐂃