Lately, my feed’s been overflowing with wild AI-made clips—anime openings for shows that don’t exist, fake movie trailers for movies no one shot, cinematic pans through rain-soaked neon streets.
Someone posts: “Took me 5 minutes to make this.” And yeah—it looks great. The vibes are perfect.
But I watch them... and feel nothing.
Vibes, But No Pulse
Don’t get me wrong—I use AI. Midjourney, Claude AI, ChatGPT. These tools are fast, fun, and sometimes exactly what I need to break through creative blocks.
But there’s this feeling I can’t shake.
Like I’m looking at something that looks finished, but it’s missing life.
It looks complete, but feels empty inside.
Sure, you generated a scene.
But where’s the part that stays with you?
Where’s the heartbeat?
Cool Outputs, No Story
I’ve played with these tools. You type “cyberpunk alley at night” or “Ghibli-style train ride,” and seconds later, you’ve got a stunning image.
And for someone who’s never drawn or filmed before, that’s powerful.
Let’s be honest: a lot of what people post isn’t really a story.
It’s just a cool vibe. Something pretty to look at. Nothing deeper.
That viral AI anime opening? Yeah, it looks slick. The camera sweeps, the music hits. But... nothing happens. No characters. No arc. No stakes. Just vibes.
Now go watch the first four minutes of Up. No dialogue. Just scenes. And suddenly your chest tightens. That’s storytelling. That’s human.
It’s not just how polished something looks—it’s why it exists.
The intention behind it.
Why do you think Nolan still crashes real planes?
Why did Greta Gerwig paint skies for Barbie?
Not because they couldn’t fake it—but because they wanted you to feel it.
Same reason Tom Cruise keeps doing his own stunts.
It’s not realism.
It’s commitment. You’re watching someone care.
And that effort? It shows. Even when people can’t explain why, they feel it.
That’s what’s missing in a lot of AI-generated stuff today.
It’s shiny. But it doesn’t breathe.
The Flood of Perfect, Empty Things
Here's what feels off about all this: AI isn't just helping artists go faster — it's replacing the creative part of making something real.
What used to be a messy, personal process—coming up with ideas, struggling through drafts, chasing something meaningful—is now reduced to typing a prompt and hitting “generate.”
Look around: YouTube is packed with AI-generated music.
Tracks built by algorithms, made to fill playlists, not to move people.
Amazon’s flooded with AI-written books—churned out to fill search results, not say something worth hearing.
And it’s not stopping there. It’s images. Videos. Fake trailers. Whole creative works that once took time, effort, and soul—now spun out in seconds.
But when you watch those clips or listen to those songs... do you feel anything?
That’s what we’re risking:
Trading meaning for speed.
Care for convenience.
Craft for scale.
And maybe that feels fine right now, while it’s new. But when no one struggles to make things anymore—what’s left to be proud of?
Code Is Different Though
Interestingly, in code, AI helps more than it hurts.
Ask ChatGPT or Copilot to build a to-do app, and yeah—you’ll get buttons, an input field, maybe some direction to make backend. It works.
But open it up:
No clear structured code.
Could lack of error handling.
No real testing for vulnerabilities.
No accessibility.
No real architecture, unless you know what you’re doing.
It’s duct-taped together. Built to run, not to last.
But flip it—if you know your fundamentals, your patterns, your edge cases—AI becomes a force multiplier.
It handles the boring parts while you solve the hard ones.
It catches mistakes before you even see them.
The difference? Direction.
AI guesses. You guide.
If you know what “good” looks like, you can build something real.
If you don’t, you’re just stacking guesses on top of guesses.
For most of the work—boilerplate, repetitive tasks—AI is enough.
But that last 20%? The structure, the weird user bugs, the fragile 2 a.m. failures?
That’s still on you.
AI is a multiplier. But it multiplies what you already have.
If you’ve got taste and skill, it takes you further.
If not, it just makes your shortcuts faster.
Why We Love the Shortcuts
But then... why does all this stuff blow up?
Why do people proudly say, “This took me 5 minutes”?
Because for a lot of people, this is the first time they’ve made something.
The first time they felt creative.
AI lets you skip the years of learning, the rejection, the self-doubt.
And that shortcut feels amazing.
It looks good. People like it.
And social media rewards the surface, not the soul.
So of course people post it.
We all want to feel like creators.
Even if AI did most of the work, you still typed the prompt. You picked the style. You hit generate.
And your brain says: I made this.
And honestly? You did.
That feeling matters. Especially for people who’ve spent their lives feeling “not creative enough,” “not technical enough,” “not talented enough.”
AI lets them break through that fear. And that’s beautiful.
But it’s also fragile.
Because when everyone can generate a cool-looking thing in seconds, the question comes back:
Can you build something that lasts?
image: realvjy
Where I Land on This
I use AI in a pretty limited way—mostly to brainstorm ideas, fix a bit of grammar, or explain things I used to Google anyway.
It helps. It’s fast. It’s useful.
But I still design. I still code. I still break things. I still rebuild them.
When AI helps me, it’s under my direction.
Not as a replacement.
Because I’ve felt that weird emptiness when I let AI do too much. Like I skipped the part where the work became mine.
And honestly? The work I’m most proud of?
It’s never the fast stuff.
It’s the stuff I struggled through.
The things I failed at.
The projects I obsessed over and rewrote ten times until something finally clicked.
That’s the work that leaves a mark.
It’s not about how fast I can finish. It’s about how deeply I can care.
I still remember this one 3D render I made—spent over a week on it.
Modeling every little piece. Tweaking the textures. Reworking the lighting again and again.
I must’ve rendered it twenty times, just chasing the perfect shadows, the right reflections, the right feeling.
And when it finally came together?
Man, it felt right. People loved it. But more importantly, I loved it.
Because I knew how much of myself I’d put into it.
Nowadays, people will tell me, “You know you could just ask Midjourney or ChatGPT to make something better-looking in 30 seconds.”
And I just smile.
Sure. Go ahead.
But I’ll still do it my way.
Even if it takes hours. Even if it takes days. Even if it’s slower. Even if it’s messier. Even if it’s not perfect.
Because when I build something with my own hands, it just feels different.
It’s never been about finishing fast.
It’s about caring enough to finish right.
The Real Edge Is Human
AI will keep getting better.
More realistic. More human-like.
Maybe one day it’ll even fake struggle. Simulate imperfection. Mimic care.
But it won’t be care.
Because care takes time.
Care takes taste.
Care means choosing the hard way even when the easy way looks fine.
As the world fills with fast, frictionless content, slow craft becomes rare.
And rare things? They matter more.
So yeah—use the tools. Enjoy the magic.
But don’t skip the part where you make something real.
Because in a world where anyone can generate content,
the ones who build slowly, who bleed a little, who care deeply...
Those are the ones people will still show up for.
The future might belong to AI.
But the spotlight?
It still finds the ones who know what they’re doing.
Been thinking about this for a long time. Never really wrote it down properly — just scattered thoughts in my head, notes here and there.
Finally sat down and tried to put it into words.
Anyway, just sharing what’s been on my mind. Maybe it’ll mean something to you too—whether you build stuff, make art, or just care about the craft.
I also wrote another piece on this a while back, if you want to check it out: AI vs. Human Creativity: Why Craftsmanship Still Matters
