The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire
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The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire<br>Working in tech didn’t used to be that bad. Why does it feel so terrible now?
unskippablecutscene<br>Jun 11, 2026
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Photo by Jan Antonin Kolar on Unsplash<br>When I started my first design internship, the team was building UI in Adobe Illustrator, and I was cool for introducing Sketch. Now it is 2026, I am staring at the backside of 40+ heads at a team offsite, varying degrees of white balding spots are staring back at me. Like probably any tech company these days, we are discussing vibe coding, agents in our product, the shifting roles of designers, engineers, and product managers. This week, we have a new buzzword: Loops.<br>The tools have always been changing, I say to myself, this is no different.<br>During coffee breaks, we assure each other: We are actually still critical of AI and have reservations about environmental and societal consequences. During workshops and presentations, we perform the enthusiastic optimism that is expected of us, maybe because the next performance review is around the corner or because we all read about layoffs at Meta last week. Of course, it is not all that cynical, like probably many others, I feel true excitement about all of this cool, new tech. The last few months were some of the most fun times I ever had as a designer. Finally, I could build all of these fancy, interactive prototypes only my smart co-workers, who knew how to properly use Framer, used to be able to produce, while I was stuck with buggy Figma click dummies, which diluted my user research. I was able to make a PR and change that annoying, wrong icon in production that has always bothered me.<br>Workdays that largely consist of babysitting an agent give me lots of time to do my laundry between prompts.<br>Actually, I got so excited about all of this that my adoption of AI was labeled exemplary by my superiors, and I got a raise. As a treat, I booked myself an extra fancy hotel room with complimentary socks and eye masks during my vacation. When I told my dad about my raise, he said he was so proud of me.<br>Back to the offsite, where I sit with this uncomfortable feeling that has followed me for a while now, and it keeps bubbling up like the hiccups.<br>Fine, let’s put on some gloves, open up the patient, and examine it.<br>Number 1: At the end of the day, I do not deeply care about any of this, because I fundamentally believe the piece of software we all exert ourselves over is replaceable. Humanity could do without it. While it for sure provides value to a slice of people and generates profit, the intense feelings we perform around next quarter’s goals often feel a bit ridiculous.<br>I feel this disconnect when there is a big presentation with the biggest words possible, which eventually get used up and lose their sharpness like rocks in a riverbed, and force us to invent new ones. I feel it when some higher-up walks up and down a stage, Apple-style, and expects my excitement in return. In these moments, I think about something one of my professors said in University: “If you ever go home after a night at the club and you feel like shit and you do not know why, read Guy Debord.” So I ordered “The Society of the spectacle” on Amazon, and while I did not get most of that book, I got one thing: We love to manufacture big, loud excitement, but if you celebrate when there is nothing to celebrate just to feel more, you will feel less.<br>Or like Jessa in Girls season 3 put it: “You can not make things that mean nothing mean something.”<br>I do understand that small things in life matter immensely, which is exactly what that guy tried to say in the end. We do not have to change the world or even “revolutionise” or “disrupt” anything to be proud of our work. But a lot of times, having to pretend we do leaves me feeling empty. This used to be a minor pain. Outside of work, I have a full life, I like to bake and paint and run, and I have fulfilling relationships. As long as it pays the bills and is at least a little bit fun, I can take some bullshit.<br>Number 2: The increasingly uncritical conversations about AI that dominate my workplace have made this disconnect much worse.<br>What used to be a bit over the top now makes me feel dishonest and guilty. At the same time, being honest feels utterly pointless. I am scared what AI will do to humanity and our planet, not because of the technology itself, but because it lies in the hands of our capitalistic, racist, misogynistic and increasingly fascist society. And every day, I am helping to propel it forward as fast as possible for the sake of growing a business that means little to me. What if I stopped, started to advocate against mindlessly using AI to write code, design, document, and fuel workflows, become the boo-woman? What good would it do, except that I will be labeled as pessimistic and uncooperative and eventually get replaced by someone else?<br>Everyone seems...