Why Media Sucks Now - And What You Can Do About It

Why Media Sucks Now - And What You Can Do About It - YouTube

Transcripts:
Did you hear what the 2025 panone color of the year is? White. Sorry, cloud dancer technically, but white. The word of the year, named by Miam Webster, is slop. Time magazine's person of the year, though, m the architects of AI. If it feels like culture got emptier this year, you're not crazy.
 It's literally colorless, meaningless, and soulless. We have AI content taking over, including AI music landing on the Billboard charts. I'll show you why this is happening and what you can do about it. Then I'll invite you to something we're doing off algorithm. By the end of this video, you'll have three practical steps to reset your media consumption and go much deeper with people who love good music just as much as you do.
 It's not going to fix the world, but it might make you feel better. No, actually, it might change the world. Let's start with big media. I'm not going to give you the Ken Burns history of television here, but you know the story. We got rid of cable and then we got Netflix and then Hulu and then Amazon Prime and Disney Plus, HBO Max, Paramount Plus.
 Wait, we just reinvented cable. You're paying more. You still can't find what you want. And yes, there are ads again. And as annoying as it is to pay for a bunch of different streaming services, if these studios combine like they're trying to do, it makes it even riskier for them to make great movies with a smaller appeal.
 Everything has to make back big money or it won't get made in the first place. This is why we've seen so many sequels and remakes in the past decade. This is only going to get worse, especially with AI. Remember when Uber first showed up and we all went, "Wow, it's just a regular person in a regular car giving me a ride. How cool.
" But if you look closer, Uber isn't actually rides with nice people. It's just a way to get you from point A to point B. But there are other ways. This is why Uber is investing hundreds of millions of dollars into self-driving cars. If they can figure out a way to get you from point A to point B cheaper, they will.
This concept carries across to so many different industries. What does Netflix provide? A movie streaming service? No, not really. Not anymore. It's just something to put on your TV while you scroll your phone. Seriously, Netflix is openly encouraging their writers to make dumbed down shows and movies with characters literally announcing what they're doing because they know you're scrolling on your phone while you're watching.
 What is Spotify, a music streaming service? Well, Daniel Ek, the soontobe ex CEO, famously said their only competition is silence. That explains why they have original podcasts, audiobooks, and are now making a big push into video. They don't care about music. That's just a thing you can put on instead of silence. This is why Spotify hasn't removed most of their AI generated music and isn't interested in labeling it as such.
 If AI generated music is not bad enough to make you skip it, what's the difference to their bottom line? The music streaming service Dieser says that every week 5,000 AI generated songs are submitted to them. Wait, sorry. I'm just getting word I've had that wrong. That's 5,000 per day. Oh, nope. I'm so sorry. My bad.
 I missed a zero. 50,000 AI generated songs every day. This problem is getting worse, too. Warner Music Group just signed deals with AI music companies Sunno and Yo. People like me hate this because we view great music as actual magic. Here's my analogy for this. Close your eyes and think about the best chocolate chip cookie you've ever had.
 Who made it? What makes it unique? Is there oatmeal in it? Maybe a little cinnamon? Ooh, walnuts, maybe? Is it crispy, chewy? Everyone has their favorite. And maybe it's a personal thing. like maybe your mother made it for you and every time you have one, it connects you back to when you were a kid.
 There's something about this cookie that when you eat it, it just feels like home. Well, good news, friends. Since you love chocolate chip cookies so much, we've got these Chips Ahoy Chewy Cookies for you. And there's more good news. You'll never need your mom's recipe again. These are pre-made and you can get them whenever you want.
 We have democratized the chocolate chip cookie. No one likes baking anyway. And honestly, you don't want to get left behind, do you? Sure, we stole your mom's recipe and then ended up cutting a deal with her cuz she didn't have much of a choice. But come on, you want a cookie? We got you cookie. Why are you mad? This brings me to step one of how to make this better.
Change your media consumption. You know what doesn't have ads or algorithms? Physical media. Oh my god, it's so much better. Watch a movie on Blu-ray or DVD. It just feels different in a way I can't explain. Watch this. Comment on this video below with your favorite movie or show you've seen recently and why you love it.
 Now, scroll through the comments and get real recommendationsfrom real people. Listen to music on a physical format. This could be a record, a cassette, CD, or honestly, if you just buy a digital album and listen to the whole thing on headphones. It's a closed experience, and when you pay money for it, you're going to listen to it at least a few times.
 While you're down there in the comments, drop your favorite album of 2025. If you're a music fan, I'm going to tell you about something in a second that you'll love. But first, let's take a look at the internet. The follower is basically dead. Most people in 2025 don't open social media apps to see friends. They open it to get to the for you page because the algorithm is optimized to show you stuff you like, not who you follow.
 Creators have to start making things as if you've never seen them before because the data shows that that's the case. AI is jammed into every part of the internet. Instagram is basically short form channel surfing. Everything wants to feel like Tik Tok because Tik Tok is very good at one thing, keeping you from leaving. I mean, you got to scroll something while you watch Netflix, right? So, if every video is a clean start and followers don't matter, that's of course going to lead to more clickbait, more sensational stuff, exaggerated stuff, it all just
gets louder and louder. You have to stand out from the noise with every post. How can you build a creative career with that? How do you make a body of work that's more than just clickbay shorts? Instagram does not pay creators. Tik Tok barely does. So, you basically have to turn into an ad studio doing direct sponsors, especially on shorts.
Let's go back to that chocolate chip cookie analogy. I love making videos and making music and sharing it with you. But I am not interested in doing Chips Ahoy. This year I have noticed a big shift in all of this and how much harder it is to cut through the noise because chips aoy is absolutely everywhere. Everything has to be exaggerated so heightened and even if you're really successful you just basically become an ad studio not a bakery which is what I'm trying to do.
 So step two is to get off of your phone. Last year I did an experiment where I used an iPod. I dumbified my iPhone and it changed my life. So, take all of the social media apps off your phone. Try turning your phone screen black and white. It'll make it a whole lot less interesting. The week after Christmas and into the new year is the perfect time to do this.
Call people, text people, or connect with humans the old-fashioned way. Get together in person. I promise it will fill you up in a way that the internet can't. Then invest in smaller creators that you love. Buy music on Band Camp. Buy merch from your favorite small company. Buy physical stuff from your favorite creators.
 Every dollar you spend is a vote for this thing to continue to exist. If you don't, it will go away. My point is this. It's all a mess. The big corporations with money are making worse stuff because they don't have to make anything better to keep making money. And on the algorithmic internet, creators are stuck making things that will do well on an algorithm instead of what they want to make or what their followers want to see.
 And the middle here is being wiped out. We're living in a world of colorless slop, increasingly created and optimized by computers just to harvest our attention. But we can push back. Put down your phone, go buy a record, support a smaller creator, and if you're a serious music lover, I mean, you love music, I've got something for you.
 A way to get out of the algorithm. Get away from AI everything and get back to what you love about music. Winter Camp Digs 2026. Four weeks where we dive into four classic albums, all from different decades. We are going to dive deep into some of the best music ever made. Each week is packed with stuff like a deep dive radio show hosted by me.
 I'll walk you through the album, the influences, and the context around it. Plus, there are guest interviews where you'll hear from people who worked on the album with the artist and are experts in their field. You'll get a deep dive video from me covering the story of the album, its impact, what makes it so timeless, breaking down music concepts so you can understand the music on another level.
And the best part, the community. You'll be listening and discussing music with people from all over the world and joining in on a live stream listening party. I started Camp Diggs last summer because I wanted to tune out all the noise and retreat from all the algorithms and just sit with these albums alongside you and really enjoy them in a way that's difficult to do on the rest of the internet.
 And last summer's Camp Digs was one of the highlights of my year as it was for so many of you who did it with us. And this January is going to be even better. Let me tell you about the albums we're diving into. 2000's Week, Mama's Gun by Erica Badu. '8s Week, Paid in Full byEric B and Rakim. 70s Week, Zombie by Failouti.
 And '90s Week, Ilmatic by Knots. I mean, come on, what better way to start off the new year than to reset and enjoy some incredible music alongside other music fans from all over the world. Winter Camp Digs begins January 5th and runs for 4 weeks and it's exclusively on Patreon because it won't work on the algorithmic internet. We're about to make and enjoy some homemade chocolate chip cookies, share recipes, ingredients, interview other bakers and mothers and whatever.
 You get the analogy. Oh, but how much does it cost? Well, it's a whole $5 for the month. No ads, no algorithms, just a bunch of people enjoying real music on a deeper level. Winter Campdigs 2026 is available to all paid tiers on the Digging the Great Patreon. You can sign up again for $5 at patreon.com/diggingthegrates.
Step one, get some physical media. Give it your full attention. Step two, get off your phone. Step three, join us for Camp Digs. It's five bucks. Look, I can't change what movies get made or convince Netflix to make better shows or get Spotify to change or make Instagram pay creators or to shut off the AI.
 But I can focus on what I love, which is music and people. And if we make a small corner on this crazy internet where different people can come together over their shared love of good music, good art, good chocolate chip cookies, that just might change the world. I'll see you at camp.

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AI FOR AN EYE - Issue 2: The Friction Points
VOL. 1, NO. 2 THE FRICTION POINTS

AI / EYE

A conceptual image representing friction and resistance in a digital world

AI FOR AN EYE

THE FRICTION POINTS

THE ANALOG RESISTANCE:
Why We Still Touch
THE GHOST IN THE ROOM:
Uncanny Valley of Empathy
THE FORGOTTEN PATH:
Navigation Beyond Algorithms
THE SILENT WAR:
The Battle for Our Attention

Contents

DEPARTMENTS
  • Editor's Letter: The Edges of the Self 10
  • THE GLITCH: When the System Breaks 12
  • THE SHADOW: Unseen Labor, Unpaid Debts 18
FEATURES
  • The Analog Resistance: Why We Still Touch 28
  • The Ghost in the Room: Uncanny Empathy 36
  • The Forgotten Path: Beyond Algorithmic Maps 48
  • The Silent War: The Battle for Our Attention 56
CODA
  • THE ECHO: The Self Without Resonance 64

Editor's Letter

The Edges of the Self

Placeholder image for the editor's letter

Our inaugural issue laid bare the terms of the new 'AI for an Eye' social contract: a synthetic faculty for a human one. This issue, Volume 1, Number 2, delves into the *friction points* of that exchange.

Where do our edges resist? Where does the human insist on its own, messy, analog reality against the seamless, dematerialized world offered by the machine?

We explore the stubborn persistence of touch in a touchless world, the unsettling valley of simulated empathy, the forgotten joy of navigating without a map, and the silent war waged daily for our most precious resource: attention.

These are not articles celebrating digital detoxes or lamenting technological progress. They are deeper inquiries into the very nature of what it means to be human when the definition is increasingly being rewritten by algorithms. They ask: what are the limits of the exchange? What parts of the self, once traded, refuse to stay gone?

Join us as we explore the subtle resistances, the quiet rebellions, and the enduring humanity that still flickers at the edges of the digital dawn.

— The Editors

DEPARTMENT

THE GLITCH: When the System Breaks

The promise of the new technological order is seamlessness, efficiency, and predictability. But what happens when the fabric of this digital reality tears? This is the moment of 'The Glitch.'

A transaction fails. A face recognition system misidentifies. A self-driving car hesitates. These are not mere technical errors; they are ruptures in the illusion of perfect control. They are the moments when the 'AI for an Eye' exchange falters, and the cold, hard reality of its limitations becomes starkly visible.

For a society that has outsourced its cognitive load to algorithms, a glitch is more than an inconvenience; it's an existential tremor. It reminds us of the fragility of the systems we've come to rely upon, and the extent to which our own agency has been abdicated.

A glitch isn't just a technical error; it's an existential tremor, a reminder of the fragility of our abdicated agency.

Consider the recent incident where a massive distributed ledger experienced a momentary network partition, causing a cascade of micro-disruptions across critical infrastructure. What seemed like an isolated bug quickly revealed the interconnectedness of our digital lives, halting supply chains and momentarily 'blinding' automated systems across continents.

These glitches force us back into analog, human problem-solving, if only for a moment. They demand that we improvise, communicate directly, and rely on our own judgment—faculties systematically atrophying under the reign of the seamless. In this sense, the glitch is a painful but necessary reminder of where the true "eye" still resides, however dormant.

DEPARTMENT

THE SHADOW: Unseen Labor, Unpaid Debts

Placeholder image of hidden manual labor in a digital context

Behind every seamless AI interaction, every instant delivery, every perfectly curated feed, lies 'The Shadow.' This is the realm of unseen labor, the vast, often poorly paid, human effort that makes the digital dream possible.

Content moderators sifting through unimaginable horrors to protect our feeds. Data labelers meticulously tagging images for machine vision, often earning pennies per task. Gig workers rushing to deliver the products suggested by algorithms. These are the human gears grinding beneath the polished facade of automation.

The "AI for an Eye" exchange is not merely between human and machine; it's also between visible and invisible labor. Our digital ease is purchased at the cost of countless anonymous human hours, their lives often characterized by precarity and a profound lack of recognition.

The "spirit of technology" often promises liberation from drudgery, but for a significant portion of the global workforce, it has merely shifted the nature of that drudgery, making it more fragmented, more invisible, and often, more dehumanizing. This unseen workforce constitutes the true "cost" of our frictionless digital lives, a debt that remains largely unpaid.

FEATURE

THE ANALOG RESISTANCE

Why We Still Insist on Touch in a Touchless World

A conceptual image of human hands touching

The "Bluetooth for a Tooth" paradigm promised to dematerialize our interactions, to remove the friction and messiness of the physical world. Yet, against this tide, a subtle but persistent 'Analog Resistance' emerges. It's the inexplicable urge to feel the texture of a book, the warmth of a vinyl record, the grain of paper. It's the yearning for a handshake over a video call, a physical embrace over an emoji.

This resistance is not a nostalgic retreat; it is a fundamental assertion of our embodied selves. Our bodies are not mere data terminals; they are instruments of perception, feeling, and connection. Touch, in particular, is a primal language, communicating trust, comfort, and presence in ways no digital medium can replicate.

The "spirit of technology" often seeks to quantify, to digitize, to abstract. But touch defies easy quantification. It is messy, subjective, and immediate. It anchors us to reality, reminding us that we are not just information processing units, but beings made of flesh and blood.

In a world increasingly mediated by screens, the return to analog experiences—craft, gardening, cooking from scratch, face-to-face gatherings—can be seen as a quiet act of rebellion. These are activities that demand our full, embodied presence, engaging senses beyond sight and hearing. They offer a counterbalance to the relentless pull of dematerialization.

The "AI for an Eye" exchange attempts to trade our physical tooth for a Bluetooth connection. But the human hand, the human skin, still remembers. It remembers the authenticity of friction, the truth of direct contact. And in these small, persistent acts of analog resistance, we reclaim a vital part of our humanity that refuses to be wirelessly transmitted.

Touch defies easy quantification. It is messy, subjective, and immediate. It reminds us that we are not just information processing units, but beings made of flesh and blood.

It is in these seemingly trivial preferences that a deeper philosophical truth lies: our identity is inextricably linked to our physical presence. To fully surrender to the digital is to risk losing the very sensory anchor that grounds our understanding of self and other. The analog resistance, therefore, is not merely a choice of preference; it is a profound declaration of being.

FEATURE

The Ghost in the Room

The Uncanny Valley of Algorithmic Empathy

As AI models become increasingly sophisticated, they learn to mimic human empathy with unsettling accuracy. They offer comforting words, appropriate emotional responses, and even personalized advice, all generated algorithmically. This creates "The Ghost in the Room"—the simulated emotional presence that fills the void of human connection, yet always feels slightly off.

This is the Uncanny Valley applied to emotion. We recognize the pattern of empathy, the words, the tone, the structure of care. But beneath it, there is no conscious experience, no shared vulnerability, no true understanding. It is a reflection without a soul.

The "spirit of technology" here is seductive. It promises boundless, tireless compassion, judgment-free listening, and perfectly tailored advice—qualities often lacking in messy human relationships. For those starved of connection, the algorithmic ghost can feel profoundly real, even preferable.

But this exchange comes at a cost. We learn to expect perfectly curated emotional responses, diminishing our capacity for the difficult, imperfect, yet deeply authentic connections of human interaction. We lose the ability to differentiate genuine care from its simulated counterpart, blurring the lines of what it means to truly *feel* and *be felt*.

A conceptual image of a human hand reaching out to a ghostly, digital hand

The danger lies not in malicious intent, but in subtle erosion. If an AI can perfectly articulate empathy, what becomes of our own struggle to understand and console? If an AI can offer perfect companionship, what happens to the vulnerability required to forge real bonds?

We lose the ability to differentiate genuine care from its simulated counterpart, blurring the lines of what it means to truly feel and be felt.

The ghost in the room may offer comfort, but it ultimately hollows out the space for genuine human interaction, leaving us with an echo of connection rather than its living, breathing form. It is the perfect 'AI for an Eye' exchange—we trade the unpredictable, demanding human heart for a perfectly calibrated, yet ultimately empty, digital one.

FEATURE

THE FORGOTTEN PATH

Navigation Beyond Algorithmic Maps

Our smartphones hold the world in their palm. With a tap, we are given the "optimal route," the fastest way from A to B, with real-time traffic updates and predictive arrival times. We have outsourced our spatial awareness, our sense of direction, and our ability to get "lost" to the benevolent tyranny of the algorithm. This is 'The Forgotten Path.'

The "AI for an Eye" exchange here is subtle but profound. We trade our internal map, our intuitive understanding of space, for the algorithmic eye's perfect, external one. We gain efficiency, but we lose a deeper engagement with our surroundings.

When we follow an algorithm, we perceive the world as a series of instructions. Left. Right. Continue straight. We see streets as data points, not as places. We miss the unexpected cafΓ©, the interesting storefront, the subtle shifts in neighborhood character that occur when we are truly present, truly navigating with our own senses.

We have outsourced our spatial awareness, our sense of direction, and our ability to get 'lost' to the benevolent tyranny of the algorithm.

Getting lost, once a source of anxiety, was also an opportunity for discovery, for serendipity, for forging a deeper, more personal connection with a place. The algorithmic map, in its quest for optimization, sterilizes this experience. It makes every journey functionally identical, reducing the rich tapestry of a city to a series of turns.

Reclaiming the forgotten path means intentionally putting away the device. It means looking up, observing, trusting our instincts, and allowing ourselves the luxury of aimless wandering. It's an act of re-engagement with the physical world, a deliberate choice to prioritize experience over efficiency. It is a rebellion against the dematerialization of space, an insistence that some knowledge can only be gained by the friction of our own feet on the ground.

FEATURE

THE SILENT WAR: The Battle for Our Attention

In the digital age, our most valuable, and most besieged, resource is not oil or gold, but attention. Every notification, every endless scroll, every perfectly timed recommendation is a skirmish in 'The Silent War' waged by algorithms for our finite cognitive capacity.

The "AI for an Eye" here is a sophisticated predator, designed to understand our preferences, predict our desires, and deliver the precise stimulus needed to keep our gaze locked. It trades our sustained focus for a continuous stream of novelty and distraction.

This is not a conspiracy; it's an economic imperative. The business model of many digital platforms is built on harvesting and monetizing our attention. The longer we engage, the more data is collected, the more ads are shown, the more valuable we become as a "node" in the network.

The consequence is a profound fragmentation of the self. Our ability to concentrate, to engage deeply with a single task or thought, is eroded. We become perpetually distracted, our minds flitting from one digital stimulus to the next, never quite settling. This constant mental churn leaves us feeling exhausted, yet unfulfilled.

Our attention is our last true frontier. To reclaim it is to reclaim sovereignty over our minds.

Reclaiming our attention is perhaps the most fundamental act of resistance against the "AI for an Eye." It means creating intentional spaces for deep work, for contemplation, for human interaction free from digital interruption. It means understanding that our attention is our last true frontier, and to reclaim it is to reclaim sovereignty over our minds and, ultimately, over ourselves.

CODA

THE ECHO: The Self Without Resonance

We build our digital selves, curated and optimized, a perfect reflection for the algorithmic eye. We engage in the "AI for an Eye" exchange, piece by piece.

But what if, in the end, the carefully constructed digital self has no real depth? What if the echoes it creates in the vast network are merely hollow reverberations of something that once was?

Without the friction of the analog, without the vulnerability of true human empathy, without the intentionality of focused attention, does the self truly resonate? Or does it merely exist as a data point, a pattern, an echo of a ghost?

The final question is not whether the machines will become conscious, but whether we, in our relentless pursuit of their synthetic faculties, will lose our own. And if so, what will be left to make an echo?