In an era where artificial intelligence is sold as a universal solution for productivity, Cory Doctorow delivers a provocative counter-narrative: the true power of technology lies not in corporate efficiency, but in the messy, unmonetizable creativity of amateurs. While industry leaders chase billion-dollar valuations by promising to replace human workers with automated code, Doctorow argues that the most valuable software is the kind built for personal needs that no algorithm could ever predict.
The Dialectic of Control
Doctorow grounds his argument in a lifetime of hands-on computing, tracing a lineage from cardboard mechanical computers to modern "vibe coding." He recalls his early days with a CARDIAC, a Turing-complete machine made of cardboard, and later smuggling paper towel rolls from a kindergarten to use as punch tape for minicomputers. This history isn't just nostalgia; it establishes a core thesis about who gets to shape technology. As Doctorow writes, "the street finds its own use for things," a concept borrowed from William Gibson that suggests users will always adapt tools in ways designers never intended.
The author contrasts this organic adaptation with the rigid control of modern devices like the iPad. He describes it as "the single most user-innovation-hostile technology in modern history," designed specifically to prevent production without corporate permission. This framing is sharp and effective because it reframes "ease of use" not as a benefit, but as a cage that separates consumers from creators.
Your personal, custom front end could also bring in other data-sources — pulling in your Mastodon messages, for example, or even showing you an alert with the tail-number of any plane flying over your home.
Doctorow champions tools like Hypercard and Scratch because they allow non-programmers to build software that fits their unique lives. He argues that "epistemic humility" requires acknowledging that no amount of requirements gathering can capture needs as faithfully as the users themselves. This aligns with the disability rights mantra, "nothing about us without us," asserting that people have a right to control their own living conditions and the tools they rely upon.
Critics might argue that amateur-built software lacks the security and scalability required for modern infrastructure, making it a dangerous precedent for critical systems. However, Doctorow anticipates this by distinguishing between personal utility and production code, noting that the industry's fear of amateurism is actually a cover for protecting high-waged jobs.
The Economics of Vibe Coding
The piece takes a hard turn into economic analysis when addressing the current AI boom. Doctorow observes that while early web users were workers demanding better tools from their bosses, today's most ardent AI boosters are bosses threatening workers to adopt more automation. He points out that the industry is desperate to justify the $1.4 trillion burned by the AI bubble.
"To keep the bubble inflated, AI hucksters must promise massive economic returns to the technology," Doctorow writes. The pitch is simple: fire skilled programmers and replace them with bots that generate "vibe coded" software for a fraction of the cost. This narrative serves investors but ignores the reality that "for every million dollars' worth of programmers that an AI salesman and a boss conspire to fire, half a million dollars will go to the AI company whose bots shit out that vibe code."
This is where the argument becomes most potent. Doctorow suggests that the industry's focus on replacing production code is a distraction from the genuine utility of AI as a personal tool. He highlights a journalist who used vibe coding to build an app tracking planes over his house—a project with no commercial value but immense personal satisfaction. This example illustrates how "vibe coding extends the power of shell scripting, cron jobs, Applescript, and other desktop automation tools to a wider audience."
The stuff we make on our own computers, for ourselves, is deplatformed from its inception. It's part of the life we can build in technology's 'shadowy corners' that we used to just call 'technology.'
The author draws a parallel to the early days of social media and web publishing, which produced a "glorious higgledy-piggledy of chaotic, weird and transgressive hobbyist media." In contrast, AI-generated content is described as "instantly recognizable at a thousand yards, and it all looks the same, boring, and washed out." This critique of homogenization strikes a chord for anyone tired of the generic aesthetic dominating current digital landscapes.
The Future of the Shadowy Corners
Doctorow concludes by rejecting the idea that history is finished or that AI will inevitably centralize control. He notes that "long after the AI bubble pops, there will be local models and people vibe coding homemade software that respond directly to their needs." This resilience is rooted in the fact that personal projects are inherently unmonetizable, making them invisible to venture capital but vital for human agency.
He references his colleague Naomi Novik's project, Wreccer, which aims to create a relationship-driven alternative to massive algorithmic recommendation systems. Built with an "API first" ethos similar to early Twitter, it allows users to design their own interfaces. This stands in stark contrast to the current trend where companies release open-weight models only as "side-shows and toys," while pushing expensive "frontier models" that require running costs exceeding the GDP of most countries.
Critics might note that relying on local models and amateur coding ignores the sheer computational power required for complex tasks, potentially leaving users behind in an increasingly automated world. Yet, Doctorow's defense is that the goal isn't to replace professional infrastructure but to preserve a space for human idiosyncrasy that cannot be optimized away.
Giving people the tools to produce their own software is always going to make tools — vernacular, idiosyncratic, homespun — that are more suited to their own hands and minds than anything a technologist working on their behalf could make.
Bottom Line
Doctorow's strongest argument lies in his reclamation of "amateurism" not as a deficiency, but as the ultimate form of digital sovereignty. His biggest vulnerability is the assumption that individuals will have the time and energy to build their own tools amidst the pressure of modern work life. Ultimately, this piece serves as a vital reminder: if we let corporations define all our software, we lose the ability to solve problems that only we know exist.