People don't want a video editor. They want their video shared. Actually—they want more than that. They want connection, impact, community. The video editor is just the obstacle between them and those things.

AI is good at removing obstacles. It can edit your videos, generate your music, write your copy, design your graphics. If all you want is the output, that's a gift.

But extend that logic far enough and you hit the fear everyone's circling: if AI can do all the work, what's the point of working at all?

That question gets it backwards. It assumes work is something we endure to reach the output—an obstacle in itself. But we're not just creatures of comfort. We're creatures of craft. Working, real working, the kind you choose, is a core part of being human. The point isn't to eliminate all work. It's to eliminate the work you don't want to do.

the utilitarian and the artisan

Here's the framework I keep coming back to: for any given activity, you're either a utilitarian or an artisan.

The utilitarian wants the output. The artisan wants the process.

Take social media. Most people would love to have a presence—be seen, share their perspective, participate in a community. But the friction is enormous. Video editing, platform management, content strategy, learning new software. It's a herculean task.

If most people could hand off their photos and videos to someone who put together authentic content for them—maybe with some thoughts or quotes relevant to their industry—they'd happily do it. The problem has always been cost and coordination. Even with a team, you're managing that team, explaining your vision, and spending heavily. Do it yourself? Good luck juggling all the platforms.

AI changes that equation. And for most people—utilitarians—that's a gift. Given a product that generates authentic content for them, they'd gladly take it.

But then there's the artisan.

I once traveled with a social media influencer—four or five million followers—famous for her surrealist Photoshop integrations with the places she visited. Giant mushrooms, dreamy color palettes, everything orange. They were visually stunning, but beyond the art, she understood the craft: what angles work, what posts perform, when to ask someone to retake a photo. She started not because she wanted millions of followers, but because she loved doing it. The craft was the point.

nobody likes to practice

The CEO of Suno, the AI music generation platform, said in an interview that "nobody likes to practice; nobody likes making music."

As someone who went through a conservatory-level music program and has spent years deep in classical, jazz, and world music—I rolled my eyes. But I also kind of get where he's coming from.

If you're a marketer throwing together background music for an ad, AI-generated music is perfect. It's a utility. The cost of hiring musicians for something that disposable may not be worth it. And yes—that's disruptive to the creative economy. It displaces real workers. But when all someone needs is the output, they'll almost always choose the fast and cheap option.

That doesn't mean nobody wants to make music.

When I think about making music myself, the appeal of AI generation drops. I'm not a purist—I'd love to explore AI as a new creative frontier. But I am fundamentally a craftsman. I want creative direction. I want control. I want to make the thing.

the drummer's grip

For my first album, I wrote every single note. The only unscripted parts were the drummer's and some of the bassist's work. I'm proud of it as a snapshot of who I was, and maybe it was just an exploration of what I could do. But it was exhausting.

Now I think of it more like a drummer's grip. You want control, but you're not white-knuckling it. You know gravity will do some of the work for you. So you pick top-tier collaborators, give them a direction—chords, a feeling, an idea—and let them roam within it. Then you go in at the editing stage and make adjustments.

A lot more magic happens that way. Direction without dictation. That's the artisan's balance.

the needle in the haystack

People think AI is going to replace everything—that nobody's going to want to put work in, make music, make art, make videos. That's not quite the case. It's going to allow more people to enter the fray. And yes, that almost certainly creates a needle-in-the-haystack problem where everyone can generate something passable and it becomes harder for artisans to stand out. People will have AI-generated Spotify playlists that rival most musicians' work. There's something unsavory about that.

But the distinction still holds.

The artisan can use utilities to abstract away the parts they don't care about and become a better artisan because of it. You can still play your guitar. You don't need AI to play it for you. The joy is in playing it—for its own sake, for sharing yourself, for the devotion to practice itself.

Use AI for the things where you're a utilitarian. And for the things you love? Be the artisan.