David Monnerat

Product + AI | Systems Thinker | Enterprise Reality

Category: product

  • Show Me the Incentive

    Show Me the Incentive

    AI investment priorities reveal more about what we value than any mission statement. Here’s what the numbers are actually saying.

    I was sitting in the gym at my son’s school on career day, watching kids rotate through tables staffed by a dog groomer, a police detective, a state park maintenance worker, and me. My topic was AI.

    I’d played them a song my son made using AI tools. I’d watched their faces when the music came out of a prompt. I’d thought about what these tools could mean for kids like the ones in that room — kids with different abilities, different challenges, different relationships with the systems that were supposed to serve them. The technology felt genuinely hopeful in that moment.

    Then I drove home and opened my inbox.

    I work in AI. I’ve spent more than a decade in this space. I believe in what the technology can do — I’ve seen it do things that matter. But I also watch the money, and the money is telling a different story than the hope.

    In 2026, four hyperscalers committed to a combined $700 billion in capital expenditure, nearly double what they spent the year before. That same year, federal funding for health and science research took cuts that one analysis described as a screeching, and possibly irreversible, halt for many projects. The Gates Foundation, Novo Nordisk Foundation, and Wellcome jointly committed $60 million to evaluate AI health tools in low- and middle-income countries. Sixty million dollars. Against $700 billion.

    That ratio is not an accident. It’s an incentive structure.

    Charlie Munger said it plainly: “Show me the incentive, and I’ll show you the outcome.” The incentive right now is return. The outcome is what we’re seeing — infrastructure investment at a historic scale, enterprise deployments producing almost no measurable ROI, and the applications that could matter most to the most people starved of the capital that’s going elsewhere.

    The Market Is Working Fine

    That’s the uncomfortable part. This isn’t a story about a broken system. The market is functioning exactly as designed. Capital flows to the highest expected return. Consumer AI applications have enormous addressable markets. Infrastructure that powers those applications generates reliable revenue. Health AI for rare neurological conditions has a small addressable market and a long development timeline. The math isn’t hard.

    Upton Sinclair put the human version of it this way: “It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on his not understanding it.” The people making investment decisions aren’t ignoring the potential of medical AI out of malice. They’re ignoring it because the incentive structure doesn’t reward understanding it. Not yet. Maybe not until it’s too late to matter.

    My son has epilepsy. I think about what AI-driven research could mean for conditions like his — better seizure prediction, smarter medication titration, earlier intervention. I think about it the way any parent thinks about something that could help their kid. And I know better than to frame it as epilepsy versus cancer, because that’s a trap. The question isn’t which disease deserves the investment. The question is why we’ve built a system that forces us to choose between them at all, while $700 billion goes elsewhere.

    The answer is incentive. And right now, the incentive doesn’t point there.

    Progress and Profit Are Not the Same Thing

    Companies should make money. Profit funds research, attracts talent, builds the infrastructure that eventually enables the things that matter. The hyperscaler investments aren’t going nowhere — they’re building the compute layer that researchers will use for decades. AlphaFold happened because the underlying models and infrastructure existed. I know this. And the productivity gains from AI deployment are real. The capability improvements are real. Some of what’s being built right now will matter enormously.

    But profit and progress are not the same thing, and we keep talking as if they are. We tell the story of AI as the technology that will solve our biggest problems — climate, disease, inequality — while the actual investment pattern optimizes for something else. That gap between the story we tell and the system we’ve built is worth naming.

    The tendency to optimize for what’s measurable and near-term at the expense of what’s important and long-term is not something AI introduced. We’ve been here before. But the scale of this wave, its speed, and the environmental cost of the compute it requires compound the stakes in ways that previous cycles didn’t.

    The bubble will eventually correct. It always does. Ninety-five percent of enterprise AI pilots are producing no measurable return. The capital is burning, and the patience of the people funding it has a limit. When the correction comes, the investment will contract, the priorities will shift, and whatever window existed to point this technology at the hard problems will have narrowed.

    The people most likely to benefit from AI-driven medical research are not the people funding the infrastructure. The people absorbing the cost of the job displacement are not the people who will capture the upside when the next wave arrives. That asymmetry isn’t new. It’s the pattern every technology wave produces.

    What I Do Know

    The bubble will correct before the incentives do.

    That’s the pattern. And when it does, the window on the things that actually mattered will have narrowed — maybe irreversibly for some of them. Climate doesn’t wait for market corrections. Disease outbreaks don’t pause while capital regroups. Federal research budgets, once cut, don’t come back on the same timeline they left.

    The market won’t fix this on its own. It doesn’t have to — that’s not what markets are for. Regulation could change the incentives. Public funding could change them. Coordinated pressure from the organizations deploying AI could change them if those organizations decided that the story they’re telling about AI’s potential was one they wanted to be accountable for.

    None of that is happening at the speed the problem requires.

    Show me the incentive. The outcome is right there.

    What I’m Left With

    I drove home from career day thinking about those kids. About what the technology could mean for them if it pointed in their direction. About my son and what a different investment pattern might make possible for people like him.

    I still believe in the technology. I believe in what it can do when it’s pointed at the right problems. I’ve seen it.

    I just think we should be honest about where it’s pointed right now. And curious enough to ask whether that has to be true.

    Why are we doing it this way? Does it have to be this way? What would it look like to do it differently?

    Those aren’t rhetorical questions. They’re the ones worth sitting with.

  • The Lesson We Keep Not Learning

    The Lesson We Keep Not Learning

    Organizational learning is supposed to be how we get better over time. Here’s why we keep skipping it — and what AI reveals about that failure.

    I’ve been the person who knew better.

    Not once. More than once. You have data. You have a model. You have something that genuinely works, that you’ve tested, that you believe in. And you walk into a room with the business and you expect the quality of the thing to do the persuasion work. Because it’s good. Because you can see what it will do for them. Because if they just understood it the way you understand it, they’d want it too.

    It almost never works that way.

    The business isn’t wrong to resist. They have a roadmap. They have commitments. They have things they’re already behind on. You’re asking them to absorb something new, change how they work, take on risk, and trust that the upside you’re describing will actually materialize. The idea being good doesn’t answer any of those questions. It just asks them to take your word for it.

    I’ve watched this pattern play out more times than I can count — in myself, in colleagues, across organizations. Someone builds something they believe in, takes it to the business, gets a lukewarm response or an outright no, adjusts the what, and tries again. New idea, same method. The next version is better. The pitch is cleaner. The deck has more data. And it fails for the same reason the first one did, because the method didn’t change, only the artifact.

    The question that would have helped — and almost never gets asked — is this: based on what has and hasn’t worked before, what does successful adoption actually look like here, and what’s the path to get there?

    That’s not a question about the idea. It’s a question about the method. And it requires looking back at your own history before you move forward.

    We don’t do that. Not consistently. Not structurally. We survive the last failure, close the chapter, and start the next project with conviction instead of context.

    The Pageantry of the Post-Mortem

    When something goes badly enough that it demands acknowledgment, we have rituals for it. The retrospective. The lessons learned document. The post-mortem that produces action items nobody looks at again.

    I’ve sat in those rooms. There’s a specific energy to a post-mortem that’s being performed rather than practiced. Everyone agrees on what went wrong. The right language gets used. The document gets written. And then the next project starts and nobody opens it. Nobody asks: have we seen this before? Nobody maps the current situation against the last one.

    The lesson learned becomes a historical artifact rather than an operational input.

    I’ve watched senior leaders run the same failing initiative multiple times — different team, different framing, different artifact — because the diagnosis from the last attempt never got applied to the next one. The what kept changing. The how never did. The loop ran for years.

    Nobody was malicious. Nobody was incompetent. The lesson was available every time. It just never got encoded into anything that changed the next decision.

    What AI Does That We Don’t

    There’s a specific irony in this pattern emerging at the same moment that AI has become the dominant technology investment across industries.

    AI systems learn from the past. Not as a best practice or a cultural value, but as a structural requirement. A model that hasn’t been trained on historical data isn’t a model. The learning is automatic, systematic, and non-optional. Every inference is shaped by everything that came before it.

    More precisely: AI doesn’t just learn what happened. It learns the conditions under which things happened. A recommendation model doesn’t encode that users liked item X. It encodes that users liked item X when they arrived from a certain channel, at a certain point in their journey, after certain prior interactions. The context is part of the pattern. The how is part of what gets learned.

    We tend to only learn from the what.

    The product team changes the idea but not the method. The senior leader changes the team but not the diagnosis. The organization runs the post-mortem but doesn’t connect it to the next decision. We update the what and treat the how as a fresh problem every time.

    And then we deploy AI — a technology whose entire value proposition is systematic learning from history — without applying that same discipline to the organizational decisions about how to deploy it.

    We ask the model to learn from the past. We don’t ask ourselves the same thing.

    The Question Nobody Asks

    Before AI it was a compelling cloud architecture. Before that a web framework that would change everything. The pattern doesn’t belong to any particular technology. Conviction about the what has always had a way of short-circuiting the discipline of asking about the how.

    The question that would break the pattern isn’t complicated. It’s just uncomfortable.

    What has and hasn’t worked before, in this organization, with this kind of change? Not in general. Not at other companies. Here. With these people. Under these conditions. What did we try? What did we learn? What were the conditions when it worked, and what were the conditions when it didn’t?

    And then: given all of that, what’s the approach that gives this the best chance of actually landing?

    Before the next project kicks off, before the roadmap gets locked, before the pitch deck goes to leadership — pull up the last one. Not to relitigate it. To learn from it. Ask: did we change the how, or just the what?

    If the honest answer is just the what, you already know how this one ends.

  • The Question Is the Creativity

    The Question Is the Creativity

    The conversation around AI tends to focus on outputs. This post is about something upstream from that.

    I was in a room with a small group of engineers and product people. We had a standing rule for these sessions: no constraints. Not on money, not on time, not on what the law currently allowed. Laws change, and if we only invented inside existing rules we’d never get ahead of them. The goal was to ask questions nobody had thought to ask yet.

    One of those sessions started with a conversation between me and a colleague. His father had Parkinson’s. My son had ataxia, a neurological condition affecting coordination and balance that causes involuntary movement. We were talking about tremors, how they made it hard for devices to understand intentional gestures, how the technology kept misreading the signal. Somewhere in that conversation someone said: what if we thought about this the way noise-cancelling headphones work? Not filtering out the gesture, but filtering out the tremor. Separating the signal from the noise at the body level.

    That question became a patent.

    The patent room is an extreme version of something that happens every day in less formal settings. The standard for a patent is legal novelty, something that hasn’t existed before in that form. But the same upstream act, two experiences colliding into a question worth asking, happens whenever someone brings their specific life to a problem and asks it differently than anyone else would have. The question doesn’t have to be patentable to matter. It just has to come from somewhere a model can’t go.

    I’ve thought about that moment a lot since AI became the dominant conversation in technology. Because that question could not have come from a model. Not because the model isn’t capable of sophisticated reasoning. It is. But because the question didn’t come from reasoning. It came from two people’s lives colliding in an unconstrained space.

    That’s where creativity actually lives. Not in the execution. In the question.

    What the Room Was Actually Doing

    Those sessions had a specific energy. You removed the practical objections that normally narrow thinking before it has a chance to go anywhere interesting. No one said “that’s too expensive” or “we can’t do that yet.” You created space for people to bring their actual experience, not their professional expertise, but their lives. Their parents. Their kids. Their frustrations. Their observations from places that had nothing to do with the problem on the table.

    And then you let those things collide.

    We did a session focused on aging in place, how to help elderly people live independently longer, especially when their families were far away. Every person in that room had a version of that worry. A parent in another state. A grandparent who had fallen. The anxiety of not knowing. The ideas that came out of that session didn’t come from market research or competitive analysis. They came from people who were living the problem and had been given permission to imagine solutions without limits.

    That combination of unconstrained thinking plus personal stakes is what produces the questions worth asking. Remove the constraints and you get speculation. Add the personal stakes and you get invention.

    The cochlear implant came from a researcher whose child was deaf. He wasn’t analyzing the hearing aid market. He was watching his daughter navigate a world that hadn’t been designed for her and asking whether it had to be that way. The sticky note came from a choir singer who had been frustrated by a bookmark falling out of his hymnal for years before he connected that frustration to an adhesive a colleague had invented that nobody wanted. Neither of those connections was the product of a logical process. They were the product of a life that had been paying attention to a problem long enough to recognize an answer when it appeared from an unexpected direction.

    Personal stakes aren’t the only path to the right question. Plenty of inventors have no direct connection to the problem they’re solving. But stakes create a kind of attention that’s hard to replicate any other way. You notice differently when you care.

    The question came first. The execution came after.

    What AI Actually Does

    AI is extraordinarily good at execution. Given a well-formed question, it can explore the solution space faster and more thoroughly than any human team. It can find patterns across domains that no individual would have the bandwidth to survey. It can synthesize, generate, iterate, and refine at a scale that would have seemed impossible five years ago.

    I use it this way every day. And the back-and-forth of working with a model, the “that’s close but not quite it,” the steering toward something you can sense but not yet fully articulate, has its own creative quality. It reminds me of those patent sessions. The iterative energy of a room where ideas are being shaped in real time, where one person’s response moves another person’s thinking, where the answer emerges through the conversation rather than arriving fully formed.

    But there’s a difference. In that room, every person brought something the others didn’t have. Their specific experience, their specific frustration, their specific version of the problem. The model brings what it was trained on. Which is vast, more than any person in any room could hold, but it is still bounded by what humans have already thought, written, and recorded. It can recombine brilliantly. It cannot bring something from outside its training the way a person brings something from outside their expertise.

    The Constraint That Isn’t a Constraint

    We told those rooms: imagine no constraints. And it worked, because removing the practical filters let thinking go somewhere it couldn’t go otherwise.

    But you could give an AI the same instruction. “Imagine no constraints on money, time, or law. Solve this problem.” And it would produce output. Sophisticated output. Options and combinations and lateral connections across domains it has been trained on. It might even produce something that looks creative.

    What it can’t do is bring something from outside its training into that unconstrained space. The model has no constraints to remove because it has no constraints in the first place, and also no life experience pressing against those constraints, no accumulated frustration waiting for permission to become a question. The removal of constraints only matters if something was being constrained. In a human, what gets constrained is everything they’ve lived and observed and felt and noticed. Remove the filter and that floods in.

    The model has no equivalent. It can go wide within what it knows. It cannot go to the place where my colleague’s father’s tremor and my son’s tremor became the same problem.

    The Most Important Skill

    There’s a version of the AI conversation that focuses on prompting. How to write better prompts. How to get better output. How to work with the tools more effectively. That’s useful, and I’m not dismissing it.

    But I think it understates where the leverage actually is.

    The prompt is downstream of the question. And the question is downstream of the specific collision: your son’s tremor meeting your colleague’s father’s tremor, a choir singer’s bookmark meeting a chemist’s unwanted adhesive, a researcher’s deaf daughter meeting a question about whether the world had to be that way. That’s not experience in the abstract. It’s experience that has been building pressure against a specific problem long enough to recognize an answer when it comes from an unexpected direction.

    That capacity lives in you, not in the tools.

    What the Model Will Never Have

    The model has no son with ataxia. It has no colleague’s father with Parkinson’s. It has no parent far away whose silence worries it. It has no memory of a room where someone said “what if we” and everything shifted. It has no frustration that has been accumulating for years, waiting for the right collision.

    It has no stakes. It notices nothing differently because it cares about nothing. It brings no life to the question because it has no life to bring.

    Those aren’t limitations that will be engineered away. They’re not gaps in the training data or constraints on the context window. They’re the definition of what the tool is.

    And they’re the definition of what you are.

    The question comes from you. The creativity is yours. The execution, extraordinary, useful, genuinely remarkable, is something you can share.

    Don’t confuse the two.

  • The Same Rocket, A Different Ship

    The Same Rocket, A Different Ship

    AI investment is accelerating faster than any technology wave before it. The pattern underneath it is older than most of us realize.

    There is something deeply human about looking up.

    We’ve always done it. We looked at the stars and decided we belonged there. We looked at the horizon and built ships to cross it. We looked at problems that seemed impossible and found ways to make them less so. That instinct, the refusal to accept limits as permanent, is responsible for most of what we’ve built.

    It’s also responsible for a pattern that keeps repeating. And we never seem to learn it.

    Every generation gets a technology that feels like the one. The thing that will finally close the gap between what we can do and what we’ve always wanted to do. Computers. Then software. Then the internet. Then big data. Each one arrived with genuine capability and genuine promise. Each one attracted enormous investment. Each one produced real gains, new industries, new efficiencies, new possibilities that didn’t exist before. And each one, eventually, ran into the distance between what the demo promised and what the real world required.

    That gap never closed the way we expected. So we did what we always do.

    We threw more fuel at it.

    (more…)
  • The Leveler: The Use Cases Nobody Planned For

    The Leveler: The Use Cases Nobody Planned For

    I sat at a table in the gym at my son’s school. Around the room there was a dog groomer, a police detective, someone from the state park maintenance crew, and an archaeologist. We were there for career day. My topic was AI.

    When each group of kids came over, I played them a song. I told them my son made it. He had the idea, shaped the lyrics, and used AI tools to bring it to life. It’s on Spotify and Apple Music. The instruments, the vocals, the production were all generated by AI. But the idea, the story, the words were his.

    Some of the middle school kids had already used ChatGPT. A few had used it for homework. One wanted a training plan for a video game he was trying to get better at. One girl said she used it as someone to talk to.

    That last one stopped me. The adults in the room were thinking about AI in terms of what it might take from these kids. That girl was using it for something none of the adults had thought to offer her.

    (more…)
  • Defining Success Criteria: Do You Know Where You Are Going?

    Defining Success Criteria: Do You Know Where You Are Going?

    It was the tenth call.

    I had been on the first one. A customer data project, matching records across systems to connect outcomes to the right source. It seemed straightforward enough that I handed it off and moved on. What followed was eight more calls between my team and the customer, each one ending with a tweak to the logic, each tweak fixing something and revealing something else.

    The problem wasn’t the code. It wasn’t the team. It was that nobody had defined success criteria before the work started. Nobody had asked: what does done actually look like?

    By the time my team pulled me back in, it was already swirling. The customer’s manager had joined too. I suspect that because the issue still wasn’t resolved, he felt the need to get involved. We had a piece of logic built by people who were no longer on the team, results that were almost always right, and a team that had been grinding on this for weeks.

    I asked a simple question: What do you actually want?

    That was it. Every previous conversation had been about what the code wasn’t doing right, assuming the approach was sound and just needed adjustment. Nobody had stopped to ask whether the approach itself was the right one. The answer to that simpler question was: when this happens, here is what we expect to see. And the solution that followed was far simpler than what we had been building toward. A defined set of conditions, clearly mapped to outcomes. The complexity we had been wrestling with wasn’t a feature of the problem. It was a feature of never having properly defined the problem.

    We left that meeting with a clear destination. We should have had that conversation on call one.

    (more…)
  • Enterprise AI Implementation: You Were Promised Everything. Here’s What It Took.

    Enterprise AI Implementation: You Were Promised Everything. Here’s What It Took.

    It was, by all appearances, a standard enterprise AI implementation.

    The summaries looked clean.

    At the top of the screen was a concise paragraph capturing a customer interaction: what was requested, what was explained, and what follow-up was required. Action items were listed neatly below. It was the kind of output you could screenshot for a slide deck. Efficient. Polished. Convincing.

    The premise was simple. If employees spent less time documenting interactions, they could spend more time serving customers. Efficiency would increase. Costs would decrease. The model worked in the demo. It summarized transcripts fluently and quickly. The business case felt straightforward.

    It moved forward.

    The strain didn’t appear in the demo. It appeared in real use.

    (more…)
  • Chasing Fool’s Gold

    Chasing Fool’s Gold

    It’s November 2025, nearly three years after ChatGPT became publicly available.1 Three years of hype, three years after the record-breaking user growth2, three years of promises that AI would transform everything, and three years of that transformation always being just around the corner. 

    I’m generally pro-LLM. At my last two companies, I ran user groups to bring people together — technical and non-technical — to educate, connect, and evangelize around the responsible use of AI. I’ve led product teams building models to improve customer experience and home security, seeing measurable impact on satisfaction and adoption.

    Often, these successes came despite headwinds: misunderstanding, fear, and leadership unfamiliarity with AI. We had to educate executives on what AI was, what it wasn’t, and where it could help. We pushed to let data scientists do the data science, rather than forcing them into traditional software development models.

    The Gold Rush Hits

    Then ChatGPT arrived, and it felt like everything we’d built — metrics, prioritization, careful problem selection — could suddenly be replaced by simply ‘throwing an LLM at it.’ Promises flew: search is dead, coding is dead, thinking is dead. AGI is just around the corner.

    Businesses rushed to stake their claims, building wrappers around LLMs. One API call to solve everything. CoPilots for every task. Flashy demos everywhere. Executives saw dollar signs from revenue gains and headcount reductions.

    Projects worldwide were paused, shelved, or converted into LLM initiatives. Funding poured in, often for initiatives that hadn’t even existed weeks earlier. The goal shifted: from solving important business problems to showcasing generative AI quickly.

    The Barons and the Tools

    The “barons” who built the models and hardware were rewarded with massive investments, copyright protection, and enormous data access. Vendors selling platforms and tools gained huge funding and an endless supply of prospectors eager to mine their land.

    And like every gold rush, there were always “better” tools on the horizon. A new API promising 10x productivity. A new model promising “real” multimodality. A new agent framework that would “finally” automate everything. The land just over the ridge was always more fertile than the land you were currently standing on. And teams spent real money and real time chasing it — sure, this time the promise would finally pay.

    The promise of “grab a shovel and get your gold” was marketing, not reality. Easy-to-get gold runs out; mining becomes technical, requiring skill and know-how. The dream of instant wealth fades. Too often, it’s fool’s gold — investments in tools and access are never recouped.

    Reality Hits

    Suddenly, hallucinations become a board-level word. Reliability matters. “Just call the LLM” is no longer enough.

    Hallucinations, integration friction, and workflow complexity appear. Legal briefs with fabricated citations, inconsistent customer support responses, and hallucinated business documents turn reliability into a top concern. A model that works in a demo may fail in production, exposing operational, financial, and reputational risks.

    The illusion of ease, the desire for speed, and the dream of instant ROI never materialized. Rapidly built demos often worked only on the surface. Quick prototypes, bolt-on integrations, and low-discipline AI-generated code created massive technical debt3 — problems no LLM could solve alone. Many early adopters found fast paths to value required extensive rework, refactoring, and governance. Projects stalled or never reached production.

    These failures weren’t a surprise — they echoed the same issues we’d faced when hype outran preparation.

    Mining Real Value

    Three years in, many companies still haven’t figured it out. They’re digging for gold, chasing demos, hoping for a lucky strike. A few got lucky and saw big value — but most only saw modest gains, if any. Articles and studies show the promised ROI often didn’t materialize. The dream of instant impact remains elusive.

    In that scramble, businesses and their customers often suffer. The barons still own the land, controlling the most valuable resources. Vendors who sold the tools have already moved on to the next rush. The cycle repeats.

    The hope is that we finally learn the lesson: generative AI doesn’t deliver value through hype, demos, or shortcuts. True success comes from patience, discipline, and relentless focus on real value — careful engineering, thoughtful product design, high-quality data, and robust workflows. These principles aren’t just for today’s LLM hype; they matter for whatever technology or “next rush” comes next. 

    Shiny demos grab attention, but only foundational work separates the companies that thrive from those still chasing fool’s gold.

    1. https://openai.com/index/chatgpt/ ↩︎
    2. https://www.reuters.com/technology/chatgpt-sets-record-fastest-growing-user-base-analyst-note-2023-02-01/ ↩︎
    3. https://www.techradar.com/pro/from-vibe-to-viable-the-hidden-cost-of-ai-tech-debt ↩︎

  • The Illusion of Intelligence: How We’re Still Missing the Promise of AI

    The Illusion of Intelligence: How We’re Still Missing the Promise of AI

    When I started my first role as a product manager, my portfolio included solutions built with AI. I leveraged my product experience and joined forces with a team of data scientists as we sought to tackle complex problems with data.

    It was a great time to be in the space. Everyone wanted to work with AI, and the promise of an AI-driven future was highlighted at every quarterly meeting and town hall. There were piles of data and just enough maturity in the tools and teams to start developing and deploying powerful algorithms at scale.

    But progress was much slower than most people anticipated.

    We stood in front of the piles of data without a shovel, unable to make efficient use of the resource because it was in the wrong format or inside an inaccessible system. Sometimes, we’d discover too late that our intuition about the relevance of the data in a particular pile was wrong, and the data wasn’t useful to solve a particular problem.

    To overcome those challenges, we’d start by looking for more data by checking other piles or generating additional data by adding telemetry to our systems to close the gaps in coverage.

    If we couldn’t assemble what we needed to solve that particular problem, we’d try to reshape the problem, or we’d move on to the next problem to solve. But if we happened to find what we needed, we ran into our next hurdle: armchair data scientists—people who watched a demo, skimmed an article, and came away convinced they knew how to build the model better than the experts trained to do it.

    When I said that everyone wanted to work with AI, I meant everyone. In some cases, developers would head to Coursera to learn about AI and how to create algorithms. Others went back to school to get an advanced degree in machine learning or statistics. As a proponent of continuing education, I applauded these efforts to level up their knowledge and skills, and, for the most part, these individuals became curious allies, trying to learn about the process from the inside.

    But the armchair data scientists, often in leadership or decision-making positions, were more disruptive. They would watch a video or read an article, then send it to the team with a brief note, stating only, “We should do this.” There would be no context, no knowledge of how the technology worked, or if what they found addressed a problem or challenge we were facing.

    For the most part, we could deflect these suggestions through thoughtful responses, explaining that we were already doing what they suggested, or why it wasn’t relevant to the actual problem we were solving.

    The more draining interactions were from leaders who wanted to prescribe how a model should be built, sometimes implicitly but often explicitly. They wanted the algorithm to reflect a vision of what they felt a system should do based on their intuition, even if their vision wasn’t technically possible—or even relevant—to the problem at hand. They would prescribe what data should be used, what data should be excluded, or how a model should be trained.

    They tried to influence how predictions were interpreted. They challenged results that didn’t feel intuitive, even when the outcomes were reproducible, measurable, and backed by data. This sometimes created another round of training a separate model driven by feelings, followed by a side-by-side comparison that consistently showed the data science approach performed better than one based on intuition and feelings.

    I’ve sat with some of those same executives to review the results of a model, only to be met with their disappointment, especially when they felt there should be a logical, straightforward solution to a problem that was so complex that it couldn’t be solved or even attempted without AI.

    They would question why the predictions weren’t 100% accurate. Even when I pointed out that we were predicting the future from past data, and even if the model was right 60% of the time, and the previous human-driven process was right only 10% of the time, their questions focused only on achieving the impossible 100%. They’d leave value on the table chasing perfection when they could improve a process now and hope to improve it over time. Or they’d go off on tangents and hyperfocus on edge cases for which there was no solution and often no data to even attempt to use to train an algorithm.

    If the performance was impressive, they’d attempt to move the targets by setting an arbitrarily higher bar, or they’d switch from the measurable metric to a different metric or an abstraction like “trust” without providing direction on what that meant or how to measure it. Trust in what? Accuracy? Fairness? Transparency? Nobody could say. When asked for clarification, the response was the classic Justice Potter Stewart response, “I know it when I see it.”

    In the end, it always seemed like AI was a disappointment. Unless it could solve 100% of a problem 100% of the time, no matter how complex or how poorly humans performed before, leaders would keep chasing a unicorn, while ignoring the perfectly capable, faster horse already in the stable.

    Over and over, the pattern was the same: impossible expectations, misunderstanding of the tools, and a tendency to chase magical thinking over measurable progress.

    Here We Go Again

    Fast forward a few years, and we’re back at it. Only this time, the technology looks smarter. LLMs have reignited AI’s promise with a seductive twist: they speak fluently. They write. They reason. They respond. And for many, that’s been enough to assume that LLMs also understand.

    But just like before, we’ve let the illusion get ahead of the reality.

    While LLMs make it easier than ever to demo something impressive, they haven’t made it easier to deliver something useful. Underneath the conversational surface, the same problems persist: inaccessible data, unclear problems, and unrealistic expectations. In fact, the expectations are even worse now, because the technology feels like it’s already “there.”

    I’ve seen teams leap into building generative AI “solutions” without a clear understanding of what problems they’re solving. I’ve seen leadership get swept up in generative demos and approve massive budgets to chase abstract goals like “productivity” or “creativity” without metrics, definitions, or infrastructure.

    The same pattern is playing out again. Impossible expectations, except this time they’re even higher. A misunderstanding of the tools, especially when it comes to differentiating the hype from the reality. And the same magical thinking chasing a hypothetical problem rather than focusing on a real problem with measurable outcomes.

    Two years in, we’re starting to see the same disappointment creep in again, too. The unrealized expectations, longer timelines, and lack of returns on the investments.

    What Useful AI Actually Looks Like

    Useful AI doesn’t always look like magic. In fact, the most valuable AI systems I’ve seen rarely impress anyone in a demo. They don’t write poetry, simulate conversation, or generate pitch decks with a prompt. They just quietly make things better—faster, cheaper, more consistent, more scalable.

    They are, by most standards, boring.

    A model that flags billing anomalies in a healthcare system might save millions. A classifier that routes customer service tickets to the right team might shave minutes off every support interaction. An optimization algorithm that suggests more efficient delivery routes could reduce fuel costs, improve ETAs, and shrink carbon footprints. None of these use generative AI. None of them are headline-worthy. But all of them create real value.

    And unlike a chatbot that sometimes gives the wrong answer with great confidence, these systems are narrow by design. Purpose-built. Measured. Tightly integrated into workflows and optimized over time. They don’t need to sound human. They just need to work.

    We often overlook this kind of AI because it’s not exciting to watch. It doesn’t feel like the future. But that’s exactly the point: the best AI doesn’t draw attention to itself. It dissolves into the process, making things work better than they did before.

    The Opportunity Cost of the Hype

    The hype around LLMs has sparked a renewed interest in AI, but it’s also warped our sense of what progress looks like. Instead of focusing on impact, we’ve become obsessed with spectacle.

    Executives see a demo of a chatbot that answers questions with a human-like cadence and see the realization of the vision that they’ve had for AI all along. Suddenly, every team is greenlit to build a “copilot.”

    LLMs make it easy to show something impressive. A few prompts, a fancy UI, and you’ve got a prototype that feels like innovation. But most of these tools don’t stand up to basic scrutiny. They hallucinate. They break when connected to real systems. They introduce ambiguity into workflows that once relied on clarity. They create new risks—ethical, operational, and technical—that teams are often unprepared to manage.

    We’re pouring talent, time, and money into building AI wrappers around problems we haven’t defined. Meanwhile, the infrastructure work that would actually make AI useful—cleaning data, improving feedback loops, building explainable systems—is neglected.

    This is the code of chasing the hype. Years of expensive effort with little or no realization of value, certainly to the scale that was promised. Real problems that didn’t require generative AI but could have been solved and added real value were ignored or neglected. Two years in, it turns out we’ve been sprinting on a treadmill. We’ve spent the energy, but we’re still in the same place.

    To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with experimentation. But exploration without a clear problem or success metric isn’t innovation—it’s expensive theater. It gives the illusion of progress while distracting from work that actually moves the needle.

    And we should know the difference because we’ve been here before. We let unrealistic expectations undermine the progress of last-generation AI. Now, we’re doing it faster. We’re skipping the discipline that made the old models work and replacing it with a dopamine hit from a prompt that feels smart.

    A Better Mindset: Value Over Novelty

    If the last two waves of AI taught us anything, it’s this: the technology is only as good as the problems we point it at and the people we trust to solve them.

    Too often, we let novelty set the direction. We ask, “What can we build with this?” instead of “What’s worth solving?” But even when we pick the right problems, we don’t always empower the right people to do the work.

    Instead, we’re seeing a return of the same behavior that stalled progress last time: leaders prescribing not just what to solve, but how to solve it. Dictating which data to use. Demanding specific architectures. Redefining outcomes midstream based on intuition instead of evidence. In some cases, they’re building solutions backwards from a flashy demo instead of forward from a real need.

    This isn’t strategy—it’s armchair data science all over again.

    And it’s especially risky now, because LLMs make it even easier to look smart without being right. It’s one thing to brainstorm ideas. It’s another to second-guess trained experts who understand the constraints, trade-offs, and mechanics of building something that works.

    A better mindset means more than just optimizing for usefulness. It means creating space for people with real expertise—data scientists, engineers, researchers, designers—to lead the “how.”

    It means:

    • Letting evidence drive decisions, not gut instinct or LinkedIn hype.
    • Empowering teams to solve, not just execute.
    • Recognizing that success isn’t always intuitive—and being okay with that.

    Adopting this mindset doesn’t mean ignoring new tech. It means respecting the disciplines that make that tech useful. It means pairing vision with humility, ambition with trust.

    Because there’s nothing wrong with being impressed by what’s possible.

    But if we’re serious about delivering real value with AI, we have to get out of our own way—and let the experts do their jobs.

  • The Dulling of Innovation

    The Dulling of Innovation

    For a few years, I was on a patent team. Our job was to drive innovation and empower employees to come up with new ideas and shepherd them through the process to see if we could turn those ideas into patents.

    I loved that job for many reasons. It leveraged an innovation framework I had already started with a few colleagues—work that earned us a handful of patents. It fed my curiosity, love for technology, and joy of being surrounded by smart people. Most of all, I loved watching someone light up as they became an inventor.

    I worked with an engineer who had an idea based on his deep knowledge of a specific system. Together, we expanded on that idea and turned it into an innovative solution to a broader problem. The look on his face when his idea was approved for patent filing was one of the greatest moments of my career. For years after, he would stop me in the hallway just to say hello and introduce me as the person who helped him get a patent.

    Much of the success I saw on that team came from people who deeply understood a problem, were curious to ask why, and believed there had to be a better way. That success was amplified when more than one inventor was involved, when overlapping experiences and diverse perspectives combined into something truly original.

    When I moved into product management, the same patterns held true. The most successful ideas still came from a clear understanding of the problem, deep knowledge of the system, and the willingness to explore different perspectives.

    Innovation used to be a web. It was messy, organic, and interconnected. The spark came from deep context and unexpected collisions.

    But that process is starting to change.

    Same High, Lower Ceiling

    In this new age of large language models (LLMs), companies are looking for shortcuts for growth and innovation and see LLMs as the cheat code.

    Teams are tasked with mining customer comments to synthesize feedback and generate feature ideas and roadmaps. If the ideas seem reasonable, they are executed without further analysis. Speed is the goal. Output is the metric.

    Regardless of size or maturity, every company can access the tools and capabilities once reserved for tech giants. Generative AI lowers the barrier to entry. It also levels the playing field, democratizing innovation.

    But what if it also levels the results?

    When everyone uses the same models, is trained on the same data, and is prompted in similar ways, the ideas start to converge. It’s innovation by template. You might move faster, but so is everyone else, and in the same direction.

    Even when applied to your unique domain, the outputs often look the same. Which means the ideas are starting to look the same, too.

    AI lifts companies that lacked innovation muscle, but in doing so, it risks pulling down those that had built it. The average improves, but the outliers vanish. The floor rises, but the ceiling falls.

    We’re still getting the high. But it doesn’t feel like it used to.

    The Dopamine of Speed

    The danger is that we’re not going to see it happening. Worse, we’re blindly moving forward without considering the long-term implications. We’re so fixated on speed that it’s easy to convince ourselves that we’re moving fast and innovating.

    We confuse motion for momentum, and output for originality. The teams and companies that move the fastest will be rewarded. Natural selection will leave the slower ones behind. Speed will be the new sign of innovation. But just because something ships fast doesn’t mean it moves us forward.

    The dopamine hit that comes from release after release is addictive, and we’ll need more and more to feel the same level of speed and growth. We’ll rely increasingly on these tools to get our fix until it stops working altogether. Meanwhile, the incremental reliance on these tools dulls effectiveness and erodes impact, and our ability to be creative and innovate will atrophy.

    By the time we realize the quality of our ideas has flattened, we’ll be too dependent on the process to do anything differently.

    The Dealers Own the Supply

    And those algorithms? They’re owned by a handful of companies. These companies decide how the models behave, what data they’re trained on, and what comes out of them.

    They also own the data. And it’s only a matter of time before they start mining it for intellectual property—filing patents faster than anyone else can, or arguing that anything derived from their models is theirs by default.

    Beyond intellectual property and market control, this concentration of power raises more profound ethical and societal questions. When innovation is funneled through a few gatekeepers, it risks reinforcing existing inequalities and biases embedded in the training data and business models. The diversity of ideas and creators narrows, and communities without direct access to these technologies may be left behind, exacerbating the digital divide and limiting who benefits from AI-driven innovation.

    The more we rely on these models, the more we feed them. Every prompt, interaction, and insight becomes part of a flywheel that strengthens the model and the company behind it, making it more powerful. It’s a feedback loop: we give them our best thinking, and they return a usable version to everyone else.

    LLMs don’t think from first principles—they remix from secondhand insight. And when we stop thinking from scratch, we start building from scraps.

    Because the answers sound confident, they feel finished. That confidence masks conformity, and we mistake it for consensus.

    Innovation becomes a productized service. Creative edge gets compressed into a monthly subscription. What once gave your company a competitive advantage is now available to anyone who can write a halfway decent prompt.

    Make no mistake, these aren’t neutral platforms. They shape how we think, guide what we explore, and, as they become more embedded in our workflows, influence decisions, strategies, and even what we consider possible.

    We used to control the process. Now we’re just users. The same companies selling us the shortcut are quietly collecting the toll.

    When the supply is centralized, so is the power. And if we keep chasing the high, we’ll find ourselves dependent on a dealer who decides what we get and when we get it.

    Rewiring for Real Innovation

    This isn’t a call to reject the tools. Generative AI isn’t going away, and used well, it can make us faster, better, and more creative. But the key is how we use it—and what we choose to preserve along the way.

    Here’s where we start:

    1. Protect the Messy Middle

    Innovation doesn’t happen at the point of output. It happens in the friction. The spark lives in debate, dead ends, and rabbit holes. We must protect the messy, nonlinear process that makes true insight possible.

    Use AI to accelerate parts of the journey, not to skip it entirely.

    2. Think from First Principles

    Don’t just prompt. Reframe. Instead of asking, “What’s the answer?” ask, “What’s the real question?” LLMs are great at synthesis, but breakthroughs come from original framing.

    Start with what you know. Ask “why” more than “how.” And resist the urge to outsource the thinking.

    3. Don’t Confuse Confidence for Quality

    A confident response isn’t necessarily a correct one. Learn to interrogate the output. Ask where it came from, what it’s assuming, and what it might be missing.

    Treat every generated answer like a draft, not a destination.

    4. Diversify Your Inputs

    The model’s perspective is based on what it’s been trained on, which is mostly what’s already popular, published, and safe. If you want a fresh idea, don’t ask the same question everyone else is asking in the same way.

    Talk to people. Explore unlikely connections. Bring in perspectives that aren’t in the data.

    5. Make Thinking Visible

    The danger of speed is that it hides process. Write out your assumptions. Diagram your logic. Invite others into the middle of your thinking instead of just sharing polished outputs.

    We need to normalize visible, imperfect thought again. That’s where the new stuff lives.

    6. Incentivize Depth

    If we reward speed, we get speed. If we reward outputs, we get more of them. But if we want real innovation, we need to measure the stuff that doesn’t show up in dashboards: insight, originality, and depth of understanding.

    Push your teams to spend time with the problem, not just the solution.

    Staying Sharp

    We didn’t set out to flatten innovation. We set out to go faster, to do more, to meet the moment. But in chasing speed and scale, we risk trading depth for derivatives, and originality for automation.

    Large language models can be incredible tools. They can accelerate discovery, surface connections, and amplify creative potential. But only if we treat them as collaborators, not crutches.

    The danger isn’t in using these models. The danger is in forgetting how to think without them.

    We have to resist the pull toward sameness. We have to do the slower, messier work of understanding real problems, cultivating creative tension, and building teams that collide in productive ways. We have to reward originality over velocity, and insight over output.

    Otherwise, the future of innovation won’t be bold or brilliant.

    It’ll just be fast.

    And dull.