In either case, taste being all that's left doesn't really help at all since whatever FAANG or top startups do is by definition good taste. Same for fashion, art and so on with the top being suitably defined. Slim fit was all the rage until all the uncool people got in and that's what ended the trend and not any friction or utility.
“For taste governs every free — as opposed to rote — human response. Nothing is more decisive. There is taste in people, visual taste, taste in emotion — and there is taste in acts, taste in morality. Intelligence, as well, is really a kind of taste: taste in ideas. (One of the facts to be reckoned with is that taste tends to develop very unevenly. It's rare that the same person has good visual taste and good taste in people and taste in ideas.)
Taste has no system and no proofs. But there is something like a logic of taste: the consistent sensibility which underlies and gives rise to a certain taste. A sensibility is almost, but not quite, ineffable. Any sensibility which can be crammed into the mold of a system, or handled with the rough tools of proof, is no longer a sensibility at all. It has hardened into an idea..."
But the advent of design systems and software like Sketch and Figma pretty much automated the job away. You didn’t need the raw Photoshop skills anymore - any CMU grad could be a top tier designer now.
I see the same thing basically happening here. Taste will matter for a while but eventually people are just choosing the most accepted/expected optimal choices and anything that falls outside the trend will be “not good” in the same way skeuomorphism in design is no longer good.
So we’re lucky we’re in a taste era - it’s a lot of fun. You (yes you!) can still change it, shape it, establish the status quo of tomorrow
Every AI-frustrated (but LLM-written, sigh) blog post about the loss of taste and craft and hard work in development sounds like we've given up the interaction with the machine. Like human work is sitting back in your chair and shitting on stuff.
That's obviously not true! That's not how any of this works!
It's hard and weird to develop with the LLMs because they just do stuff. Lots of it is good, some of it is OK, some of it's horrible. Unpacking what it's done is hard and weird because software isn't just lovely UX, it's also data structures that scale and performance and privacy and enterprise controls and SOC 2 and onboarding and accessibility.
If you want to build real software, all that stuff has to get done. Today you're working on the feature, tomorrow you're making it scale. It's long-term and iterative and complex and hard to pack into a prompt or a markdown spec.
The work is the work, done at and with the computer, and it's way more than just "taste."
Given the recent "moving to a farm" ... 7 days later ... "leaving the farm" posts, it's hard not to read this as someone clearly struggling with the burnout which is all too common in our industry, and resultingly giving in to the false promise of a machine that can just handle the thinking for you.
Then we'll need to accept that coding is better when it's done by computers, and we'll start telling everyone it's actually the prompts and context that steered the machine that really matter.
There will be no mass job layoffs for antying but relatively automatable stuff.
We still have a metric for good taste, and it is $. Solve a problem that people care about? They give you $. Solve problem no one care about? No $.
It is not perfect, but I challenge you to find a better metric that is as effective and simple.
This article is unfortunately full of vague slop like this. It seems the author doesn’t trust their own taste.
I also completely disagree with the premise though - so many seem desperate to discuss the implications of a singularity which shows no sign of arriving.
LLMs have ingested the entire internet and are able to generate plausible and mostly accurate text on demand.
What is missing from thee output of LLMs: intelligence, agency, motivation, morality, discrimination and yes, taste.
Reading text, it can either grab me or it doesn't. I've asked about that to an AI and there's some reason for that. Some text is more compatible with me, due to the rhythm or combination of chars/words used, how they actually look/feel, it's not just about the content. So I'm assuming some writers are going to be more compatible with me while others will make me dismiss them quickly or just skim.
I like to think I have the correct objective taste in music, but everybody thinks that about themselves.
And honestly: I've been tired of an age of engineers that are beat down, that only want simple, that finding the most blunt approach is the only way. It has felt tasteless. Anti-ambitious. It often is still very sensible and practical and what you should shoot for! But there are also people wandering around now trying much harder! And I am excited for those frontiers! I think it will challenge and shake the foundations that we've accepted as true, as There Is No Alternative, in exciting bold and fun ways.
I am however pretty unconvinced by the article. There's a lot that doesn't quite work for me, that isn't building the case I'd like, whose takes are off from my read.
> The output is good enough—that is the problem. Good enough is a solvent. It dissolves the reason to do better. For as long as making things was expensive, the expense did quiet work on our behalf. It rationed output.
Agreed about the rationing of output. I do think that the article though continues to show a magical thinking. That we have these things now and they autonomously do the thing. That the LLM's have solved it all.
The article itself goes on at length about how nebulous and abstract taste is:
> Taste is that. It is the compressed, wordless verdict you reach faster than you can justify. It is the “no, again” you say to yourself with total conviction and no available argument
But this contrasts so distinctly to me against "the output is good enough". Is it? That depends. That depends on your taste. The proximate first results come quick. But the technics underneath? Those themselves, in my view, rely enormously on engineering taste to support and advance. I think we see a very similar sort of magical delivery thinking, very clearly on display here:
> When the factories came, they could suddenly make everything—cheaply, uniformly, by the thousand.
As if there was some magical "good enough" transition where suddenly the aliens came and gave us this box that just does the thing. As if we discovered the right formulas and math and now: we had production. Again I think there's just an enormous amount of work and taste that is still actively required inside the factory box, that building the industrial processes is incredibly intense & difficult, even though we have reliable industry-line production and now robots doing the labor.
There's still so many gems, so much lovely material for thought. I love the provocations here, and I think there's a lot of great calibration.
> The friction was not an obstacle to developing taste. The friction was the curriculum.
Makes me think of yesterdays @apenwarr banger,
> Every slow prototype started out as a fast prototype, I think that’s how it goes https://bsky.app/profile/apenwarr.ca/post/3msemlo4rds2h
Doesn't that mean guaranteed failure in the market if you use taste as your guiding star? Therefore, there's really no way to enter the market anymore.
I don't know how you then ship software or monetise it...? The market will just clone it.
So... Don't share stuff publicly? Only share with closed groups? Where does this leave small-time software development...?
> But the ratio was never the danger. It held steady for centuries. What held the flood back was that producing the crap cost something. Bad novels still took a year to write. Bad software still took a month to build.
I want to rename the title to "Blogs writing in LLMish are all that's left".
Seriously, take this one: "But the ratio was never the danger.".
Who the FUCK speaks like that?
How convenient it is that we’re all so awesome according to the one metric that can’t be measured
Following form of the words I just read: these 100% animous filled HN threads about how everyone is bad and everything deserves mocker have to be some elaborate power game to undermine hope and human will, I genuinely do not understand how genuine human people could think it good to "comment" like this.
There's just such a ridiculous pile on of people with such enormous overwhelming negativity underneath this ocmment. This off-gassing is almost never engaged with the material. Now there's an excuse to write off any material we don't like instantly, to accuse it of fakeness. But I still do not see a realness enscribed upon people who so actively work to tear down & prevent thought & consideration.
To engage with the post: I do think the definition of fashion is interesting, and a real power dynamic to be aware of. But do think there's a lot of things that take off in the world because they are good and interesting and nice, especially in technology and products, that the world wants nice things, and will happily support you for doing that. And especially in tech, the technical decisions we start from and build underfoot steer us towards success in subtle compounding ways, that matter, and that taste is crucial, where fashion is not a factor.
Again, at a meta level: my distress & frustration at the top is less from seeing this comment, and far more from seeing everything down thread trying to out-do one another with how cynical and anti-meaning anti-trying they can be. But I think this post definitely started on an all too familiar note, blood in the HN waters that all too often gets us so sharky.
Frankly, this barely scratches the surface of the hubris of engineers. I personally think AI has been one of the best thing to happen to software engineering. Writing boilerplate or my millionth auth implementation was never why I fell in love with the craft in the first place.
I would like to comment on this, though:
> that only want simple, that finding the most blunt approach is the only way. It has felt tasteless. Anti-ambitious.
I am always aiming for simple. If it's simple, it's maintainable and can be easy to reason about. Doing that is hard work, though. I used to spend three iterations to achieve it: functions are simple, easy to reason about, properly named and composable.
It's the opposite of blunt, though, so it might be that you meant something else with the term "simple" :)
Do you mean starting sentences with "But"? I do, but then again I'm not a native speaker and my writing may be nonstandard. Or do you mean short and direct sentences? In which case, Hemingway.
I'm not saying the article isn't AI slop, but I think it's not obvious from the specific sample you chose, since plenty of people online write like that, before AI.
Maybe software moves to this after it's commoditized? Users might prefer an artisanal one vs ordering it off the shelf or using an agent themselves.
Walter Hartwell White, I suppose.
Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.
The reason is simple: Short sentences are punchy. They hit hard, carry emotional weight.
P.S. As evident, clearly I'm having some fun with this, but the point stands.
If we assume that it is LLM generated, as suggested, apparently a lot of people, as the LLMs were trained to mimic how people speak (write).
You might find it to be unusual because you probably have never read anything written by most people. Only peculiar characters tend to get noticed.
It's a blog post. It was written. The written word is different from the spoken.
People don't speak like: The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
People don't speak like: In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.
In fact, I can throw this question at you:
"TFA's title is"
Who the FUCK speaks like that? Who the FUCK uses TFA's IRL OMG WTF?
Silly, isn't it?
So i guess proven secure architecture will come and stay.
I once wrote a pile of C++ templates that would let you wrap a C++ function as a JavaScript function, automatically converting all the arguments and the return type. Then I left the company. How did my successors find it? No idea. Maybe they pulled out all the automation complexity and replaced it with manually operated boilerplate.
The person you're replying to is saying that it wasn't written. If you are the author, I will believe you that it was. If you are not the author, I have no idea why you think you know more than anyone else does.
Does this stem from you believing that there is value in making logical errors, or is your angle more towards believing that nobody should waste their time interacting with someone who makes logical errors?
LLM can't waste weeks debating stacks and tools and then recast the problem as a new framework that needs to exist.
*Check mate*
> The reason is simple. Short sentences are punchy. They hit hard. But they carry emotional weight.
It's a foundational model (fresh from autoregressive pretraining) that approximates the probability distribution of human texts. And, no, it's not the statistical average of how people speak. It approximates how a person who could have written a text in its context would have written the next words.
Fine-tuning, RLHF, reinforcement learning change this probability distribution. I guess, it's mostly RLHF that shapes the way LLMs write. The similarity of style is due to common providers of RLHF data.
This is true, but I was mostly referring to framework boilerplate (Spring, React, etc.) or plumbing boilerplate. If you've ever written code professionally, you know that most code that you write is just making your thing fit with someone else's thing.
If your consumer or your provider made bad engineering decisions, you have to absorb them. If your company mandates the use of a framework, you have to absorb that, and so on. So I personally like that AI can write all the dumb shit I didn't come up with anyway.
In fact, I find no meaningful difference between "But no _individual_ speaks like this." and "But the ratio was never the danger.", aside from them being about different topics. They are syntactically very similar.
This is likely because the individual measures being averaged like "femur length" were not independent from one-another, even where they had the benefit of being normally distributed.
For most of the time I have been writing software—which, compared to some of my readers, is not that long—I have come to believe that the hard thing was making the thing exist at all. This is not necessarily a new belief of mine. I started through the difficult and tedious experience of building web applications and watching them crash and burn.
You had an idea, and between the idea and the working program stood hours— sometimes weeks—of typing, of reading manuals, of misunderstanding an API and slowly grinding the wrong version into a slightly less wrong one. Production was the wall. Everyone hit it. It was the thing that separated the people who could from the people who could only talk about it.
That wall is gone. Or rather, it has been rented out. 1 You can describe a thing now and receive a plausible version of it much faster than you could have typed the first function by hand. The idea-to-artifact distance, the one that defined the entire craft, has collapsed to almost nothing.
Though, you have not been warned about one little thing: the value you built by learning to climb that wall does not disappear. It simply… moves.
We keep asking whether the machines are any good. Even yesterday I had a rather short discussion on whether they are reliable. While we have concluded that they are “reliably unreliable,” I think it is the wrong question. The output is good enough, generally anyway, and that is the problem—most of it, at least. Good enough is a solvent. It dissolves the reason to do better. For as long as making things was expensive, the expense did quiet work on our behalf. It rationed output. It meant that anything which existed had, at minimum, survived the cost of being made. You know what I mean? Effort was a filter, and like all filters it was invisible until it was removed. Nobody shipped a thousand mediocre variations of a feature, because a thousand mediocre variations cost a thousand times as much as one. The economics enforced a floor.
That floor is now gone. And when the floor goes, the thing that decides what is worth keeping is no longer the cost of making it. It is you. Your judgement. The verdict you reach when you look at three plausible versions of the same function and know, somehow, that two of them are wrong. That verdict has a name we are slightly embarrassed to use in engineering circles, because it sounds soft and unfalsifiable and vaguely aristocratic.
Taste.
I want to be careful here, because “taste” is doing a lot of work and it is easy to hear it as decoration. A matter of preferences. Whether you like your braces on the same line.
That is not what I mean.
Robert Pirsig spent an entire book circling a word he refused to define, because he had convinced himself that defining it would kill it. He called it Quality. His argument, roughly, was that you recognise Quality before you can explain it— that the recognition comes first and the reasons arrive later, if they arrive at all. A good mechanic knows the engine is wrong before he knows why. A good editor feels the sentence sag before she can name the clause that failed. 2
Taste is that. It is the compressed, wordless verdict you reach faster than you can justify. It is partially 3 the “no, again” you say to yourself with total conviction and no available argument. And it is not soft at all. It is the hardest thing in the work, because it is the only part that was never mechanical to begin with.
Everything downstream of the verdict—the typing, the syntax, the wiring of one library to another—was always, in principle, automatable. We just had not gotten around to it. The verdict was the thing the machine could not do for you.
It still cannot. It can only make the absence of it cheaper to ignore.
Here is the uncomfortable mechanism, the part I would rather not think about.
Where did your taste come from?
No really. Where did it come from, was it genetic? Were you abducted by aliens one day that forcefully injected your sense of taste into your mind and wiped your memory?
I’ll tell you this much: it’s not from consuming good work. You cannot read a hundred excellent programs and absorb the judgement by osmosis, any more than you can become a chef by eating in good restaurants. Taste is built the slow, stupid, humiliating way: you make something bad, you are forced to live with it, it fails in front of you, and some part of you files the failure away. Then you do it again. The palate is an accretion of your own mistakes, sat with long enough to sting.
The friction was not an obstacle to developing taste. The friction was the curriculum. Every wall I cursed while climbing it was, without my noticing, teaching me which walls were worth climbing. The cost that rationed my output also educated my judgement, because paying the cost over and over is how you learn what is worth paying for.
So watch what happens when you remove the friction for the next person.
They can generate fluently from the first day. They will never ship the bad version and be forced to sit in it, because the tool offers them a competent version for free. They will climb no wall, and so they will learn nothing from the climb. They will arrive at fluency having skipped the entire apprenticeship that fluency used to require—and they will be more productive than I was at their stage, by every metric anyone bothers to measure.
They will be able to make anything, and unable to tell (or stop to think) whether they should. Not necessarily through any fault of their own. We removed the part of the process that would have taught them, and we called it progress, and by most definitions it was.
Suppose you have taste. Suppose you paid the full price and you can feel the sag in the sentence and the wrongness in the function.
Congratulations! You now ship at exactly the same speed as the person who cannot.
This is the quiet cruelty of the situation and I do not have a comforting way to phrase it. Taste is slow. It says “no, again.” It sends the plausible thing back because plausible is not the same as right, and while it is doing that, the person without it has already shipped, closed the ticket, and moved on. The market timed you both with the same stopwatch and it did not see the difference. It cannot see the difference. Taste does not show up in the diff.
It is unmeasurable, uncreditable, and invisible on a dashboard. You cannot point to the disasters it prevented, because prevented disasters leave no trace. You carry a cost—the extra hours, the returned work, the refusal to ship the fine thing when the right thing is still reachable—and you carry it alone, against an incentive gradient that runs the other way.
Harry Frankfurt once drew a careful line between the liar and the bullshitter. The liar at least respects the truth enough to work against it. The bullshitter does not care about the truth in either direction; he is simply indifferent to it. 4 Slop is the bullshit of engineering. It is not wrong, exactly. It is indifferent. It works, it passes, it is fine. And fine, produced without friction and shipped without judgement, is now the most abundant substance in the field.
Sturgeon said it decades ago, defending science fiction from a critic: ninety percent of everything is crap. 5 He meant it as consolation. Ninety percent of every field is bad, so do not judge the field by its bulk. But the ratio was never the danger. It held steady for centuries. What held the flood back was that producing the crap cost something. Bad novels still took a year to write. Bad software still took a month to build. The ninety percent was throttled at the source by the sheer inconvenience of making it.
We have now removed the throttle and left the ratio intact. Ninety percent of an infinite output is still infinite. The signal did not get worse. The noise became free, and free noise rises without limit, and every real thing you make now arrives into a sea of plausible nothing that looks, at a glance, exactly like it.
Which means the scarce act is no longer making. It is choosing. Deciding what, out of the endless generated plausible, deserves to exist and be kept. Curation was a minor virtue when things were expensive to make. It is the whole game when they are free.
There is a rhyme here, if you go back far enough.
When the factories came, they could suddenly make everything—cheaply, uniformly, by the thousand. 6 And a handful of people, Morris and Ruskin among them, looked at the flood of cheap identical goods and asked a question that sounded, at the time, sentimental and doomed: not can we make this, but should this be made, and made this way, by no one, for no reason but that the machine could.
They lost the economic argument. They were always going to. But they were right about the thing that mattered, which is that when the making becomes free, the choosing becomes the craft. The human question stops being “can I build it” and becomes “does this deserve to exist”—and that question was always the more serious one. We just could not afford to ask it while we were busy climbing walls.
I keep coming back to this turn. It is not consolation but a correction.
The tools did not devalue the skill. They stripped away everything that was not the skill. All those years I thought the work was the production—the typing, the wiring, the wall—and production turns out to have been the toll. The tax you paid for the privilege of exercising judgement. Now the tax is close to zero, and what is left standing, exposed, with nowhere to hide, is the judgement itself. The part that was always the point.
Taste did not become less valuable. It became the only thing that was ever scarce. We just could not see it, because it was buried under all the labour it used to take to get to it.
So here is the defense, such as it is.
Anyone can generate now. That race is over and it was never worth winning. The discipline that remains—the one the machine cannot rent you and the dashboard cannot see—is in the deletion. In the “no, again.” In caring about the difference between fine and right when nothing external will ever reward you for caring, when the market has timed you and shrugged, when the plausible version sits there working and passing and asking only to be let through.
Refuse it anyway. Not out of nostalgia for the friction—I do not miss the wall, and I will not pretend to. Refuse it because the verdict is the last part of this that is actually yours. It is unmeasurable, which means no one can take it from you by measuring it. It is unautomatable, which means no one can sell it back to you. It is slow, which in a field optimising for infinite speed is starting to look less like a handicap and more like the only remaining evidence that a human was here and gave a damn.
Everyone can make anything. Almost no one can tell you what is worth making.
That was always the harder skill. It is now the only one left.
This post reads off as AI slop. You said it, I see it. I’m sincerely sorry for publishing something that has allowed you to feel this way. If my word means anything to you, I would like to assure you that this post was not authored by a LLM. Nor was it storyboarded, reviewed, checked, etc. by a LLM. Some readers have pointed out that people do not speak this way. That is correct. I do not speak, nor usually write, like this and this post will go down as my not-the-proudest, however, I take your criticism to heart—although not personally—and strive to improve.
I do write like this sometimes. The short sentences, the reversals, the one-word lines—all of it. It’s just the way it is. A LLM writes that way too, because it was trained on the same essays I grew up reading, so me doing it badly and a machine doing it look about the same to you on the page. That says something about my writing. It says nothing about who wrote it.
So let me be plain about it: Claude was not here. No LLM wrote this—not a sentence of it, nor was it outlined, drafted, reviewed, checked, etc. by one, and there is no prompt behind it either. It is just me, writing worse than usual. I will write the next one plainer. Next time, write to me. I too am a person behind this screen.
Be assured that I have read all of your comments—the good and the bad. As with my previous post that reached Hacker News, I’ve received many insightful ones. Whether it was people sharing their experience, or negative comments with the decency to criticize with substance, I have learned something new today—for which I am thankful.
I do not care about your taste. If this posts has offended you, then it tells more about you than it does about me. As they say, “throw an insult on the ground, its owner will pick it up”—this one I am not sorry about.
There is an older word for this arrangement. You no longer own the means of production; you rent them, by the token, from whoever trained the model. An English teacher of mine—a committed socialist—would have had the whole thing diagrammed on the board before I finished the sentence: the worker separated first from his tools, then from the labour itself, then sold a frictionless substitute for the labour and told this was liberation. He would also, I suspect, have been the first to note the one part of the process that cannot be rented back to you, because it never left your head. Draw your own conclusions about which part that is. ↩
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, if you have not read it. It is about a great deal more than motorcycles, and almost nothing about Zen. ↩
Someone will (and has!) object that taste is not only the “no, again”—that compressing it to a verdict makes the work sound like leaning back in a chair and rejecting things while the machine does the labour. The objection is fair, which is why the sentence above says partially. The “no, again” is the shorthand, not the whole of it. The verdict lives inside the work—in the data structures that have to actually scale, in the privacy you have to actually mean, in the function you rewrite a fourth time because the third was merely fine. Taste is not the chair you lean back in. It is the reason you lean forward into all the rest of it. ↩
On Bullshit. Frankfurt, 2005, though the essay is older. Yes, that is the real title. ↩
Now called Sturgeon’s Law, or Sturgeon’s Revelation. He put it in print in his book-review column in Venture Science Fiction, March 1958, after years of using it to rebut critics who judged the whole genre by its worst examples. ↩
A fair pushback I got: this makes the factory sound like it fell out of the sky, some magical “good enough” that arrived one day fully formed. It did not. The factory is itself a monument of taste and labour—someone tuned every tolerance and is still in there tuning them, and the same is true of the model you are renting by the token. So I am not saying the box is magic. I am saying the box moved the taste up a level: out of the making, and into the deciding of what is worth making at all. Which is the whole argument. ↩