It’s time to address the looming crisis in entry-level work.

Artificial intelligence has not so far produced a clean story of mass unemployment. Aggregate employment in developed countries remains broadly stable, and recent assessments have found limited evidence that AI has shifted the headline numbers. But a troubling change may be hiding beneath the surface: the quiet weakening of the first rung of the career ladder.

The most worrisome evidence is showing up exactly where we should expect it first: in early-career hiring. A working paper released in November 2025 by the Stanford Digital Economy Lab found that workers aged 22 to 25 in the most AI-exposed occupations experienced a 16% relative decline in employment after the spread of generative AI, even after controlling for other factors that might affect firms’ employment decisions. An Anthropic report from March 2026 provides suggestive evidence that led to a similar conclusion.

More experienced workers in those same occupations did not suffer the same decline. Employment is not also declining in the entry-level jobs with low AI exposure. The concern is specific to early-career jobs that are exposed to AI.

That is not a minor signal. It suggests that firms may be using AI to substitute for the junior tasks through which people traditionally gain their first foothold—at least for those in jobs where generative AI is used extensively, like software developers, customer service representatives, computer programmers, and information systems managers.

The time is now to make changes in the way we train, prepare, and support young people who are about to enter the workforce. Educational institutions need to reorient for the era of an AI-augmented workforce. Governments must incentivize businesses to hire and train early-career workers. Businesses, in turn, need to recognize the importance of developing a long-term workforce experienced in AI—a process that begins with entry-level workers. And students themselves should take on the responsibility of not only becoming AI fluent but learning how to apply that knowledge in various fields.

In short, we must change the way we have traditionally thought of entry-level work.

This is especially true because the broader labor market for recent graduates is also softening. The Federal Reserve Bank of New York reported that in the fourth quarter of 2025, the unemployment rate for recent college graduates rose to 5.6%, while the underemployment rate (the share of graduates working in jobs that typically do not require a college degree) reached 42.5%, its highest level since the covid pandemic. No single statistic can prove that AI is the sole cause of that deterioration. Hiring in general is way down post-pandemic, and young people are particularly vulnerable to the slowdown. But it would be a mistake to ignore the possibility that AI is accelerating an already difficult transition from school to work.

Behind these statistics is a great deal of personal distress. Recent graduates today often submit hundreds of applications before they receive a single offer, and surveys consistently find elevated rates of anxiety, financial precarity, and burnout among young workers in extended job searches. If AI quietly closes the door on typical early jobs, people will pay the price in delayed independence, postponed family formation, and the sense that their first serious professional efforts have been refused.

It also matters because entry-level jobs are part of the economy’s training system. Junior analysts learn which numbers can be trusted. Young software developers learn how production systems fail. New marketers learn how customers behave outside the neat language of dashboards. Early-career legal and financial staff learn how rules, judgment, deadlines, and human relationships actually interact. If AI absorbs more of the drafting, triage, coding, summarizing, and administrative preparation that once helped train entry-level workers, firms may become more efficient in the short run while society becomes less capable in the longer run.

The right way to improve the skills of young workers is not to tell them, “Learn to code.” That advice, which shaped more than a decade of federal initiatives and university expansion, rested on the premise that coding was a stable, scalable skill almost anyone could learn and parlay into a middle-class job. The premise no longer holds. The layer of work AI handles well—translating a specification into routine code, reproducing standard patterns, debugging predictable errors—is precisely the layer that “learn to code” programs were built around.

Supervising AI systems in their work is now a much more relevant skill. So understanding the outputs AI systems produce will become very important.

To help people develop such skills, we should require universities, community colleges, and professional programs to embed AI literacy, data literacy, prompt-based workflow skills, verification skills, and domain judgment into ordinary degrees. Every graduate should know how to use AI tools, check their output, understand their limits, and combine them with human expertise. This matters even for graduates entering occupations that look relatively safe from AI, such as those in health care. Almost every job contains tasks—drafting, summarizing, scheduling, research, basic data work, routine communication—for which AI is already a substantial productivity tool.

The competition most young workers will experience is not human versus machine but colleague versus AI-augmented colleague. For most young workers, the realistic path to making themselves valuable is not to avoid AI but to become fluent in the technology and combine that with domain judgment, contextual reasoning, and human relationship skills. To this end, schools should emphasize paid co-ops, apprenticeships, and employer-linked projects so students build judgment in real workplaces before they graduate.

Governments should also create targeted tax credits, wage subsidies, and training grants for employers that hire early-career workers into structured, AI-augmented roles. The architecture for this kind of conditional, behavior-linked subsidy already exists in US tax policy. What is missing is a version of these instruments built specifically around early-career AI-augmented work.

Firms, for their part, should stop making hiring decisions based only on short-run cost savings from AI. Young workers are not valuable only for the tasks they perform this quarter. Their value lies in learning, skill formation, institutional memory, and future productivity. Entry-level hiring is not just an expense. It is an investment in the future stock of judgment inside the firm. The most effective AI-augmented senior workforce of the late 2030s will be drawn overwhelmingly from the junior cohort of today. Firms that automate away the learning stage may improve their immediate margins but find themselves, a decade from now, without anyone who understands how their own AI-driven workflows actually behave.

Students graduating this spring and next face a tough labor market in transition. AI fluency is becoming a commodity. Domain expertise without AI fluency is being outpaced. The combination is what is genuinely scarce. The mechanical engineer with knowledge of manufacturing and AI proficiency; the software programmer with knowledge of financial services who is also a whiz at AI—these are the types of people who will be in demand.

Georgios Petropoulos is an assistant professor at the USC Marshall School of Business. His research focuses on the implications of information technologies for innovation, competition policy, and labor markets.

Rethinking organizational design in the age of agentic AI

Amid rapidly growing adoption of enterprise-level AI agents, there’s a disconnect emerging between ambition and execution. 

Although 85% of organizations say they want to be agentic within the next three years, 76% say their current operations and infrastructure can’t support that change. They cite a lack of readiness across people, processes, and workflows. 

The sticky tape problem

The challenge is that many organisations are often layering AI agents onto existing operations, rather than reimagine the operating model and how work will need to be rewired, explains Prasun Shah, global CTO for workforce consulting and chief AI officer at PwC UK Consulting. “They’re embedding AI employees into what is a human operating model,” layering on AI agents to existing workplace structures when “this is like adding sticky tapes to parts of an operating model that is breaking.”

Doing so may be preventing organizations from unlocking the full value agentic AI offers, creating circumstances where disillusionment can quickly creep in. That full value lies in agents’ capacity to execute entire workflows with limited human input. They can coordinate complex tasks, make independent decisions, adjust to changing conditions, and iterate performance. 

In early proving grounds that span customer service, HR, and sales, it’s already estimated that AI agents could accelerate business processes by as much as 30% to 50% and low-value work time by 25% to 40% when deployed at scale. But with this capability comes greater complexity and the need for an enterprise-wide change.

Growing the AI vocabulary 

Enterprise agentic AI platform Ema describes this change as agentic business transformation (ABT), a term it coined last year in partnership with HFS Research, in an attempt to plug what it sees as a gap in the existing lexicon about AI agents, and to provide enterprises with a new framework with which to think about their own adoption of the technology. 

“None of the existing vocabulary captures the full scope of the change,” explains Ema CEO and founder Surojit Chatterjee. “Digital transformation was about moving from paper to software. AI transformation was about adding artificial intelligence to existing processes. Co-pilot is about AI assisting in various human tasks. But ABT is something categorically different: It’s the integration of AI agents into the fabric of the organization.” 

For Shah, the dedicated term (ABT) “helps drive the need to redesign an organization in its entirety: its operating model, its workflows, decision rights, and performance management systems.” He emphasizes that “everything that’s needed to ensure those agents are actually active participants in value creation, rather than just point tools or productivity aids.”

According to Ema, ABT encompasses three core pillars: an organization’s technology stack, its workforce, and the metrics used for success. 

AI agents as connective tissue

The first pillar of ABT is the technology stack. “Your existing tech stack was designed for human-operated, application-centric workflows,” says Chatterjee. “It needs to be reconsidered when the actor is an AI agent operating at machine speed across multiple systems simultaneously.”

 As AI agents are integrated into an organization, enterprises will need to pivot from a set of linear processes and steps, to rewiring work in a very different way, explains Shah. That’s because the value in AI agents isn’t as another layer in an existing technology stack but as a connective tissue, he explains, moving between or across layers to coordinate a high-level task or retrieve and interpret data from multiple discrete applications. AI agents can create “a true competitive differentiation for an enterprise” by making decisions based on this capacity to contextualize, he says. “That is where the next battleground will be.”

To build this connective tissue, leaders need to adapt their technology stack to surface higher quality decisions from AI agents, prioritizing access to multiple datasets and applications simultaneously to develop tacit knowledge. “Organizations that make this architectural shift become genuinely more adaptive,” says Chatterjee. “When a new business requirement emerges, you don’t wait six months for a software vendor to build a feature. You configure an AI employee using natural language and connect it to the systems it needs. The time from business to production workflow drops from months to days.”

The workforce, redesigned

As AI agents are deployed for more use cases, enterprise leaders must consider what this means for dynamics across their workforce, the second pillar of ABT.

Workforce structures today deviate little from the hierarchical model of the early days of industrialization. To maximize efficiency and scale, processes are standardized, tasks are clearly delineated between strategic business units (SBUs), and employees progress up through an organization based on their capacity to optimize output from teams below them. But with AI agents that can execute, coordinate, and optimize tasks—often without managerial coordination—the lines of that established hierarchy become blurred.

In a workforce that blends AI agents and human employees, managers will be freed up from many execution-based tasks but take on new responsibilities associated with managing hybrid teams. Managers “will need to be able to manage issues around trust, explainability, psychological safety, and even status dynamics” to navigate new tensions that could arise in a hybrid workforce, says Shah.

The impact of agentic AI on existing workforce structures goes far beyond the management layer, too. McKinsey predicts that by 2030, three-quarters of current jobs will require redesign, upskilling, or redeployment, and organizations will need to act swiftly to amend recruitment, retention, and remuneration. 

From output to outcome

Success metrics are the third and final pillar of ABT. 

As AI agents assume greater ownership of core enterprise processes, taking on collaborative roles alongside human employees, traditional workforce metrics that focus on activity or output—such as calls handled or reports filed—no longer make sense. 

“When you add AI employees into the workforce, activity metrics become meaningless or actively misleading,” says Chatterjee. “An AI employee can handle a thousand customer interactions in the time it takes a human to handle ten. If you measure success by interactions handled, you’ll conclude the AI is working brilliantly while missing whether any of those interactions actually drove customer satisfaction, retention, or revenue.” To correct this, enterprises must develop a new set of metrics that focus on outcome rather than output. That is, metrics on the broader benefits or changes achieved, rather than individual deliverables. 

For example, when one of Ema’s large enterprise customers overhauled its own metrics, switching from tool metrics like cost per query and AI accuracy, to outcomes like the percentage of contracts reviewed without human escalation, the measured ROI from agentic AI tripled within two quarters. The changes meant “this customer stopped building point solutions in high-volume, low-complexity workflows and started deploying AI employees where the outcome value was highest,” says Chatterjee.

Integrating new metrics may also require a complete reconfiguration of reward and talent management processes, as well as accountability and ownership within organizations, points out Shah. In human-AI teams, for example, although ethical and fiduciary responsibilities will likely remain with human employees, operational accountability will become significantly more diffused to reflect the systemic role of AI agents.

This change will raise new questions that senior leadership teams will need to wrestle with, Shah adds. They’ll need to consider: Who is accountable when an AI employee makes a mistake? What happens when AI and humans disagree? What guardrails should be erected to safeguard customers? 

Laying the groundwork for systems-level change

Systems-level change is gradual. These are complex lines of inquiry that experts continue to grapple with. But in kickstarting internal dialogue about the core pillars of ABT—the workforce, the technology stack, and the metrics by which success can be gauged—leaders can lay the groundwork for an enterprise better poised to embrace AI agents at a systems level and start to close the gap between their ambition and execution. 

This content was produced by Insights, the custom content arm of MIT Technology Review. It was not written by MIT Technology Review’s editorial staff. It was researched, designed, and written by human writers, editors, analysts, and illustrators. This includes the writing of surveys and collection of data for surveys. AI tools that may have been used were limited to secondary production processes that passed thorough human review.

Google I/O showed how the path for AI-driven science is shifting

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  • Singularity rhetoric meets real-world tools: Google DeepMind CEO Demis Hassabis declared we’re in the “foothills of the singularity” — after showing off a hurricane forecasting tool. The gap between that grand vision and current successes captures a genuine tension inside AI science right now.
  • Specialized systems are losing the spotlight: Nobel Prize-winning AlphaFold transformed biology, but Google appears to be quietly shifting resources toward general-purpose AI agents — including having AlphaFold co-creator John Jumper work on AI coding.
  • Agentic AI is making real scientific moves: An OpenAI general reasoning model just disproved a significant mathematics conjecture, suggesting that AI doesn’t need to be purpose-built for science to meaningfully advance it.
  • Google is hedging its language, if not its bets: The company calls one of its agentic systems “AI Co-Scientist” rather than “AI Scientist” — a deliberate choice — but if Hassabis is right about where this is heading, that distinction may not hold for long.

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During Tuesday’s Google I/O keynote, Demis Hassabis, the CEO of Google DeepMind, proclaimed that we are currently “standing in the foothills of the singularity.” It was a striking statement—the singularity is the theoretical future moment when AI rapidly exceeds human intelligence and dramatically transforms the world. But what struck me as I listened in the audience was the context in which he said those words. 

He was on stage to close out the session with a segment on scientific AI, the centerpiece of which was a video detailing how the company’s weather prediction software provided an advance alert about Hurricane Melissa’s catastrophic landfall in Jamaica last year—and potentially saved lives. If that software, called WeatherNext, helped anyone escape the storm or better fortify their home, that’s an enormous and meaningful achievement. But it’s hardly evidence of an impending singularity.

The juxtaposition of Hassabis’ lofty rhetoric with the real-world results of WeatherNext highlighted the tension between two very different approaches to AI for science. The first focuses on AI tools, like WeatherNext, that are designed and trained to solve specific scientific problems. The second is agentic, LLM-based systems that could one day execute cutting-edge research projects without human involvement.

This second vision powers a great deal of AI enthusiasm right now, including recent excitement around recursive self-improvement, or the idea that AI systems could eventually become the primary drivers of AI advancement—a process that would get faster and faster as the AI systems grow smarter. And agentic systems are now making real research contributions, sometimes with limited human guidance.

Just this week, Pushmeet Kohli, Google Cloud’s chief scientist, published a piece in a special AI and science issue of the journal Daedalus, writing: “We are moving toward AI that doesn’t just facilitate science but begins to do science.” With autonomous AI scientists on the horizon, it’s harder to justify massive efforts to develop super-specialized tools—even one like AlphaFold, for which DeepMind scientists won a Nobel Prize, or a potentially life-saving system like WeatherNext. It also heralds a far stranger future for science, in which humans and AI systems collaborate as peers—or AI even makes scientific progress on its own.

To be clear, Google does not appear to be abandoning its work on specialized AI for science tools. AlphaGenome and AlphaEarth Foundations, which are trained for genetics and Earth science applications respectively, were released last summer, and the newest version of WeatherNext came out in November.

What’s more, such tools remain extremely popular among scientists. Last year, for instance, Google reported that protein structure predictions from AlphaFold have been used by over three million researchers worldwide. And Isomorphic Labs, a Google subsidiary that aims to use AlphaFold and related technologies to develop new drugs, just raised a $2 billion Series B funding round.

But there are concrete signs of realignment, in both enthusiasm and resources. Last month, the Los Angeles Times reported that Google fellow John Jumper, who won the Nobel for AlphaFold, is now working on AI coding, not on science-specific AI tools. It’s not surprising that Google is assigning its best minds to the coding problem, as the company has recently taken a reputational hit because its coding tools don’t currently stand up to those offered by Anthropic and OpenAI. But it may also signal a prioritization of agentic science on Google’s part, as coding abilities are key to the success of some of those systems. 

Across the industry, agentic researcher systems are showing real potential. This week, OpenAI announced that one of their models had disproved an important mathematics conjecture—perhaps the most meaningful contribution that generative AI has made to mathematics so far, according to some mathematicians.

Importantly, the model used by OpenAI is not specialized for solving mathematical problems, or even for research; according to the company, it’s a general-purpose reasoning model in the vein of GPT-5.5. If general agents can make independent contributions to mathematical research, they might soon be able to do the same in science (though the fact that ideas in science must be verified experimentally makes it a tougher domain for AI).

Google is certainly devoting a lot of attention toward an agent-driven scientific future. The big scientific announcement at I/O was the new Gemini for Science package, which unites several of the company’s LLM-based scientific systems under one brand.

This includes the hypothesis-generating AI Co-Scientist and algorithm-optimizing AlphaEvolve, which are still not publicly available—but as Google is now allowing any researcher to apply for access to Gemini for Science, they may soon see wider adoption in the scientific community. Scientists who were involved in early testing are enthusiastic about their potential: Gary Peltz, a Stanford geneticist, compared using the AI Co-Scientist to “consulting the oracle of Delphi” in a Nature Medicine article.

Gemini for Science isn’t incompatible with specialized tools; to the contrary, agentic systems can be designed to call on such tools when they might be useful. And no agentic system can predict the structure that a protein will fold into without AlphaFold’s help (at least not yet). But the company seems to be shifting its public image—and at least some resources and personnel, such as Jumper—away from specifically developing those kinds of tools. Though it has only been five years since AlphaFold solved the protein-folding problem, both the technology and the discourse have quickly moved beyond that once-revolutionary achievement.

Google has been careful to position this new set of scientific agents as an accelerant for human scientists, rather than a replacement for them—the choice of the name AI Co-Scientist as opposed to AI Scientist, for instance, appears quite deliberate. Hassabis uses that same human-centric framing when he talks about changes in the landscape of scientific AI. “For the next decade or so, we should think about AI as this amazing tool to help scientists,” Hassabis said in an interview published in the Daedalus issue. “Beyond that timeframe, it is hard to say with any certainty, but perhaps these systems will become more like collaborators.”

But no one can be an effective scientific collaborator without also being a skilled scientist in their own right. And if Hassabis is anywhere near the mark when he talks about the “foothills of the singularity,” then AI scientists could eventually exceed the capabilities of their human counterparts.

In a discussion with the journalist Mike Allen at I/O, Hassabis spoke of how he was initially inspired to pursue AI when he observed how progress in physics had stagnated since the 1970s; he wondered whether the human mind had reached its limits in that domain, and if AI could help to overcome that barrier. Superhuman agentic scientists would certainly fit that bill. We might not ever get anywhere near there, but Google seems to be aiming itself toward that summit.

Anthropic’s Code with Claude showed off coding’s future—whether you like it or not

The vibes were strong at Code with Claude, Anthropic’s two-day event for software developers in London that kicked off on May 19, the same day as Google’s I/O in Palo Alto. (A coincidence, not a flex, Anthropic staffers assured me.)

“Who here has shipped a pull request in the last week that was completely written by Claude?” Jeremy Hadfield, an engineer at Anthropic, asked from the main stage. Almost half the people in the packed room—many sitting with laptops on their knees, coding or prompting as they watched the talks—raised their hands.

Pull requests are fixes or updates to existing software that are submitted for review before they go live. They are the bread and butter of software development, the chunks of code that most professional developers spend their lives writing—or did until now.

“Who here has shipped a pull request that was completely written by Claude where they did not read the code at all?” Hadfield asked next. Nervous laughter. Most of the hands stayed up.

It’s not news that LLM-powered tools like Anthropic’s Claude Code and OpenAI’s Codex have upended the way software gets made. Top tech companies now like to boast of how little code their developers write by hand. (“Most software at Anthropic is now written by Claude,” Hadfield said. “Claude has written most of the code in Claude Code.”) OpenAI, Google, and Microsoft make similar claims. Many others wish they could.

Even so, it is striking how normal this new paradigm already seems, and how fast it has set in. This was the second year that Anthropic has put on developer events, which also run in San Francisco and Tokyo. This time last year, the company had just released Claude 4. It could code, kind of. But with Anthropic’s latest string of updates—especially Claude 4.6 and then 4.7, released in February and April—Claude Code is a tool that more and more developers seem happy to hand their work off to.   

An 8-bit character with a chef's hat in a pixel kitchen flips food in a fry pan over a pixel stove
Let Claude cook.
ANTHROPIC (GRAPHIC) / WILL DOUGLAS HEAVEN (PHOTO)

Anthropic says its goal is to push automation as far as it will go. Instead of using AI to generate code and then having humans clean it up and fix the mistakes, it wants Claude to check and correct its own work. “The default isn’t ‘I’m going to prompt Claude’—the default is now ‘I’m going to have Claude prompt itself,’” Boris Cherny, who heads Claude Code, said in the opening keynote.

If all goes well, human developers shouldn’t even see the error messages when something doesn’t work. That will all be handled by Claude, which will test and tweak, test and tweak, until everything runs as it should. As Ravi Trivedi, an engineer at Anthropic, put it in another talk: “The key principle is getting out of Claude’s way. We like to say: ‘Let it cook.’”

Trivedi presented a new feature in Claude Code, announced two weeks ago, which Anthropic calls dreaming. Claude Code agents write notes to themselves, recording and saving useful information about specific tasks. When another coding agent later starts to work on the same code, it can use the notes to get up to speed faster and learn from any errors that previous agents may have made.

Dreaming is a system that Claude Code uses to read through all these notes and consolidate the information they contain, spotting patterns and common issues across different tasks. In theory, dreaming should help Claude Code learn about a particular code base and get better and better at working on it.

Success stories

Code with Claude is an event aimed at developers. As well as product showcases and hands-on workshops from Anthropic, there were how-tos from a range of companies that had reshaped their software development teams around Claude Code, including Spotify and Delivery Hero as well as Lovable, Base44, and Monday.com—three startups vibe-coding apps that help people vibe-code apps.

There were no signs of unease at Code with Claude. Everybody I met wanted in.

And yet outside the conference there have been a number of reports that many coders are starting to question this bright new future. Some gripe in online forums like Reddit and Hacker News that AI coding tools are being pushed by managers chasing productivity gains, when in practice the technology makes software development harder because of all the extra code developers now have to review. “The only people I’ve heard saying that generated code is fine are those who don’t read it,” a user called pron posted on Hacker News last week. 

Others claim that their coding abilities have fallen off as they hand more tasks to AI. And researchers have warned that AI tools can produce unsafe code that will make software more vulnerable to attacks.  

I sat down with Claude engineering lead Katelyn Lesse and Claude product lead Angela Jiang and asked them what they made of the concerns that a sudden flood of code generated (and shipped) without proper human oversight was kicking serious security and maintenance problems down the road.

“All of the old software development best practices still apply. They’ve applied this entire time,” said Lesse. “I think there are a lot of people and teams that may have lost sight of them in this moment.” 

And yet as Anthropic and others push for greater automation and tools like Claude Code improve, the temptation increases to offload more and more tasks, including oversight. Lesse told me that some of the technical managers at Anthropic are exhausted by keeping up with all the code their teams now produce. “Part of things happening so much more quickly is just managing your time,” she said.

“I think that right now Claude is probably as good as a midlevel engineer at writing code,” she added. You still need expert engineers to design a system and troubleshoot harder problems, she said, “But over time we want Claude to get better and better at all different types of engineering.”

Jiang agreed: “I think the absolute end state we’re trying to get to is Claude basically being able to build itself.”

Scaling creativity in the age of AI

Storytelling is core to humanity’s DNA, stemming from our impulse to express ideals, warnings, hopes, and experiences. Technology has always been woven through the medium and the distribution: from early humans’ innovation of natural pigments and charcoals for cave paintings to literal representation by the camera.

The landscape of storytelling continues to shift under our feet. Social and streaming platforms have multiplied, audiences have fragmented, and our demand for fresh, unique media is insatiable. A recent McKinsey podcast cites that we are watching upwards of 12 hours of video content daily, often on multiple devices and multiple platforms.

All this content is expensive to produce: With a baseline budget of $150M, a Hollywood feature runs $1M per minute of finished film; prestige streaming content is in the hundreds of thousands per minute. And since consumers want to engage with authentic, original material, every company is now effectively a media company. That means we all face the same pressure: more content, with the same time and budget constraints.

There is no longer a question whether to use AI for content; the math doesn’t work any other way. What leaders need to focus on now is how to adapt responsibly, protect brand integrity, uplift team creativity, and build customer trust.

A few things worth holding onto as this era accelerates:

  • AI amplifies what’s already there, both good and bad. Weak strategy stays weak.
  • Responsible adoption means knowing what’s in your tools and models. Provenance and transparency are the foundation, not the finish line.
  • Scale without taste is just noise. Investing in your team’s judgment is what makes more content matter.
  • Fundamentals of great storytelling have not changed. Regardless of format or channel, what makes audiences lean in are still characters, arc, ingenuity, and surprise.

The permanent sprint

Creative teams are trapped on the endless hamster wheel of production, and it’s not slowing down. According to Adobe research, content demand will grow 5x over the next two years. Social content shelf life is now measured in hours, not weeks. Keeping fresh work in the pipeline is a permanent sprint, requiring teams to rethink how creative production functions.

The first move is freeing creative teams by having AI absorb the repetitive work so they have space for the strategic creative decisions that require human ingenuity. In a recent study from Adobe, 94% of creatives report that AI helps them produce content faster, saving an average of 17 hours per week. That recovered time is not a productivity metric; it is renewed creative capacity.

As a use case, Nestlé offers a useful blueprint. Its teams operate across 180 countries with a portfolio of iconic brands including Nescafé, KitKat, and Purina. Using Adobe Firefly Custom Models embedded in existing content workflows allows teams to generate assets in a brand-informed style without disrupting creative flow. At Nestlé, workflow cycle times dropped 50%. “With Firefly Custom Models, we can react at the speed of culture. It’s the closest thing we’ve had to magic.” says Wael Jabi, global strategic comms lead for KitKat.

As we move into the agentic era, the possibilities expand further. Adobe’s Creative Agent thinks in systems, not tasks, orchestrating across workflows, apps, and processes to close the gap between idea and execution, and get teams out of the production cycles that consume their productivity.

Build for your brand, not every brand

A company’s brand is how the world recognizes and connects with them. And it’s more than a collection of assets—it is dynamic, subjective, and expressed in thousands of micro-decisions made every day by the people who know it best. As production scales, keeping everything tuned to the brand gets more challenging. Off-the-shelf AI cannot replicate the level of nuance creative teams bring to content, and there’s a real cost to getting it wrong; diluting a brand in market with almost-right output is not an acceptable option. Customer trust is fragile.

Starting with a bespoke AI model built with Adobe Firefly Foundry addresses this directly. Firefly Foundry starts with a commercially safe base model and trains further on a company’s IP, making it possible to produce content that genuinely reflects the team’s vision.

And to ensure that Firefly Foundry models truly represent the creatives at the helm, Adobe has partnered with film studios like Wonder Studios, Promise.ai, and B5 Studios, and the “big three” talent agencies CAA, UTA, and WME to deeply understand what it means (and what it takes) to build an IP-immersive model that keeps creatives at the center as these film studios and talent agencies scale their visions. These brand ecosystems can accelerate nearly every phase of the production process, from ideation and storyboarding to production and promotion, all while preserving artistry and authorship. And to power the next generation of creativity and content, Adobe has recently announced a strategic partnership with NVIDIA, delivering best-in-class creative control along with enterprise-grade, commercially safe content at scale.

Generic AI gives teams a starting point. But a model trained on a brand’s own IP gets them to the finish line, while still leaving room for the creative calls that matter most.

When agents become the audience

AI is not only reshaping how we create; it is reshaping how customers find and engage with brands entirely. According to Adobe Digital Insights, AI-powered shopping has surged 4,700%. Agentic web traffic is up 7,851% year over year. Yet, most businesses still have significant gaps in AI-led brand visibility. If content is invisible to AI agents, then a brand is invisible to customers.

Major League Baseball is ahead of this curve. Using Adobe LLM Optimizer, the league monitors how its content surfaces across AI interfaces and makes real-time adjustments to maintain visibility. As fans search for tickets, stats, or game-day experiences, the league ensures its brand shows up wherever that search is happening. And with Adobe’s recent acquisition of Semrush, brand visibility goes even further.

The agentic web created an entirely new content surface that did not exist two years ago, and this exponential proliferation of content illustrates precisely why scaled, on-brand content production has become a strategic imperative. A well-built agentic foundation offers full visibility into (and control over) every piece of content, from production to performance.

How to prepare for AI integration

Here are a few steps to get started:

Audit before automation. Content supply chains usually include duplicated processes, unclear ownership, and assets living in many different places. Before AI can accelerate anything, develop a clear map of how content moves through the organization today: who creates it, who approves it, where it lives, and where it breaks down. AI applied to a broken process just breaks it faster.

Walk through workflows. Resist the urge to overhaul everything at once. Start with production tasks that are high-volume, low-stakes, and well-defined: asset resizing, localization, and background generation. Use those wins to build internal confidence before expanding into more complex creative territory.

Build responsible governance from the start. Governance added as an afterthought becomes a bottleneck. Building it in from the beginning creates a competitive advantage that lets teams move fast with confidence. And this means clear policies on model training, content provenance, human review thresholds, and communicating AI use to customers. The brands that earn lasting trust will treat transparency as a feature, not a footnote.

This content was produced by Adobe. It was not written by MIT Technology Review’s editorial staff.

Roundtables: Can AI Learn to Understand the World?

Listen to the session or watch below

AI companies want to build systems that understand the external world and overcome the limitations of LLMs. Recent developments have brought world models to the forefront of the AI discussion.

Watch a conversation with editor in chief Mat Honan, senior AI editor Will Douglas Heaven, and AI reporter Grace Huckins exploring how AI might enter the physical world.

Speakers: Mat Honan, Editor in Chief, Will Douglas Heaven, AI Senior Editor, and Grace Huckins, AI Reporter

Recorded on May 21, 2026

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Roundtables: Inside the Musk v. Altman Trial

Listen to the session or watch below

Elon Musk lost his suit against OpenAI, in which he alleged CEO Sam Altman and President Greg Brockman had deceived him over the company’s non-profit status.

Watch as AI reporter and attorney Michelle Kim, who covered the trial for MIT Technology Review, joins in conversation with editor in chief Mat Honan to go behind the scenes of the trial and the implications for the AI race.

Speakers: Mat Honan, Editor in Chief, and Michelle Kim, AI Reporter

Recorded on May 19, 2026

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Inside Anduril and Meta’s quest to make smart glasses for warfare

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  • Optimizing the “human as a weapons system”: Anduril is building smart glasses that let soldiers order drone strikes through eye-tracking and voice commands.
  • Two different bets: The company is pursuing both a $159 million Army contract and a self-funded helmet-headset combo called EagleEye. The latter is something the military never asked for, but Anduril is confident the Army will eventually prefer it.
  • The attention problem: Soldiers already drowning in information could reject the technology if it demands more mental bandwidth than it saves. And a smart glasses system tasked with identifying threats and recommending strikes would introduce massive new risks of mistakes.
  • A high bar, years away: The system must survive dust, explosions, and limited connectivity. The Army won’t even put a prototype into production until 2028, if it picks one at all.

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The defense-tech company Anduril has shared new details about the augmented-reality headset for the military it’s prototyping with Meta, including a vision for ordering drone strikes via eye-tracking and voice commands.

Quay Barnett, who leads the efforts as a vice president at Anduril following a career in the Army’s Special Operations Command, says his fundamental goal is to optimize “the human as a weapons system.” The vision is undoubtedly cyborg-inspired: Barnett wants drones and soldiers to see together, share information seamlessly, and make decisions as one. 

Anduril actually has two such projects in the works. The first is the Army’s Soldier Born Mission Command, or SBMC, for which the company won a $159 million prototyping contract last year to work with Meta on augmented-reality glasses to attach to existing military helmets. But Anduril has also embarked on a self-funded side quest, announced in October, to design its own helmet and headset combo called EagleEye. This is something the military has not asked for, but Anduril insists it will prefer it and purchase it in the end.

So far, both systems are years away. The Army isn’t expected to move its top choice for the SBMC program into production until 2028, if it picks one at all (the previous lead for the effort, Microsoft, was set to receive a $22 billion production contract that was ultimately cancelled when the glasses didn’t prove viable). But Barnett told MIT Technology Review about where both Anduril’s prototypes are headed.

Depending on the situation, the glasses for either prototype will overlay certain information onto a soldier’s field of view. This might be as simple as a compass or as complex as an entire map of the area, information about where nearby drones are flying, or AI-driven recognition of a target like a truck. 

The soldier would then speak to the interface in plain language—for example, to order an evacuation for someone who’s been injured or to plan a route taking into account which areas are off limits. A large language model—Anduril is in tests with Google’s Gemini, Meta’s Llama, and even Anthropic’s Claude, despite the company’s conflict with the Pentagon—will be used to help translate a soldier’s speech into commands the software can follow. And the engine for it all will be Anduril’s software Lattice, which incorporates data from lots of different military hardware into one picture. The Army announced in March that it would spend $20 billion to integrate Lattice with essentially its entire infrastructure.

Barnett’s team is designing the headset to carry out multi-step tasks. A soldier might send a drone to surveil an area and instruct it to come back once it’s found something that looks like an artillery unit; then the system would recommend courses of action, like sending a nearby drone to strike, that would have to be approved by the normal chain of command. Leading the system through this, if all goes to plan, might not even require speech; the soldier could instead communicate through tracked eye movements and subtle taps.

That’s the idea, anyway. It’s worked on early prototypes, Barnett says, but there aren’t yet versions ready for the Army to test at scale. The component parts began arriving in March. Because of federal military contracting rules, these parts—unlike Meta’s commercial smart glasses—required new supply chains that don’t rely on Chinese companies.

It’s a lot for soldiers already bogged down in information overload, says Jonathan Wong, a former US Marine who works as a senior policy researcher at RAND on Army efforts to buy new tech. Both smart glasses projects aim to create a clean interface that presents only the right information at the right time. But it’s a product that soldiers will reject if it costs more of their attention than it saves. “How much mental bandwidth do you have to be both aware of your surroundings and to operate this technology in a way that makes you and your whole unit better?” he says.

Wong recalls that as a platoon commander, for example, he had a radio that operated on three different channels at once. “The moment that two people were on different channels talking at the same time, I immediately couldn’t comprehend anything that either one of them was trying to tell me, and I was probably not aware of my own surroundings,” he says. “I think there are limits to what you can take in.”

Ideally, Barnett says, smart glasses can ease that information overload. Anduril’s approach is to get creative with ways the user can access necessary information quickly. Voice commands and eye tracking are a piece of that strategy. But even if it’s all technically feasible, it might take years of field testing to know if the system is actually useful for soldiers, Wong says. 

Such a system would mark a major escalation in how closely soldiers rely on imperfect AI systems. While computer vision models used to identify objects have long been employed by militaries, and chatbots have recently entered decision-making during the war in Iran, these technologies have not yet made their way to most frontline soldiers. A smart glasses system tasked with identifying threats and recommending strikes would introduce massive new risks of errors. 

Anduril is not the only one competing to develop smart goggles for combat. Rivet, which specializes in wearable sensors for the military, received a $195 million prototyping contract the same time, and in March the Israeli defense-tech company Elbit received its own $120 million contract. This all comes after Microsoft lost its role leading the Army’s smart glasses effort, following a Pentagon audit that found the Army wasn’t properly testing the glasses, a mistake that could have wasted $22 billion.

For both Anduril’s prototypes, the company is testing a new system for digital night vision, which uses electronic sensors and algorithms to boost low levels of light. It’s been a promised technology for decades but has tended to work too slowly for practical use and produce grainy images. Anduril says it has found improvements over previous prototypes through techniques rooted in both new generative AI and older machine learning. 

Much of the other hardware for both projects is being built by Meta, including the displays and the waveguides that send visuals to the user’s eye without blocking the view. That might be a surprise to anyone who knows the backstory: In 2017, Facebook (now Meta) ousted Anduril founder Palmer Luckey following an internal conflict involving his support for Donald Trump. The two are now back in the augmented-reality business together, while Mark Zuckerberg has also adopted a friendlier posture toward the second Trump administration.

For the Army initiative, this suite of smart glasses, night vision, and sensors will be attached to the helmets and other gear soldiers already wear, with a separate battery pack. The EagleEye version will instead incorporate the tech into the helmet itself. Even if the Army doesn’t prefer EagleEye in the end, Barnett says, Anduril will attempt to sell the system to foreign militaries.

Multiple challenges must still be overcome. Unlike Meta’s Ray-Ban glasses, the prototypes have to operate in an environment full of dust, explosions, and smoke. Adding the computing power and battery life they need also means more weight for soldiers already carrying upwards of 100 pounds. Then the technology has to work in environments without ubiquitous 5G cell connections; powerful computer vision and AI models will need to run locally on the device.

For the Army to want to buy it at scale, “it’s got to work, and it’s got to be pretty seamless,” Wong says. “It’s a high bar.”

What to expect from Google this week

This story originally appeared in The Algorithm, our weekly newsletter on AI. To get stories like this in your inbox first, sign up here.

When Google opens its doors tomorrow for its annual developer conference, I/O, it will do so as a clear third place in the foundation model race. A year ago, at Google I/O 2025, the situation looked very different: The company was still riding high from the launch of Gemini 2.5 Pro that March, and distinguishing among the top-tier large language models often felt like a subjective splitting of hairs. 

But a foundation model’s reputation these days rests largely on its coding capabilities, and for months Google’s coding tools have been outgunned by Anthropic’s Claude Code and OpenAI’s Codex. Those systems are so dramatically superior to Google’s own offerings that the company has reportedly had to allow some engineers at DeepMind, its AI division, to use Claude for their work—lest they fall farther behind.

So when I arrive at the conference in Mountain View, California tomorrow, I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any efforts Google is making to claw its way back into frontrunner position. But I’m also eager to see new developments in areas where Google shapes the cutting edge, such as AI for science. The company’s moves there might receive less attention, but they will be no less consequential. 

Here are three things I’ll be paying particular attention to over the next two days.

An attempted coding comeback

Google is taking its AI coding crisis seriously. According to reporting from The Information, there’s a new AI coding team at DeepMind. And the Los Angeles Times has reported that John Jumper, who shared a 2024 Nobel Prize in chemistry with DeepMind CEO Demis Hassabis for their work on the protein structure prediction software AlphaFold, is lending his talents to the efforts. I would be surprised if we don’t see a major new coding release at I/O, perhaps in the form of an update to the company’s Antigravity agentic coding platform.

That said, we shouldn’t expect anything transformative here. Googlers have access to models and products that are substantially ahead of those released to the public, yet they were still reportedly fighting over who got access to Claude Code last month. Unless the company has made astonishing progress since then, Google probably won’t make it back to the coding frontier in the next two days.

Science and health

Coding might be Google DeepMind’s weakness, but science is its conspicuous strength. It is the only frontier AI company to have earned a Nobel Prize. And as LLMs have come to dominate the AI-for-science landscape, Google has only solidified its lead. Last year, the company released multiple scientific AI tools, including the AI co-scientist, which formulates hypotheses and research plans in response to user questions and has been described as an “oracle” by one Stanford scientist, and AlphaEvolve, a system that iteratively discovers new solutions for mathematical and computational problems. If any new scientific tools are announced at I/O, they’ll be worth noting.

I’ll also be paying close attention to any moves Google makes in health and medicine. Google is doing some of the best research out there on LLM-based health tools, but OpenAI has defined the health AI conversation since the release of ChatGPT Health in January. Google has announced that it will be making its AI-powered Health Coach publicly available tomorrow, but promotional material suggests that the tool is geared more toward providing advice on topics such as fitness and diet than to addressing users’ medical concerns. Is this another area where Google has fallen behind, or is the company exercising appropriate caution in a high-stakes domain? 

The drama

While Google fans congregate down in Mountain View, roughly 30 miles north in Oakland the Elon Musk v. Sam Altman trial will be wrapping up. The past few months have seen more than their fair share of AI CEO drama—before the trial, the animosity between Altman and Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei took center stage as Anthropic and OpenAI worked to negotiate deals with the US Department of Defense. But DeepMind’s Hassabis has, for the most part, steered clear of such drama. He effectively presents himself as a Nobel Prize-winning nerd, and if he has written screeds about any of his peers, they haven’t been leaked to the press or appeared in legal discovery.

That’s not to say that Google is controversy free. Last month, a group of 600 employees, many of whom work for DeepMind, sent a letter to CEO Sundar Pichai protesting an impending DoD deal. Google signed that deal the next day. Hassabis, Pichai, and all the other big names will surely do their best to skirt these and other touchy subjects while on stage, but controversies will worm their way in regardless. It will be interesting to see whether Google can maintain its veneer of neutrality.

Here’s why Elon Musk lost his suit against OpenAI

On Monday, the jury in Musk v. Altman dealt Elon Musk a major blow—reaching a unanimous advisory verdict that he had sued OpenAI too late and, as a result, his claims are barred by the applicable statutes of limitations. US District Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers immediately accepted it. 

Musk announced on X that he will be appealing the decision. “The judge & jury never actually ruled on the merits of the case, just on a calendar technicality,” he wrote.

OpenAI was cofounded by Musk and a group of researchers in 2015 as a nonprofit with a mission to develop AI for the benefit of humanity, unconstrained by a need to generate financial returns. Musk donated $38 million to the company during its early days, allegedly on the basis that OpenAI CEO Sam Altman and president Greg Brockman had promised to keep the company a nonprofit committed to the mission.   

Musk brought two claims against OpenAI. First, he argued that Altman and Brockman breached the charitable trust he created through his donations by breaking their promise to keep the company a nonprofit and creating a for-profit subsidiary that ballooned over the years. Second, he argued that Altman and Brockman unjustly enriched themselves at Musk’s expense. He sued OpenAI in 2024. 

Musk asked the court to unwind a 2025 restructuring that converted OpenAI’s for-profit subsidiary into a public benefit corporation and to remove Altman and Brockman from their roles.

OpenAI argued that the time for Musk to sue the company had run out before he brought the case. The statute of limitations on the breach of charitable trust claim is three years, while the statute of limitations on the unjust enrichment claim is two years. This means that Musk should have discovered, or had reason to discover, Altman and Brockman’s alleged breach of charitable trust no earlier than 2021 and their alleged unjust enrichment no earlier than 2022. 

While Musk argued he discovered that Altman and Brockman had broken their promise only in 2022, OpenAI claimed that Musk had reason to think this well before 2021. 

Musk told the jury that he has gone through “three phases” in his beliefs about OpenAI: In phase one, he was “enthusiastically supportive” of the company. In phase two, “I started to lose confidence that they were telling me the truth,” he said. In phase three, “I’m sure they’re looting the nonprofit.” 

Here’s a deeper dive into a timeline of the events as testified in the trial. You can read my dispatches from all three weeks of the trial here and here and here

2017: Musk proposes creating a for-profit subsidiary

In 2017, two years after OpenAI was founded, Musk and the other cofounders tried to create a for-profit subsidiary to raise enough capital to build artificial general intelligence—powerful AI that can compete with humans on most cognitive tasks. They fought a bitter power battle over who would get to control the entity. Musk also proposed merging OpenAI with his electric-car company, Tesla. 

During the trial, OpenAI’s lawyers pressed Musk on these discussions, suggesting that Musk knew in 2017 about Altman and Brockman’s plans to pivot the company—even participating in such plans—and had reason to sue then.

“I was not opposed to there being a small for-profit that provides funding to the nonprofit,” Musk told the jury, “as long as the tail didn’t wag the dog.” 

2019: OpenAI creates a for-profit subsidiary with capped profits

In 2019, OpenAI created a for-profit subsidiary, under which employees and investors would receive a capped return on their investment. At the same time, the company secured a $1 billion investment from Microsoft. OpenAI argued that Musk again had reason to sue the company then. 

But Musk testified that he didn’t think the move was violating the nonprofit’s mission. “If you’ve got a capped-profit situation, it hasn’t violated the nonprofit’s goal,” Musk told the jury earlier in the trial. “There was no basis for me to file a lawsuit at that time.”

2020: Microsoft snags an exclusive license 

In 2020, when Microsoft secured an exclusive license to OpenAI’s GPT-3 model, Musk posted on X: “This does seem like the opposite of open. OpenAI is essentially captured by Microsoft.” OpenAI once again argued that Musk had reason to sue then. 

But Musk testified that after reading the post, Altman reassured him that “OpenAI was staying on the mission as a nonprofit.” Musk said although he was skeptical, he still had no reason to sue the company at that point.

2022: Microsoft prepares to invest $10 billion in OpenAI

It was only in 2022, Musk testified, that he discovered OpenAI had abandoned its nonprofit mission. At that time, Microsoft was preparing to invest $10 billion in OpenAI—a deal that closed in 2023. 

“I was disturbed to see OpenAI with a $20B valuation,” Musk texted Altman after reading the news. “This is a bait and switch.”

Musk told the jury this was the moment that made him realize “the for-profit is the tail wagging the dog.” He thought Microsoft would give $10 billion only if it expected “a very big financial return.” He argued that this was the point he realized “OpenAI had become, for all intents and purposes, a for-profit company with a $20 billion valuation.” 

“The 2023 deal was different,” Steven Molo, one of Musk’s lawyers, hammered home during his closing argument.

The jury sides with OpenAI

It was up to the jury to decide whether the evidence supported Musk’s claim that he first realized in 2023 that OpenAI was no longer a nonprofit committed to its mission. In the verdict announced today, they found Musk did in fact have reason to think that he was being misled by Altman and Brockman before 2021. They did not address whether he was in fact misled. 

Courts often decide cases on procedural grounds like statutes of limitations when they can, because it can be the cleaner way to resolve a case than to grapple with its merits.

Musk has said he will appeal the decision to the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, a federal appellate court that reviews decisions from district courts in California and other states.