Seth Godin's Blog, page 88

23 things artificially intelligent computers can do better/faster/cheaper than you can

Predict the weather

Read an X-ray

Play Go

Correct spelling

Figure out the P&L of a large company

Pick a face out of a crowd

Count calories

Fly a jet across the country

Maintain the temperature of your house

Book a flight

Give directions

Create an index for a book

Play Jeopardy

Weld a metal seam

Trade stocks

Place online ads

Figure out what book to read next

Water a plant

Monitor a premature newborn

Detect a fire

Play poker

Read documents in a lawsuit

Sort packages

If you've seen enough movies, you've probably bought into the homunculus model of AI--that it's in the future and it represents a little mechanical man in a box, as mysterious in his motivations as we are.

The future of AI is probably a lot like the past: it nibbles. Artificial intelligence does a job we weren't necessarily crazy about doing anyway, it does it quietly, and well, and then we take it for granted. No one complained when their thermostat took over the job of building a fire, opening the grate, opening a window, rebuilding a fire. And no one complained when the computer found 100 flights faster and better than we ever could.

But the system doesn't get tired, it keeps nibbling. Not with benign or mal intent, but with a focus on a clearly defined task.

This can't help but lead to unintended consequences, enormous when they happen to you, and mostly small in the universal scheme of things. Technology destroys the perfect and then it enables the impossible.

The question each of us has to ask is simple (but difficult): What can I become quite good at that's really difficult for a computer to do one day soon? How can I become so resilient, so human and such a linchpin that shifts in technology won't be able to catch up?

It was always important, but now it's urgent.

            

The invisible fence

There are very few fences that can stop a determined person (or dog, for that matter).

Most of the time, the fence is merely a visual reminder that we're rewarded for complying.

If you care enough, ignore the fence. It's mostly in your head.

            

Can I trust you?

Everyone asks themselves this question.

And everyone looks for different clues and cues to answer it.

It's primordial. We've been doing it for millions of years, because nothing is more important to our survival.

The thing is, almost no one decides the answer to the trustworthy question based on the fine print, your policies, your positions on critical issues of national importance.

We decide long, long before that.

People watch what you do. They watch with the sound off. They listen to others. They seek out clues of the tiniest sort.

Reminder: We were in tribes for a very long time before we even developed language.

            

On getting worked up

Waking up a sleeping bear is difficult.

People hibernate too.

But it turns out that once activated, people do far more in a short time than you might expect. And so, the week before Christmas sees an insane amount of shopping. The weeks before a big election see a significant amount of attention paid. The final days of a Kickstarter lead people to action.

If you wait until a marketer tells you it's time to get out of your comfort zone, you've just handed over your freedom and agency to someone who might not care about the things you care about.

Far more powerful to develop the power to get out of our hibernation, on our own timetable, on a regular basis.

It's no one's day but yours.

            

Misbelief

We have a holiday for it, but no good words. Belief in disbelief. The asymmetry between incredulity and credulity. The fact that too often we believe in the wrong stuff, follow the wrong leader and take the wrong medicine.

In just a few decades, we've managed to wreck April Fools as a useful holiday. The stakes are just too high.

For a long time, we've been easily fooled by patent medicines. Snake oil was a real thing. People used electricity in the wrong places for the wrong illnesses. We swallow silver, see a faith healer and spend all our money for a small bag of magic beans. At the same time, we hesitate to see the doctor, don't talk to her when we do, and fill prescriptions but don't take them when we get home. We're skeptical about vaccines but eagerly line up for oxygenated water...

We believe, but in the wrong things.

When someone tells us a certain kind of person is dangerous, we're too eager to believe our xenophobic instincts. We work ourselves into a frenzy over a small injustice, but stand by when the big scam gets done right in front of our eyes. 

And we don't like being wrong.

Hence the paradox, the corner we've painted ourselves into: We need to believe, we want to believe, we benefit from believing. We can't function without news and connection and forward motion.

But, we don't like to be proven wrong.

So it's easy to begin by calling it all fake, by non-believing. To become cynical and short-sighted and brittle.

But non-belief doesn't help, because we can't make forward motion without belief. No society works without trust and optimism.

Which leads us right back where we started, which is the cost of agency and the cost of freedom: the responsibility of believing in things that work. We received leverage and the price is responsibility.

Our job is to see our misbelief and replace it with better belief, thoughtful belief, belief in things that actually work.

No fooling.

            

Merely transactional

"We owe you nothing."

This week, all but one NFL owner voted to let the Raiders leave Oakland for Las Vegas (I'm not a football fan, but bear with me).

A nearly perfect example of how one version of capitalism corrupts our culture.

The season ticket holder bought a ticket and got his games. Even steven. We owe you nothing.

The dedicated fan sat through endless losing games. Even steven. Ticket purchased, game delivered. We owe you nothing.

The problem with 'even steven' is that it turns trust and connection and emotions into nothing but a number. Revenue on a P&L. It ignores the long-term in exchange for a relentless focus on today. Only today.

There's an alternative view of capitalism. Modern capitalism. Capitalism for the long-term.  In this view, the purpose of an enterprise is to make things better. To minimize negative externalities and create value. Value for the owners, sure, but also for the workers, the customers and the bystanders. 

"We owe you everything."

You trusted us. You showed up. You tolerated our impact on your world, even when you didn't invite us in.

It'll never be even steven, but we can try to repay you. Thank you for the opportunity.

I think this is what sports fans signed up for when they were first offered the chance to support a team. Maybe your customers feel the same way.

            

All we have to do is be the person we say we are

No need to shop for a better you, or to work overtime to make bigger promises.

Keeping the promises we've already made is sufficient.

            

Nickels and dimes are worth less than that

The real asset you're building is trust.

And even though it's tempting to cut a corner here and there to boost profit per interaction, the real cost is huge.

No one will say anything, no one will put up a fuss, until one day, they're gone. Those extra few dollars you made with some fancy footwork have now cost you tens of thousands of dollars in lost value.

The opposite is clearly true: invest a nickel or a dime every chance you get, and the trust you earn pays for itself a hundred times over.

            

What if scale wasn't the goal?

From restaurants to direct mail, there's pressure to be scalable, to be efficient, to create something easily replicated.

Which is often used as the reason it's not very good. "Well, we'd like to spend more time/more care/more focus on this, but we need to get bigger."

What if you started in the other direction?

What would happen if you created something noteworthy and worried about scale only after you've figured out how to make a difference?

            

Unselling

Getting someone to switch to you is totally different from getting someone who's new to the market to start using the solution you offer.

Switching means:

Admitting I was wrong, and, in many cases, leaving behind some of my identity, because my tribe (as I see them) is using what I used to use.

So, if you want to get a BMW motorcycle owner to buy a Harley as his next bike, you have your work cut out for you.

He's not eager to say, "well, I got emotionally involved with something, but I realized that there's a better choice so I switched, I was wrong and now I'm right."

And he's certainly not looking forward to walking away from his own self-defined circle and enduring the loneliness as he finds a new circle.

Which leads to three things to think about:

If you seek to grow quickly, realize that your best shot is to get in early, before people have made a commitment, built allegiances and started to engage in cognitive dissonance (since I picked this one, it must be good).




If you are marketing to people who will have to switch to engage with you, do it with intention. Your pitch of, "this is very very good" is insufficient. Your pitch of, "you need something in this category" makes no sense, because I'm already buying in that category. Instead, you must spend the time, the effort and the money to teach me new information that allows me to make a new decision. Not that I was wrong before, but that I was under-informed.




Ignore the tribal links at your peril. Without a doubt, "people like us do things like this," is the most powerful marketing mantra available. Make it true, then share the news.

We invent a status quo every time we settle on something, because we'd rather tell ourselves that we made a good decision than live with the feeling that we didn't.