The year is 2007. Steve Jobs unveils the first iPhone in January. I spend the summer working at a camp in Pennsylvania. And before heading back home to the other side of the world, we decide to spend some of our hard-earned money on a trip to the Big Apple.
We visited the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue, and I vividly remember how remarkable the iPhone felt sitting on that stand — especially compared to the devices we had at the time. I never bought one, of course, but it already felt years ahead of the Sony Ericsson K750i I was carrying back then.
I think that's what marked the beginning of the golden era of software for me.
The year is 2011. Starting my first IT job in Saint Petersburg, I had a blast testing and using all kinds of devices: Android, iOS, Windows Phone. Yes, I even had an HTC Windows Phone before eventually giving up and switching to iPhones. Everything still felt open back then. There was a sense of discovery — a feeling that the next great app might do something you'd never seen before.
Even Siri, the Siri that never materialized — until 2026? — felt magical back then, before years of "here's what Siri can't do" slowly turned that magic into a punchline.
The year is 2016. I joined 1Password, and every year before WWDC, there was excitement in the air. Watching the keynote was a special ritual — the entire company, yes, that was still possible back then, would pile into one Slack channel to share reactions, jokes, and whatever else came up in the moment. Spotting the 1Password icon anywhere on screen was always a small thrill.
The year is 2026. I still watch Apple keynotes. But I don't feel that buzz anymore.
The feeling that the golden era is over has been creeping up on me for a while. Smartphones hit the ceiling a long time ago. Every phone feels the same now, regardless of platform — filled with the same apps, doing the same things in slightly different ways. Social media commentary has collapsed into ragebait and grievances. Everything feels too polarized. The fun is gone. So is the sense of discovery.
And now, AI is pushing that sameness to new heights. To paraphrase Jurassic Park: people were so preoccupied with whether they could put AI everywhere that they didn't stop to think whether they should. You could argue that AI is the next frontier, opening up new and uncharted possibilities. But in practice, it feels like the opposite.
When you paint everything with the same AI brush, everything starts to lose its character. Interfaces blur together. Features blur together. Every product now promises the same magic trick: type something into a box, and the machine will handle the rest.
I don't care if this is the future sci-fi dreamt of. I just don't see the fun in it. How did the Siri we were promised all those years ago finally arrive and somehow feel so completely soulless?
Everyone acts as if there's nothing left to solve — except AI.
I understand that paradigms shift — that's completely natural. But this time, I think my interest and passion should move on too. It's time to let go and find the fun somewhere else.