I started in tech back in the early 2000s, before UX was a mainstream term, before social media shaped reality, and before AI started replacing us.

I was still in college when I got my first real break—working at a scrappy entertainment site called CraveOnline. It eventually got bought by Fox Atomic, but back then, it felt like a rocket ship. Everything was moving fast, breaking often, and held together with duct tape, caffeine, and curiosity.

I loved it instantly.

There was something electric about the industry back then. It wasn’t just the perks (though the flexible hours, spontaneous bonuses, and wild offsites were real). It was that we were building the future. You could feel it. You could see it—lines of code becoming products, ideas becoming companies, experiments becoming movements.

Every day, I felt like I was part of humanity’s great technology arc. Not just watching history—making it.

The UX Chapter

As my career evolved, I found myself drawn deeper into user experience. It became a kind of obsession.

I loved the challenge of it—solving the puzzle between what users expect and what businesses need. Finding that balance. Designing that bridge. Making things feel right for people while still driving growth. It felt important.

And for a while, there was security in it. Tech jobs were in demand. UX was booming. If you had the skills, you never really had to worry. There was always something new to build, always a startup hiring, always another rocket ship on the launchpad.

And Then Came the Crash

COVID poured fuel on the fire. Remote work exploded. Budgets grew. The hiring spree went supernova.

And then, as quickly as it surged, it collapsed.

Government money dried up. Markets corrected. And suddenly, the same companies that used to hire in droves… started laying people off just as fast. Design teams gutted. Engineering squads halved. Whole departments wiped out.

That was the moment I realized something I hadn’t wanted to admit:

The companies we thought were different—weren’t.

The “do no evil” era is over. These aren’t mission-driven orgs anymore. They’re corporations. They answer to boards and investors. And if it means replacing entire teams with AI or optimizing the soul out of a product to hit revenue targets—they’ll do it.

Reading That NYT Article Hit Me Hard

When I read this New York Times piece, I felt a sadness I couldn’t quite explain.

It was like reading the obituary of a friend you hadn’t seen in years, but who shaped who you became.

I don’t know what the future of UX, design, or tech work will look like. I have some ideas. I have some concerns. Especially with AI reshaping everything from workflows to the very concept of work. I’ve said it before: there is no version of reality where long-term mass unemployment doesn’t break the system. That’s not doomerism—it’s basic math.

But more than fear, what I feel right now is grief.

Because I was lucky enough to ride the wave. To be there during one of the most exciting, electric, creative stretches of digital history. And I know—truly know—that era is gone.

To the Ones Who Know What We Lost

To the devs who coded until sunrise.

To the designers who prototyped on whiteboards and napkins.

To the founders who pitched in hoodies, not pitch decks.

To the ones who felt the magic—

I see you.

We didn’t just build apps. We built culture.

We didn’t just solve problems. We changed expectations.

And maybe… just maybe… we made the internet feel a little more human—for a little while.

So What Now?

I don’t know.

Maybe the next great wave will look nothing like the last.

Maybe it’ll come from unexpected places.

Maybe small teams, consultants, and rebels will carry the torch.

But I do know this:

I’m grateful.

Grateful I got to be part of it.

Grateful I had a front-row seat to the rise.

Grateful I got to believe—in possibility, in people, in what we could build together.

We’ll build again. We always do.

But that first ride? That was something special.

And I’ll never forget it.

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