TikTok to Obsolescence

As the debate over TikTok’s potential ban in the U.S. continues, millions of users are panicking over the possibility of losing access to the platform. Influencers, small businesses, and content creators worry about what will happen to their audiences, income streams, and the time they’ve invested. However, young Americans should not be overly concerned about an app they did not create—one that is not even American but rather a geopolitical instrument designed to socially engineer by nurturing progressive ideologies.

Instead of fixating on TikTok’s survival, they should focus on securing their own future autonomy amid these exponential technological disruptions. Using TikTok is like renting a house versus buying one—one is an investment, while the other is merely throwing money away. The key to long-term survival is building your own raft rather than relying on someone else’s, because the future will be a relentless tsunami of change, arriving without warning.

Ideally, technological progress should empower us, allowing us to overcome monotonous tasks so we can dedicate more time to meaningful pursuits—connecting with family, nurturing friendships, and immersing ourselves in nature. Yet, paradoxically, the more advanced our tools become, the less we are valued for using them. There is a direct correlation between technological progress and the diminishing respect for those who operate these tools. As technology becomes more efficient and intuitive, it obscures the effort behind the work, making skill appear trivial and human expertise increasingly undervalued.

In our pursuit of efficiency, we are not only making ourselves obsolete but also stripping away the dignity associated with work itself. And worse, we are being sold an illusion that technology will enable us to thrive, when in reality, it is simply accelerating the race to the bottom.

One of the most insidious effects of technological advancement is the way it makes complex work appear easy. A person designing a house on a computer is not seen as a craftsman in the same way that a traditional architect with a pencil and paper might be. A photographer using an AI-powered editing suite is not seen as an artist in the same way as one developing film in a darkroom.

The problem is that most people do not understand the technology behind digital work. To an outsider, graphic design looks like nothing more than “copy and paste.” Coding seems as simple as “typing prompts into ChatGPT.” Video editing appears to be just “something you can do on your phone with a free app.” The more advanced and user-friendly our tools become, the more invisible the expertise behind them. The result? A complete devaluation of digital labor.

Capitalism thrives on innovation, and in many ways, this is necessary—stagnation leads to collapse, and technological progress fuels economic growth. However, this same system also creates relentless pressure to adopt the latest tools, even when older ones remain perfectly functional, resembling a form of digital planned obsolescence. This, in turn, fosters a dogmatic mindset, often embraced by those who manage but do not use these tools themselves, pushing others to upgrade—new software, new operating systems, new methodologies. Refusing to adopt the latest technology is seen as a sign of obsolescence, making individuals appear outdated in a superficial way, inefficient, and ultimately replaceable.

But the irony is that these very tools accelerate our own devolution. With each new automation tool, we shift from being active participants in an AI-human or application-human collaboration to gradually surrendering full control to the machine—much like a pilot reluctantly engaging autopilot, knowing it diminishes their own role in the process.

This cycle of diminishing returns is not limited to AI or automation—it extends to entire industries built on selling the idea of opportunity. Companies like Squarespace and Upwork thrive on the misplaced optimism that was fed to Millennials in the early 2000s: the belief that you should “follow your passion” and that the internet would give you the tools to turn that passion into a sustainable career.

What was marketed as opportunity was, in reality, just a new form of exploitation. Platforms like Upwork promised a thriving freelance marketplace, but instead, they created an oversaturated gig economy where workers underbid each other into poverty. Squarespace sold the dream that “anyone can build a business” with a website, but in truth, a website alone doesn’t guarantee success—it only guarantees that you’ll keep paying their monthly or annual subscription fees.

These platforms do not create wealth for freelancers—they extract wealth from their labor. The same way social media companies monetize attention, freelance marketplaces monetize desperation. They convince people that success is just a few clicks away while profiting from the fact that, for most, it never is.

It is easy to believe that skilled labor will always have a place, that there will always be room for human ingenuity. But history has shown otherwise. Craftsmen were once essential—now, mass production has made their skills obsolete. Typists were once in high demand—now, word processors have eliminated the need. And today, even knowledge-based jobs that were once thought secure—software engineering, financial analysis, creative work—are being encroached upon by artificial intelligence.

The more we integrate technology into our work, the less we are needed. Yet, we have no choice—we must adopt these tools to stay competitive. It’s a strange reality: the pursuit of relevance ultimately leads to irrelevance.

• Manual laborers are being replaced by automation, robotics, and cheaper low-skilled workers, as companies adopt construction methods that minimize the need for specialized skills.
• Office workers are losing relevance as AI automates data entry, scheduling, financial analysis, and customer service, reducing the need for administrative staff.
• Freelancers face dwindling job security in an oversaturated gig economy, where platforms like Fiverr and Upwork drive wages down while extracting commissions from their earnings.
• Retail and service workers are being displaced by self-checkout kiosks, automated warehouses, and AI-driven chatbots that handle customer inquiries and orders.
• Journalists and writers struggle to maintain relevance as AI-generated news articles, blogs, and social media content flood the internet, blurring the line between human insight and machine-written text.
• Teachers and tutors are seeing their roles shift as AI-powered learning platforms and virtual tutors provide personalized education at scale, reducing reliance on human instructors.
• Doctors and radiologists face AI-assisted diagnostics that can analyze scans and detect diseases more accurately and efficiently, potentially reducing the need for human medical expertise in some areas.
• Actors and models risk losing control over their likenesses as AI can create hyper-realistic digital avatars and deepfake performances, allowing studios and brands to replace human talent.

A striking example of this devaluation is the story of Rhythm & Hues Studios, the visual effects company behind the breathtaking visuals in Life of Pi. In 2013, the studio won the Academy Award for Best Visual Effects—a moment that should have cemented its success. Yet, just days before the Oscars, the company filed for bankruptcy. The same industry that praised their work ultimately made it unsustainable for them to operate.

Even during the acceptance speech, when the studio’s visual effects supervisor, Bill Westenhofer, attempted to highlight the financial struggles of his company and the hardworking artists who spent a year working on the film, his speech was cut short by the Jaws theme, signaling that his time was up. The irony is that while actors are given more time to express themselves at these award shows, they now, in 2025, face the threat of having their image rights compromised and being replicated by AI.

This moment perfectly encapsulates the paradox of technological artistry. Both film audiences and directors have become so numb to the use of CGI that their entitlement has, in turn, rendered the labor of those creating this illusion of realism nearly extinct. The industry demands cheaper, faster, and more spectacular effects while placing relentless pressure on artists, who work long hours under grueling conditions—only to be treated as expendable.

TikTok’s potential ban made headlines because people feared losing access to a social media platform. But this is a distraction. The real crisis is not about losing an app—it is about losing our relevance. We are racing toward a future where human labor, both physical and intellectual, is no longer needed. And the faster technology advances, the more we devalue ourselves in each other's eyes.

The question is no longer whether technology will replace us. It is whether we are complicit in our own obsolescence.