The assassination of Charlie Kirk on September 10, 2025, marked a horrifying inflection point in the growing debate over how digital platforms amplify rage and destabilize politics. As someone who had already stepped back from social media after Trump’s re-election, watching these events unfold from a distance only confirmed my decision. My feeds had become pits of despair, grievances, and overall negativity that didn’t do well for my mental health. While I understand the need to shine a light on the atrocities of Trump and his government, the constant barrage was too much. So I mostly opted out, save for the occasional promotion of my writing.

Kirk’s death feels like the inevitable conclusion of systems we’ve built—systems that reward outrage, amplify division, and transform human beings into content machines optimized for engagement at any cost.

The Mechanics of Disconnection

As it turns out, my behavior isn’t out of the ordinary. People quit social media for various reasons, often situational—seeking balance in an increasingly overwhelming digital landscape. As a participant explained in a research project about social media disconnection:

It was just a build-up of stress and also a huge urge to change things in life. Like, ‘It just can’t go on like this.’ And that made me change a number of things. So I started to do more sports and eat differently, have more social contacts and stop using online media. And instead of sitting behind my phone for two hours in the evening, I read a book and did some work, went to work out, I went to a birthday or a barbecue. I was much more engaged in other things. It just gave me energy. And then I thought, ‘This is good. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. I have to maintain this.’

Sometimes the realization is more visceral—that on these platforms, we are the product. As Jef van de Graaf provocatively puts it:

Every post we make, every friend we invited, every little notification dragging us back into the feed serves one purpose: to extract money from us—and give nothing back but dopamine addiction and mental illness.

While his language is deliberately inflammatory, the sentiment resonates with many who’ve watched their relationship with these platforms sour. As he cautions:

Remember: social media exists because we feed it our lives. We trade our privacy and sanity so VCs and founders can get rich and live like greedy fucking kings.

The Architecture of Rage

The internet was built to connect people and ideas. Even the early iterations of Facebook and Twitter were relatively harmless because the timelines were chronological. But then the makers—product managers, designers, and engineers—of social media platforms began to optimize for engagement and visit duration. Was the birth of the social media algorithm the original sin?

Kevin Roose and Casey Newton explored this question in their Hard Fork episode following Kirk’s assassination, discussing how platforms have evolved to optimize for what they call “borderline content”—material that comes right up to the line of breaking a platform’s policy without quite going over. As Newton observed about Kirk himself:

He excelled at making what some of the platform nerds that I write about would call borderline content. So basically, saying things that come right up to the line of breaking a platform’s policy without quite going over… It turns out that the most compelling thing you can do on social media is to almost break a policy.

Kirk mastered this technique—speculating that vaccines killed millions, calling the Civil Rights Act a mistake, flirting with anti-Semitic tropes while maintaining plausible deniability. He understood the algorithm’s hunger for controversy, and fed it relentlessly. And then, in a horrible irony, he was killed by someone who had likely been radicalized by the very same algorithmic forces he’d helped unleash.

As Roose reflected:

We as a culture are optimizing for rage now. You see it on the social platforms. You see it from politicians calling for revenge for the assassination of Charlie Kirk. You even see it in these individual cases of people getting extremely mad at the person who made a joke about Charlie Kirk that was edgy and tasteless, and going to report them to their employer and get them fired. It’s all this sort of spectacle of rage, this culture of destroying and owning and humiliating.

The Unraveling of Digital Society

Social media and smartphones have fundamentally altered how we communicate and socialize, often at the expense of face-to-face interactions. These technologies have created a market for attention that fuels fear, anger, and political conflict. The research on mental health impacts is sobering: studies found that the introduction of Facebook to college campuses led to measurable increases in depression, accounting for approximately 24 percent of the increased prevalence of severe depression among college students over two decades.

In the wake of Kirk’s assassination, what struck me most was how the platforms immediately transformed tragedy into content. Within hours, there were viral posts celebrating his death, counter-posts condemning those celebrations, organizations collecting databases of “offensive” comments, people losing their jobs, death threats flying in all directions. As Newton noted:

This kind of surveillance and doxxing is essentially a kind of video game that you can play on X. And people like to play video games. And because you’re playing with people’s real lives, it feels really edgy and cool and fun for those who are participating in this.

The human cost is remarkable—teachers, firefighters, military members fired or suspended for comments about Kirk’s death. Many received death threats. Far-right activists called for violence and revenge, doxxing anyone they accused of insufficient mourning.

Blood in the Feed

The last five years have been marked by eruptions of political violence that cannot be separated from the online world that incubated them.

• The attack on Paul Pelosi (2022). The man who broke into the Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi’s San Francisco home and fractured her husband’s skull had been marinating in QAnon conspiracies and election denialism online. Extremism experts warned it was a textbook case of how stochastic terrorism—the idea that widespread demonization online can trigger unpredictable acts of violence by individuals—travels from platform rhetoric into a hammer-swinging hand.
• The Trump assassination attempt (July 2024). A young man opened fire at a rally in Pennsylvania. His social media presence was filled with antisemitic, anti-immigrant content. Within hours, extremist forums were glorifying him as a martyr and calling for more violence.
• The killing of Minnesota legislator Melissa Hortman and her husband (June 2025). Their murderer left behind a manifesto echoing the language of online white supremacist and anti-abortion communities. He wasn’t a “lone wolf.” He was drawing from the same toxic well of white supremacist and anti-abortion rhetoric that floods online forums. The language of his manifesto wasn’t unique—it was copied, recycled, and amplified in the ideological swamps anyone with a Wi-Fi connection can wander into.

These headline events sit atop a broader wave: the New Orleans truck-and-shooting rampage inspired by ISIS propaganda online (January 2025), the Cybertruck bombing outside Trump’s Los Angeles hotel tied to accelerationist forums—online spaces where extremists argue that violence should be used to hasten the collapse of society (January 2025), and countless smaller assaults on election workers, minority communities, and public officials.

The pattern is depressingly clear. Platforms radicalize, amplify, and normalize the language of violence. Then, someone acts.

The Death of Authenticity

As social media became commoditized—a place to influence and promote consumption—it became less personal and more like TV. The platforms are now being overrun by AI spam and engagement-driven content that drowns out real human connection. As James O’Sullivan notes:

Platforms have little incentive to stem the tide. Synthetic accounts are cheap, tireless and lucrative because they never demand wages or unionize… Engagement is now about raw user attention – time spent, impressions, scroll velocity – and the net effect is an online world in which you are constantly being addressed but never truly spoken to.

Research confirms what users plainly see: tens of thousands of machine-written posts now flood public groups, pushing scams and chasing engagement. Whatever remains of genuine human content is increasingly sidelined by algorithmic prioritization, receiving fewer interactions than the engineered content and AI slop optimized solely for clicks.

The result? Networks that once promised a single interface for the whole of online life are splintering. Users drift toward smaller, slower, more private spaces—group chats, Discord servers, federated microblogs, and email newsletters. A billion little gardens replacing the monolithic, rage-filled public squares that have led to a burst of political violence.

The Designer’s Reckoning

This brings us to design and our role in creating these systems. As designers, are we beginning to reckon with what we’ve wrought?

Jony Ive, reflecting on his own role in creating the smartphone, acknowledges this burden:

I think when you’re innovating, of course, there will be unintended consequences. You hope that the majority will be pleasant surprises. Certain products that I’ve been very involved with, I think there were some unintended consequences that were far from pleasant. My issue is that even though there was no intention, I think there still needs to be responsibility. And that weighs on me heavily.

His words carry new weight after Kirk’s assassination—a death enabled by platforms we designed, algorithms we optimized, engagement metrics we celebrated.

At the recent World Design Congress in London, architect Indy Johar didn’t mince words:

We need ideas and practices that change how we, as humans, relate to the world… Ignoring the climate crisis means you’re an active operator in the genocide of the future.

But we might ask: What about ignoring the crisis of human connection? What about the genocide of civil discourse? Climate activist Tori Tsui’s warning applies equally to our digital architecture saying, “The rest of us are at the mercy of what you decide to do with your imagination.”

Political violence is accelerating and people are dying because of what we did with our imagination. If responsibility weighs heavily, so too must the search for alternatives.

The Possibility of Bridges

There are glimmers of hope in potential solutions. Aviv Ovadya’s concept of “bridging-based algorithms” offers one path forward—systems that actively seek consensus across divides rather than exploiting them. As Casey Newton explains:

They show them to people across the political spectrum… and they only show the note if people who are more on the left and more on the right agree. They see a bridge between the two of you and they think, well, if Republicans and Democrats both think this is true, this is likelier to be true.

But technological solutions alone won’t save us. The participants in social media disconnection studies often report developing better relationships with technology only after taking breaks. One participant explained:

It’s more the overload that I look at it every time, but it doesn’t really satisfy me, that it no longer had any value at a certain point in time. But that you still do it. So I made a conscious choice – a while back – to stop using Facebook.

Designing in the Shadow of Violence

Rob Alderson, in his dispatch from the World Design Congress, puts together a few pieces. Johar suggests design’s role is “desire manufacturing”—not just creating products, but rewiring society to want and expect different versions of the future. As COLLINS co-founder Leland Maschmeyer argued, design is about…

What do we want to do? What do we want to become? How do we get there?’… We need to make another reality as real as possible, inspired by new context and the potential that holds.

The challenge before us isn’t just technical—it’s fundamentally about values and vision. We need to move beyond the Post-it workshops and develop what Johar calls “new competencies” that shape the future.

As I write this, having stepped back from the daily assault of algorithmic rage, I find myself thinking about the Victorian innovators Ive mentioned—companies like Cadbury’s and Fry’s that didn’t just build factories but designed entire towns, understanding that their civic responsibility extended far beyond their products. They recognized that massive societal shifts of moving people from land that they farmed, to cities they lived in for industrial manufacturing, require holistic thinking about how people live and work together.

We stand at a similar inflection point. The tools we’ve created have reshaped human connection in ways that led directly to Charlie Kirk’s assassination. A young man, radicalized online, killed a figure who had mastered the art of online radicalization. The snake devoured its tail on a college campus in Utah, and we all watched it happen in real-time, transforming even this tragedy into content.

The vast majority of Americans, as Newton reminds us, “do not want to participate in a violent cultural war with people who disagree with them.” Yet our platforms are engineered to convince us otherwise, to make civil war feel perpetually imminent, to transform every disagreement into an existential threat.

The Cost of Our Imagination

Perhaps the real design challenge lies not in creating more engaging feeds or stickier platforms, but in designing systems that honor our humanity, foster genuine connection, and help us build the bridges we so desperately need.

Because while these US incidents show how social media incubates lone attackers and small cells, they pale in comparison to Myanmar, where Facebook’s algorithms directly amplified hate speech and incitement, contributing to the deaths of thousands—estimates range from 6,700 to as high as 24,000—and the forced displacement of over 700,000 Rohingya Muslims. That catastrophe made clear: when platforms optimize only for engagement, the result isn’t connection but carnage.

This is our design failure. We built systems that reward extremism, amplify rage, and treat human suffering as engagement. The tools meant to bring us together have instead armed us against each other. And we all bear responsibility for that.

It’s time we imagined something better—before the systems we’ve created finish the job of tearing us apart.

For men of a certain age, Pink Floyd represents a milieu—brooding, melancholy, emo before emo had a name. I started listening to Floyd in high school and being a kid who always felt like an outsider, The Wall really resonated with me. In college, I started exploring their back catalog and Animals and Wish You Were Here became my favorites. Of course, as a designer, I have always loved the album covers. Storm Thorgerson and Hipgnosis’ surreal photos were mind-bending and added to the music’s feelings of alienation, yearning, and the aching beauty of being lost.

I hadn’t listened to the music in a while but the song “Two Suns in the Sunset” from *The Final Cut *periodically pops into my head. I listened to the full album last Sunday. On Tuesday, I pulled up their catalog again to play in the background while I worked and to my surprise, all the trippy cover art was replaced by white type on a black surface!

The classic image of the prism and rainbow for The Dark Side of the Moon was replaced by “A PRISM REFRACTS LIGHT INTO THE SPECTRUM.” It’s essentially alt text for all the covers—deadpan captions where the surreal images used to be.

“ROWS OF HOSPITAL BEDS ON A BEACH” for 1987’s A Momentary Lapse of Reason.

“A WALL OF WHITE BRICKS WITH RED GRAFFITI” for The Wall.

“TWO MEN IN SUITS SHAKING HANDS ONE MAN IS ON FIRE” for Wish You Were Here.

And my favorite—“PHOTO WITHIN A PHOTO WITHIN A PHOTO” for Ummagumma.

What is going on? Are they broken images replaced by alt text? Some folks on the internet think it is a protest against AI art.

But in reality, it’s part of a marketing campaign because Pink Floyd’s official website has also been wrapped in a black cloth…

Maybe it’s not cloth. Looks more like black plastic. And that’s because it’s very likely coinciding with the 50th anniversary of Wish You Were Here, which famously shipped to stores wrapped in black shrink-wrap, forcing buyers to just buy the record on faith.

There was a conceptual reason behind it of course. From Wikipedia:

Storm Thorgerson had accompanied the band on their 1974 tour and had given serious thought to the meaning of the lyrics, eventually deciding that the songs were, in general, concerned with “unfulfilled presence”, rather than [former lead vocalist and founding band member Syd] Barrett’s illness. This theme of absence was reflected in the ideas produced by his long hours spent brainstorming with the band. Thorgerson had noted that Roxy Music’s Country Life was sold in an opaque green cellophane sleeve – censoring the cover image – and he copied the idea, concealing the artwork for Wish You Were Here in a black-coloured shrink-wrap (therefore making the album art “absent”).

I’m curious to see if there is a big reveal tomorrow, the actual anniversary of my favorite Pink Floyd album, and maybe the most fitting tribute to absence they could pull off.

UPDATE 9:05 PM, September 11, 2025:

At midnight Eastern Time, Apple Music updated with a new pre-release album from Pink Floyd with cover art—the 50th anniversary edition of Wish You Were Here. It’ll be fully released on December 12.

Today’s Apple keynote opened with a classic quote from Steve Jobs.

Then a video played, focused on the fundamental geometric shapes that can be found in Apple’s products: circles in the HomePod, iPhone shutter button, iPhone camera, MagSafe charging ring, Digital Crown on Apple Watch; rounded squares in the charging block, Home scene button, Mac mini, keycaps, Finder icon, FaceID; to the lozenges found in the AirPods case, MagSafe port, Liquid Glass carousel control, and the Action button on Apple Watch Ultra.

Then Tim Cook repeated the notion in his opening remarks:

At Apple, design has always been fundamental to who we are and what we do. For us, design goes beyond just how something looks or feels. Design is also how it works. This philosophy guides everything we do, including the products we’re going to introduce today and the experiences they provide.

Apple announced a bunch of products today, including:

• AirPods Pro 3 with better active noise canceling, live translation, and heart rate sensing (more below)
• Apple Watch Series 11, thinner and with hypertension alerts and sleep score
• iPhone 17 with a faster chip and better camera (as always)
• iPhone Air at 5.6 mm thin! They packed all the main components into a new full-width camera “plateau” (I guess that’s the new word for camera bump)
• iPhone 17 Pro / Pro Max with a faster chip and even better camera (as always), along with unibody construction and cool vapor cooling (like liquid cooling, but with vapor), and a beefy camera plateau

Highlights

Live Translation is Star Trek’s Universal Translator

In the Star Trek universe, humans regularly speak English with aliens and the audience hears those same aliens reply in English. Of course, it’s television and it was always explained away—that a “universal translator” is embedded in the comm badge all Starfleet crew members wear.

With AirPods Pro 3, this is becoming real! In one demo video, Apple shows a woman at a market. She’s shopping and hears a vendor speak to her in Spanish. Through her AirPods, she hears the live translation and can reply in English and have that translated back to Spanish on her iPhone. Then, in another scene, two guys are talking—English and Italian—and they’re both wearing the new AirPods and having a seamless conversation. Amazing.

Heart Rate Monitoring in AirPods

Apple is extending its fitness tracking features to AirPods, specifically the new AirPods Pro 3. These come with a new sensor that pulses invisible infrared light at 256 times per second to detect blood flow and calculate heart rate. I’m always astonished by how Apple keeps extending the capabilities of its devices to push health and fitness metrics, which—at least their thesis goes—helps with overall wellbeing. (See below.)

Full-Width Camera Bump

Or, the new camera plateau. I actually prefer the full width over just the bump. I feel like the plain camera bump on my iPhone 16 Pro makes the phone too wobbly when I put it on its back. I think a bump that spans the full width of the phone will make it more stable. This new design is on the new iPhone Air and iPhone 17 Pro.

To Air or Not to Air?

I’m on the iPhone Upgrade Program so I can get a new phone each year—and I have for that last few. I’m wondering if I want to get the Air this time. One thing I dislike about the iPhone Pros is their weight. The Pro is pretty heavy and I can feel it in my hand after prolonged use. At 165 grams, the Air is 17% lighter than the 16 Pro (199 grams). It might make a difference.

Overall Thoughts

Of course, in 2025, it’s a little striking that Apple didn’t mention much about AI. Apple framed AI not as a standalone product but as an invisible layer woven through AirPods, Watch, and iPhone—from Live Translation and Workout Buddy nudges to on-device models powering health insights and generative photo features. Instead of prompts and chatbots, Apple Intelligence showed up as contextual, ambient assistance designed to disappear into the flow of everyday use. And funnily enough, iOS 26 was mentioned in passing, as if Apple assumed everyone watching had seen the prior episode—er, keynote—in June.

It’s interesting that the keynote opened with that Steve Jobs quote about design. Maybe someone in Cupertino read my piece breaking down Liquid Glass where I argued:

People misinterpret this quote all the time to mean design is only how it works. That is not what Steve meant. He meant, design is both what it looks like and how it works.

(Actually, it was probably what Casey Newton wrote in Platformer about Liquid Glass.) 

If you step back and consider why Apple improves its hardware and software every year, it goes back to their implied mission: to make products that better human lives. This is exemplified by the “Dear Apple” spot they played as part of the segment on Apple Watch.

Apple’s foray into wearables—beyond ear- and headphones—with Apple Watch ten years ago was really an entry into health technology. Lives have been saved and people have gotten healthier because Apple technology enabled them. Dr. Sumbul Ahmad Desai, VP of Health mentioned their new hypertension detection feature could notify over one million people with undiagnosed hypertension in its first year. Apple developed this feature using advanced machine learning, drawing on training data from multiple studies that involved over 100,000 participants. Then they clinically validated it in a separate study of over 2,000 participants. In other words, they’ve become a real force is shaping health tech.

And what also amazes me, is that now AirPods Pro 3 will help with health and fitness tracking. (See above.)

There’s no doubt that Apple’s formal design is always top-notch. But it’s great to be reminded of their why and how these must-buy-by-Christmas devices are capable of solving real world problems and bettering our lives. (And no, I don’t think having a lighter, thinner, faster, cooler phone falls into this category. We can have both moral purpose and commercial purpose.)

I rewatched the 1982 film TRON for the umpteenth time the other night with my wife. I have always credited this movie as the spark that got me interested in computers. Mind you, I was nine years old when this film came out. I was so excited after watching the movie that I got my father to buy us a home computer—the mighty Atari 400 (note sarcasm). I remember an educational game that came on cassette called “States & Capitals” that taught me, well, the states and their capitals. It also introduced me to BASIC, and after watching TRON, I wanted to write programs!

The Atari 400’s membrane keyboard was easy to wipe down, but terrible for typing. It also reminded me of fast food restaurant registers of the time.

Back in the early days of computing—the 1960s and ’70s—there was no distinction between users and programmers. Computer users wrote programs to do stuff for them. Hence the close relationship between the two that’s depicted in TRON. The programs in the digital world resembled their creators because they were extensions of them. Tron, the security program that Bruce Boxleitner’s character Alan Bradley wrote, looks like its creator. Clu looked like Kevin Flynn, played by Jeff Bridges. Early in the film, a compound interest program who was captured by the MCP’s goons says to a cellmate, “if I don’t have a User, then who wrote me?”

The programs in TRON looked like their users. Unless the user was the program, which was the case with Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges), third from left.

I was listening to a recent interview with Ivan Zhao, CEO and cofounder of Notion, in which he said he and his cofounder were “inspired by the early computing pioneers who in the ’60s and ’70s thought that computing should be more LEGO-like rather than like hard plastic.” Meaning computing should be malleable and configurable. He goes on to say, “That generation of thinkers and pioneers thought about computing kind of like reading and writing.” As in accessible and fundamental so all users can be programmers too.

The 1980s ushered in the personal computer era with the Apple IIe, Commodore 64, TRS-80, (maybe even the Atari 400 and 800), and then the Macintosh, etc. Programs were beginning to be mass-produced and consumed by users, not programmed by them. To be sure, this move made computers much more approachable. But it also meant that users lost a bit of control. They had to wait for Microsoft to add a feature into Word that they wanted.

Of course, we’re coming back to a full circle moment. In 2025, with AI-enabled vibecoding, users are able to spin up little custom apps that do pretty much anything they want them to do. It’s easy, but not trivial. The only interface is the chatbox, so your control is only as good as your prompts and the model’s understanding. And things can go awry pretty quickly if you’re not careful.

What we’re missing is something accessible, but controllable. Something with enough power to allow users to build a lot, but not so much that it requires high technical proficiency to produce something good. In 1987, Apple released HyperCard and shipped it for free with every new Mac. HyperCard, as fans declared at the time, was “programming for the rest of us.”

HyperCard—Programming for the Rest of Us

HyperCard’s welcome screen showed some useful stacks to help the user get started.

Bill Atkinson was the programmer responsible for MacPaint. After the Mac launched, and apparently on an acid trip, Atkinson conceived of HyperCard. As he wrote on the Apple history site Folklore:

Inspired by a mind-expanding LSD journey in 1985, I designed the HyperCard authoring system that enabled non-programmers to make their own interactive media. HyperCard used a metaphor of stacks of cards containing graphics, text, buttons, and links that could take you to another card. The HyperTalk scripting language implemented by Dan Winkler was a gentle introduction to event-based programming.

There were five main concepts in HyperCard: cards, stacks, objects, HyperTalk, and hyperlinks. 

• Cards were screens or pages. Remember that the Mac’s nine-inch monochrome screen was just 512 pixels by 342 pixels.
• Stacks were collections of cards, essentially apps.
• Objects were the UI and layout elements that included buttons, fields, and backgrounds.
• HyperTalk was the scripting language that read like plain English.
• Hyperlinks were links from one interactive element like a button to another card or stack.

When I say that HyperTalk read like plain English, I mean it really did. AppleScript and JavaScript are descendants. Here’s a sample logic script:

if the text of field "Password" is "open sesame" then
  go to card "Secret"
else
  answer "Wrong password."
end if

Armed with this kit of parts, users were able to use this programming “erector set” and build all sorts of banal or wonderful apps. From tracking vinyl records to issuing invoices, or transporting gamers to massive immersive worlds, HyperCard could do it all. The first version of the classic puzzle adventure game, Myst was created with HyperCard. It was comprised of six stacks and 1,355 cards. From Wikipedia:

The original HyperCard Macintosh version of Myst had each Age as a unique HyperCard stack. Navigation was handled by the internal button system and HyperTalk scripts, with image and QuickTime movie display passed off to various plugins; essentially, Myst functions as a series of separate multimedia slides linked together by commands.

The hit game Myst was built in HyperCard.

For a while, HyperCard was everywhere. Teachers made lesson plans. Hobbyists made games. Artists made interactive stories. In the Eighties and early Nineties, there was a vibrant shareware community. Small independent developers who created and shared simple programs for a postcard, a beer, or five dollars. Thousands of HyperCard stacks were distributed on aggregated floppies and CD-ROMs. Steve Sande, writing in Rocket Yard:

At one point, there was a thriving cottage industry of commercial stack authors, and I was one of them. Heizer Software ran what was called the “Stack Exchange”, a place for stack authors to sell their wares. Like Apple with the current app stores, Heizer took a cut of each sale to run the store, but authors could make a pretty good living from the sale of popular stacks. The company sent out printed catalogs with descriptions and screenshots of each stack; you’d order through snail mail, then receive floppies (CDs at a later date) with the stack(s) on them.

Heizer Software’s “Stack Exchange,” a marketplace for HyperCard authors.

From Stacks to Shrink-Wrap

But even as shareware tiny programs and stacks thrived, the ground beneath this cottage industry was beginning to shift. The computer industry—to move from niche to one in every household—professionalized and commoditized software development, distribution, and sales. By the 1990s, the dominant model was packaged software that was merchandised on store shelves in slick shrink-wrapped boxes. The packaging was always oversized for the floppy or CD it contained to maximize visual space.

Unlike the users/programmers from the ’60s and ’70s, you didn’t make your own word processor anymore, you bought Microsoft Word. You didn’t build your own paint and retouching program—you purchased Adobe Photoshop. These applications were powerful, polished, and designed for thousands and eventually millions of users. But that meant if you wanted a new feature, you had to wait for the next upgrade cycle—typically a couple of years. If you had an idea, you were constrained by what the developers at Microsoft or Adobe decided was on the roadmap.

The ethos of tinkering gave way to the economics of scale. Software became something you consumed rather than created.

From Shrink-Wrap to SaaS

The 2000s took that shift even further. Instead of floppy disks or CD-ROMs, software moved into the cloud. Gmail replaced the personal mail client. Google Docs replaced the need for a copy of Word on every hard drive. Salesforce, Slack, and Figma turned business software into subscription services you didn’t own, but rented month-to-month.

SaaS has been a massive leap for collaboration and accessibility. Suddenly your documents, projects, and conversations lived everywhere. No more worrying about hard drive crashes or lost phones! But it pulled users even farther away from HyperCard’s spirit. The stack you made was yours; the SaaS you use belongs to someone else’s servers. You can customize workflows, but you don’t own the software.

Why Modern Tools Fall Short

For what started out as a note-taking app, Notion has come a long way. With its kit of parts—pages, databases, tags, etc.—it’s highly configurable for tracking information. But you can’t make games with it. Nor can you really tell interactive stories (sure, you can link pages together). You also can’t distribute what you’ve created and share with the rest of the world. (Yes, you can create and sell Notion templates.)

No productivity software programs are malleable in the HyperCard sense. 

[IMAGE: Director]

Of course, there are specialized tools for creativity. Unreal Engine and Unity are great for making games. Director and Flash continued the tradition started by HyperCard—at least in the interactive media space—before they were supplanted by more complex HTML5, CSS, and JavaScript. Objectively, these authoring environments are more complex than HyperCard ever was.

The Web’s HyperCard DNA

In a fun remembrance, Constantine Frantzeskos writes:

HyperCard’s core idea was linking cards and information graphically. This was true hypertext before HTML. It’s no surprise that the first web pioneers drew direct inspiration from HyperCard – in fact, HyperCard influenced the creation of HTTP and the Web itself​. The idea of clicking a link to jump to another document? HyperCard had that in 1987 (albeit linking cards, not networked documents). The pointing finger cursor you see when hovering over a web link today? That was borrowed from HyperCard’s navigation cursor​.

Ted Nelson coined the terms “hypertext” and “hyperlink” in the mid-1960s, envisioning a world where digital documents could be linked together in nonlinear “trails”—making information interwoven and easily navigable. Bill Atkinson’s HyperCard was the first mass-market program that popularized this idea, even influencing Tim Berners-Lee, the father of the World Wide Web. Berners-Lee’s invention was about linking documents together on a server and linking to other documents on other servers. A web of documents.

Early web browser from 1993, ViolaWWW, directly inspired by the concepts in HyperCard.

Pei-Yuan Wei, developer of one of the first web browsers called ViolaWWW, also drew direct inspiration from HyperCard. Matthew Lasar writing for Ars Technica:

“HyperCard was very compelling back then, you know graphically, this hyperlink thing,” Wei later recalled. “I got a HyperCard manual and looked at it and just basically took the concepts and implemented them in X-windows,” which is a visual component of UNIX. The resulting browser, Viola, included HyperCard-like components: bookmarks, a history feature, tables, graphics. And, like HyperCard, it could run programs.

And of course, with the built-in source code viewer, browsers brought on a new generation of tinkerers who’d look at HTML and make stuff by copying, tweaking, and experimenting.

The Missing Ingredient: Personal Software

Today, we have low-code and no code tools like Bubble for making web apps, Framer for building web sites, and Zapier for automations. The tools are still aimed at professionals though. Maybe with the exception of Zapier and IFTTT, they’ve expanded the number of people who can make software (including websites), but they’re not general purpose. These are all adjacent to what HyperCard was.

(Re)enter personal software.

In an essay titled “Personal software,” Lee Robinson wrote, “You wouldn’t search ‘best chrome extensions for note taking’. You would work with AI. In five minutes, you’d have something that works exactly how you want.”

Exploring the idea of “malleable software,” researchers at Ink & Switch wrote:

How can users tweak the existing tools they’ve installed, rather than just making new siloed applications? How can AI-generated tools compose with one another to build up larger workflows over shared data? And how can we let users take more direct, precise control over tweaking their software, without needing to resort to AI coding for even the tiniest change? None of these questions are addressed by products that generate a cloud-hosted application from a prompt.

Of course, AI prompt-to-code tools have been emerging this year, allowing anyone who can type to build web applications. However, if you study these tools more closely—Replit, Lovable, Base44, etc.—you’ll find that the audience is still technical people. Developers, product managers, and designers can understand what’s going on. But not everyday people.

These tools are still missing ingredients HyperCard had that allowed it to be in the general zeitgeist for a while, that enabled users to be programmers again.

They are:

• Direct manipulation
• Technical abstraction
• Local apps

What Today’s Tools Still Miss

Direct Manipulation

As I concluded in my exhaustive AI prompt-to-code tools roundup from April, “We need to be able to directly manipulate components by clicking and modifying shapes on the canvas or changing values in an inspector.” The latency of the roundtrip of prompting the model, waiting for it to think and then generate code, and then rebuild the app is much too long. If you don’t know how to code, every change takes minutes, so building something becomes tedious, not fun.

Tools need to be a canvas-first, not chatbox-first. Imagine a kit of UI elements on the left that you can drag onto the canvas and then configure and style—not unlike WordPress page builders. 

AI is there to do the work for you if you want, but you don’t need to use it.

My sketch of the layout of what a modern HyperCard successor could look like. A directly manipulatable canvas is in the center, object palette on the left, and AI chat panel on the right.

Technical Abstraction

For gen pop, I believe that these tools should hide away all the JavaScript, TypeScript, etc. The thing that the user is building should just work.

Additionally, there’s an argument to be made to bring back HyperTalk or something similar. Here is the same password logic I showed earlier, but in modern-day JavaScript:

const password = document.getElementById("Password").value;

if (password === "open sesame") {
  window.location.href = "secret.html";
} else {
  alert("Wrong password.");
} 

No one is going to understand that, much less write something like it.

One could argue that the user doesn’t need to understand that code since the AI will write it. Sure, but code is also documentation. If a user is working on an immersive puzzle game, they need to know the algorithm for the solution. 

As a side note, I think flow charts or node-based workflows are great. Unreal Engine’s Blueprints visual scripting is fantastic. Again, AI should be there to assist.

Unreal Engine has a visual scripting interface called Blueprints, with node blocks connected by wires representing game logic.

Local Apps

HyperCard’s file format was “stacks.” And stacks could be compiled into applications that can be distributed without HyperCard. With today’s cloud-based AI coding tools, they can all publish a project to a unique URL for sharing. That’s great for prototyping and for personal use, but if you wanted to distribute it as shareware or donation-ware, you’d have to map it to a custom domain name. It’s not straightforward to purchase from a registrar and deal with DNS records.

What if these web apps can be turned into a single exchangeable file format like “.stack” or some such? Furthermore, what if they can be wrapped into executable apps via Electron?

Rip, Mix, Burn

Lovable, v0, and others already have sharing and remixing built in. This ethos is great and builds on the philosophies of the hippie computer scientists. In addition to fostering a remix culture, I imagine a centralized store for these apps. Of course, those that are published as runtime apps can go through the official Apple and Google stores if they wish. Finally, nothing stops third-party stores, similar to the collections of stacks that used to be distributed on CD-ROMs.

AI as Collaborator, Not Interface

As mentioned, AI should not be the main UI for this. Instead, it’s a collaborator. It’s there if you want it. I imagine that it can help with scaffolding a project just by describing what you want to make. And as it’s shaping your app, it’s also explaining what it’s doing and why so that the user is learning and slowly becoming a programmer too.

Democratizing Programming

When my daughter was in middle school, she used a site called Quizlet to make flash cards to help her study for history tests. There were often user-generated sets of cards for certain subjects, but there were never sets specifically for her class, her teacher, that test. With this HyperCard of the future, she would be able to build something custom in minutes.

Likewise, a small business owner who runs an Etsy shop selling T-shirts can spin up something a little more complicated to analyze sales and compare against overall trends in the marketplace.

And that same Etsy shop owner could sell the little app they made to others wanting the same tool for for their stores.

The Future Is Close

Tron talks to his user, Alan Bradley, via a communication beam.

In an interview with Garry Tan of Y Combinator in June, Michael Truell, the CEO of Anysphere, which is the company behind Cursor, said his company’s mission is to “replace coding with something that’s much better.” He acknowledged that coding today is really complicated:

Coding requires editing millions of lines of esoteric formal programming languages. It requires doing lots and lots of labor to actually make things show up on the screen that are kind of simple to describe.

Truell believes that in five to ten years, making software will boil down to “defining how you want the software to work and how you want the software to look.”

In my opinion, his timeline is a bit conservative, but maybe he means for professionals. I wonder if something simpler will come along sooner that will capture the imagination of the public, like ChatGPT has. Something that will encourage playing and tinkering like HyperCard did.

There’s a third sequel to TRON that’s coming out soon—TRON: Ares. In a panel discussion in the 5,000-seat Hall H at San Diego Comic-Con earlier this summer, Steven Lisberger, the creator of the franchise provided this warning about AI, “Let’s kick the technology around artistically before it kicks us around.” While he said it as a warning, I think it’s an opportunity as well.

AI opens up computer “programming” to a much larger swath of people—hell, everyone. As an industry, we should encourage tinkering by building such capabilities into our products. Not UIs on the fly, but mods as necessary. We should build platforms that increase the pool of users from technical people to everyday users like students, high school teachers, and grandmothers. We should imagine a world where software is as personalizable as a notebook—something you can write in, rearrange, and make your own. And maybe users can be programmers once again.