The question of which historical figures you’d invite to dinner is a popular icebreaker. Now, OpenAI’s Sora AI suggests another: which historical figures would you like to see fighting each other? This reflects a broader trend—new technology often seems inspired by the dystopian science fiction of decades past, but in a way that misses the point. Instead of being a cautionary tale, these influences are being embraced, sometimes without realizing the darker messages they carry.
Embracing the Dystopian Aesthetic
The unsettling resemblance between Sora’s outputs and the darkly comedic entertainment depicted in dystopian films is striking. Imagine Gandhi wrestling Hitler, or Stephen Hawking being chased by police — these scenarios echo the bizarre, crass entertainment from movies like “Idiocracy,” “Robocop,” and “The Running Man.” This isn’s new, it feels like a joke from a 1990s writer, or even a commentary on social decay.
This fascination isn’t accidental. Modern design frequently draws inspiration from cyberpunk’s neon-noir aesthetic, with its high-tech, low-life vibe. Influenced by works like William Gibson’s novels and “The Matrix,” the tech industry embraces imagery of ruined cityscapes, all-powerful corporations, high-tech body modifications, V.R. illnesses, deceptive A.I., mechanical assassins, and leather-clad hackers navigating cyberspace. These visions were rarely intended to be aspirational, yet the tech industry seems to be incorporating them directly into their designs.
The Tesla Cybertruck exemplifies this trend. Its design, described by Elon Musk as “what Bladerunner would have driven,” clearly evokes dystopian science fiction. However, the truck has also faced numerous practical issues—bulletproof windows cracking, stainless steel discoloration, and multiple recalls—highlighting a disconnect between aesthetic and reality.
The Unintended Consequences of Tech’s Obsession
This dystopian aura permeates various aspects of technology. Mark Zuckerberg’s demonstration of A.I. eyeglasses was riddled with malfunctions, and military tech recruitment videos now resemble self-deprecating parodies of “The Office,” rather than evoking the intensity of “Starship Troopers.”
Perhaps most concerning is the realm of human relationships. Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI, has explicitly modeled his ideal A.I. persona after Scarlett Johansson’s character in “Her,” who evolves beyond her human lover. Elon Musk’s Grok chatbot features a suggestive “companions” program, including a pornographic waifu. Even a New York subway ad for an A.I. accessory called Friend, a necklace that functions as continuous surveillance, frames replacing complex human connections as a solution.
The Origins of Dystopian Visions
It’s worth noting that the tech industry didn’t invent these dystopian anxieties. Science fiction writers simply crystalized long-standing fears about human obsolescence, mass media, and diminishing expectations, projecting them into exaggerated futures. It’s not surprising that we develop A.I. and use it to create sensationalistic imagery, or that our anxieties about surveillance and alienation lead to more of the same. What’s surprising is that these outcomes now arrive disguised as cautionary tales.
The Fear of Ourselves
Recent advances in A.I. highlight a more fundamental fear: the fear of others. The industry seeks to engineer replacements for experiences like “friendship” and “relationships,” outsourcing the complexities of human interaction—whether through a necklace offering commentary on video games or a devoted chatbot always ready to listen. The “problem” that some modern A.I. seeks to solve is, in essence, ourselves. Cautionary warnings from dystopian stories are being deployed as solutions, seemingly without irony.
Ultimately, the tech industry’s embrace of dystopian tropes reflects a curious trend—a failure to recognize the inherent warnings embedded in the very science fiction it draws inspiration from, and a willingness to champion those dystopian futures rather than avoid them.
Casey Michael Henry is a writer based in New York City. He publishes the cultural newsletter Slim Jim.
