Flaminky

Imagine preparing for a job interview, only to be greeted not by a friendly face, but by a robotic interface with no human behind it. No chance to charm with your personality, explain the nuance of your CV, or clarify a misunderstood answer. Just an algorithm, scanning your expressions, analysing your tone, and crunching numbers you can’t see.

Welcome to the growing world of AI job interviews — and the very real fears that come with it.

The Rise of AI in Recruitment

More companies, especially large corporations and tech firms, are turning to AI to handle the initial stages of recruitment. From parsing CVs with automated filters to conducting video interviews analysed by machine learning, AI promises to save time and money while “removing human bias”.

But here’s the problem: AI might actually be introducing more bias — just in a subtler, harder-to-challenge way.

Flawed from the Start: Data Bias

AI doesn’t think for itself — it’s only as good as the data it’s trained on. If that data reflects societal biases (spoiler: it often does), the AI will learn and repeat those same biases.

For example, if a company’s past hiring decisions favoured a particular gender, accent, or ethnicity, the AI might learn to prioritise those traits — and penalise others. It’s not just unethical; it’s illegal in many countries. Yet it’s quietly happening in background code.

Dehumanising the Hiring Process

Interviews are supposed to be a conversation. A chance for employers and candidates to connect, share, and assess suitability beyond just a checklist. AI, on the other hand, can’t gauge human nuance, empathy, or potential — it can only look at surface data.

This means:

• Neurodivergent candidates may be misjudged based on non-standard eye contact or tone.
• People from diverse cultural backgrounds may be filtered out due to accent or mannerisms.
• Technical errors (like a poor internet connection) might wrongly signal lack of engagement or skill.

Worse still, candidates often have no one to speak to when things go wrong. No follow-up contact, no appeal process — just a rejection email, if anything at all.

Locking Out Opportunity

What happens when the “gatekeeper” to a job is an AI that doesn’t understand people? We risk creating a system where brilliant, capable individuals are excluded not because of their talent or values, but because they didn’t score highly on a robotic rubric they never got to understand.

In sectors like creative industries, teaching, or customer-facing roles — where emotional intelligence is crucial — AI interviews often fail to capture what really matters. Human connection.

The Future of Hiring: People First

We’re not anti-tech at Flaminky. In fact, we love when tech helps streamline systems and remove unnecessary barriers. But replacing humans entirely in such a sensitive, life-changing process as recruitment is not just flawed — it’s dangerous.

Instead of removing humans, companies should be using AI as a tool — not a replacement. That means:

• Letting AI help shortlist, but not finalise decisions.
• Allowing candidates to request a human-led interview instead.
• Being transparent about how AI is used, and giving people the chance to appeal.

In Summary

Jobs are about more than just data. They’re about people — their growth, values, adaptability, and potential. AI interviews may tick boxes, but they miss the heart of what makes someone the right fit.

Until AI can truly understand humans, humans should be the ones doing the hiring.

After all, we’re not algorithms. We’re people. Let’s keep it that way.

It starts innocently enough. You open your phone to check a message, maybe scroll through TikTok or the news while waiting for your coffee to brew. Next thing you know, 45 minutes have passed and you’re deep into videos about climate disaster, global conflict, political chaos, or some stranger’s heartbreak — all while your coffee’s gone cold.

Welcome to the world of doomscrolling.

What Is Doomscrolling?

Doomscrolling is the act of endlessly consuming negative news or content online, especially via social media. Whether it’s updates on war, economic collapse, political scandals, celebrity break-ups or climate panic — the stream is infinite, and often feels inescapable.

It’s a fairly new term, but the behaviour is ancient: humans are wired to look for threats. In a modern, digital world, that primal instinct gets hijacked by infinite scroll feeds and clickbait headlines — feeding our anxiety while keeping us hooked.

Why Can’t We Look Away?

There’s a certain psychological trap at play. Negative information captures more of our attention than neutral or positive stories. It feels urgent, like something we need to know. Add algorithms to the mix — which prioritise content that provokes strong emotional reactions — and suddenly you’re trapped in a digital echo chamber of despair.

Apps like Twitter (now X), TikTok and Instagram are designed to hold your attention. Doomscrolling doesn’t happen because you’re weak-willed — it happens because it’s literally engineered that way.

Mental Health Fallout

The impact isn’t just digital; it’s deeply emotional and psychological. Studies have linked excessive doomscrolling to:

• Increased anxiety and depression
• Disrupted sleep patterns
• Feelings of helplessness and burnout
• Decreased focus and productivity

It can also desensitise you — numbing your reaction to genuinely important news because you’re overloaded by a constant stream of disaster.

The Post-TikTok Era: Worse or Better?

With TikTok’s looming ban in places like the US, users are already jumping ship to alternatives like Red Note and Reels. But if these platforms operate on the same engagement-driven model, are we just jumping from one doomscrolling feed to another?

The real question isn’t what platform we’re using — it’s how we’re using them.

Reclaiming Control

Here’s the thing: information isn’t the enemy. We should stay informed. But not at the cost of our mental health or inner peace.

Here’s how you can break the doomscrolling cycle:

• Set time limits: Use app timers to restrict your usage.
• Curate your feed: Unfollow accounts that drain you, and follow ones that uplift or educate with nuance.
• Seek long-form journalism: Get depth, not just hot takes.
• Stay grounded: Go outside. Touch grass. Talk to people offline.
• Do something: If the news overwhelms you, turn it into action — donate, volunteer, or vote.

Why It Matters for Creatives

At Flaminky, we believe creativity thrives in clarity. Doomscrolling clouds the mind and kills the spark. In a world that’s constantly screaming for your attention, protecting your mental space is a radical — and necessary — act.

So next time you find yourself 100 videos deep, just ask: is this making me feel anything, or just making me numb?

It’s not about quitting the internet — it’s about using it on your terms.

Your feed doesn’t have to be a trap. It can be a tool. Choose wisely.

Remember Skype? The blue icon, the ringtone that signalled an incoming call from someone across the world, the grainy video chats that were — at the time — revolutionary. It was the way we connected, long before Zoom fatigue and Teams invites ruled our workdays. And now? Skype is quietly slipping into digital history, barely noticed, barely missed.

But it deserves a proper send-off — not just because of nostalgia, but because of what it meant, what it pioneered, and why it ultimately failed.

The Rise of a Tech Titan

Launched in 2003, Skype changed everything. It was the first platform that made free video calls accessible to the masses. You could see your friend in another country in real time, for free. That was magic.

Skype wasn’t just ahead of the curve — it was the curve. It set the standard for internet communication, particularly in the early 2000s when international phone calls were still expensive and unreliable.

By the time Microsoft acquired Skype in 2011 for $8.5 billion, it was a global giant. It had become a verb. “Let’s Skype later” meant catching up, doing interviews, running remote meetings. It was embedded into our digital culture.

Where Did It Go Wrong?

Skype’s downfall isn’t about one bad move — it’s about many missed opportunities. Microsoft’s acquisition, which should have propelled Skype into a new era, instead saw it stagnate. The interface became clunky, updates were confusing, and user trust eroded with every glitchy call and awkward redesign.

Then came the pandemic.

In a twist of fate, a global moment that should have been Skype’s grand resurgence — a world suddenly needing remote communication — was instead the moment it was eclipsed. Zoom, with its smoother interface and faster adaptability, swooped in and took Skype’s crown without even blinking.

While the world turned to Zoom, Google Meet, and later even WhatsApp and FaceTime for daily communication, Skype faded into the background. By 2025, it feels almost like a relic — still technically alive, but largely ignored.

What Skype Symbolised

Skype symbolised a kind of early optimism about the internet. It was about connecting, not controlling. It wasn’t overloaded with ads, algorithms or content feeds. It was pure communication — seeing someone’s face and hearing their voice across borders, wars, and time zones.

It also represented a time when tech companies were disruptors, not monopolies. When services were innovative, not addictive. When “connecting the world” wasn’t a slogan, but a genuine achievement.

A Lesson in Legacy

Skype’s quiet death is a warning to tech giants: no matter how popular you are, complacency will kill you. Innovation doesn’t wait. Users want reliability, simplicity and a product that evolves with them.

And for users? It’s a reminder of how fast our digital lives move. How one day, an app can be indispensable — and the next, forgotten.

So, RIP Skype.

You were the OG. You walked so Zoom could run. You let us hear our mums’ voices from across continents, helped people fall in love long-distance, gave freelancers a way to work globally, and sometimes froze at the worst moment possible.

You were chaotic, charming, and ahead of your time — until time caught up.

And for that, we’ll always remember you.

When Duolingo announced it was going “AI first,” the tech world applauded. But behind the fanfare of efficiency, scale, and innovation lies a more uncomfortable truth — one that’s becoming all too familiar. People are losing their jobs to AI. And it’s not just any people. It’s the educators, the writers, the curriculum designers — the very heart of what once made Duolingo feel human.

In early 2024, Duolingo quietly laid off a significant portion of its contract workforce, many of whom were language and learning experts. In their place? AI. Specifically, OpenAI’s GPT models, retooled and rebranded as chatbots and content generators, capable of producing lesson plans, quizzes, and dialogue scripts with lightning speed. The company celebrated the shift as a way to scale globally and improve personalisation. But what happens when “personalisation” comes at the cost of actual people?

The Ironic Human Cost of Language Learning

Duolingo was built on the promise of making language education accessible to everyone. Its quirky owl mascot, streak reminders, and gamified lessons made it feel less like a classroom and more like a conversation. But now, that conversation is increasingly one-sided.

Replacing expert linguists with AI might make business sense, but it removes the very soul of language learning. Language is cultural. It’s full of nuance, humour, awkward pauses, and real-world context. No AI can replicate the feeling of a human explaining why a phrase matters, or how it changes in different regions, or when it’s appropriate to use.

The irony? Duolingo’s users want to learn language to connect with others. And now, they’re doing it through systems that remove the people from the process.

AI Anxiety and Job Insecurity

Duolingo’s move is just one example of a growing fear across creative and educational sectors: that AI isn’t just a tool, but a replacement. The educators let go weren’t underperforming — they were simply no longer needed, because machines could do the job faster and cheaper.

This has sparked an ethical conversation: should tech companies use AI to support human workers or replace them entirely? And what message does it send when one of the most influential edtech companies in the world chooses the latter?

For many, it’s a chilling sign of what’s to come. If even education — a field deeply rooted in empathy, connection and understanding — is being automated, what’s safe?

Users Still Want People

Despite the shiny new AI features, not all users are on board. Many learners find the chatbot interactions stiff, repetitive, or emotionally hollow. Some have shared on forums that they miss the personal touches — the cultural notes, the humour, the sense that someone real was behind the lesson design.

There’s also growing concern about the way AI learns from user data. With less human oversight, who decides what’s accurate, respectful, or culturally sensitive? When humans are removed from the loop, the risk of bias or misinformation increases.

What’s Next?

Duolingo may be leading the charge, but it’s not alone. Across the tech world, we’re seeing similar stories play out: human jobs vanishing in the name of progress. The question isn’t whether AI will be part of our future — it already is. The question is: what kind of future are we building? One where humans work with AI? Or one where they’re replaced by it?

For all its clever gamification, Duolingo might have underestimated one thing: people don’t just want to learn language. They want to feel seen, heard, and understood. And that’s something no AI — no matter how advanced — can truly replicate.

Perhaps it’s time to remember: the most powerful learning tool of all is still a human being.

In recent years, a once-fringe idea known as the Dead Internet Theory has gained surprising traction. It speculates that much of the internet as we know it today is no longer driven by human interaction, but by bots, AI-generated content, and algorithms designed to simulate engagement. Now, with platforms like Instagram (under Meta) rolling out AI-powered chatbot profiles that users can interact with in their DMs, this eerie theory feels less like sci-fi paranoia—and more like a sign of things to come.

Instagram’s new AI profiles are designed to behave like real users. You can talk to them, joke with them, ask them questions. Some even mimic celebrity personas or influencers. To many, they seem harmless, even fun. But when AI becomes indistinguishable from real people in digital spaces that were once rooted in human connection, we have to ask: what does this mean for the future of how we communicate?

There’s already a creeping sense of unreality across social media. Between bots inflating likes, deepfake videos, algorithm-driven content and now AI personas pretending to be your virtual mate, it’s becoming harder to tell what’s real and what’s manufactured. Platforms like X (formerly Twitter) are flooded with AI-generated content. Facebook’s feed is often filled with recycled posts or engagement bait. Instagram’s polished reels are increasingly edited, filtered, or AI-assisted. In this world of synthetic interaction, how do we find authentic connection?

Meta’s AI chatbot profiles take the uncanny valley one step further. Instead of just showing us content, they now talk to us—imitating personalities, offering companionship, mimicking emotional intelligence. While this might serve as novelty or entertainment, it risks undermining our capacity to communicate with and relate to actual people.

There’s also a darker consequence: AI chatbots don’t just fill space—they shape conversations. They can be programmed to nudge political opinions, suggest products, or reinforce brand loyalty under the guise of friendly conversation. In other words, they’re marketing tools disguised as people. The more users engage with these AI profiles, the more Meta learns—about us, our preferences, our vulnerabilities.

And here lies the connection to the Dead Internet Theory. If more and more online interactions are with algorithms and artificially-generated responses, the internet loses its original identity as a democratic space for human expression. It becomes a carefully engineered simulation, a network of walled gardens run by corporations, designed to monetise attention and manipulate behaviour.

This isn’t to say AI has no place in our digital world. Used ethically, it can enhance creativity, accessibility and even mental health services. But when AI replaces genuine interaction, it begins to erode the fabric of what made the internet revolutionary in the first place—human connection.

So next time you’re chatting in your Instagram DMs, you might want to ask: Am I really talking to someone… or something?

Because in the dead internet age, the line between user and illusion is growing fainter by the day.

When news broke that Katy Perry was among a group of women sent to space as part of Jeff Bezos’ Blue Origin space tourism programme, the headlines came thick and fast. A pop star in space? It sounds like something straight out of a sci-fi musical. But behind the daisy tributes and the staged reverence for “Mother Earth,” many are left wondering: was this truly a mission of exploration, or just another glossy PR stunt dressed up as history?

Let’s be clear: space travel is one of humanity’s most extraordinary achievements. It’s about pushing boundaries, discovering the unknown, and, ideally, bettering life on Earth through scientific progress. So when a high-profile celebrity boards a spaceship not to conduct research, but seemingly to promote a tour and pose with a flower for Instagram, the symbolism gets… murky.

Yes, it was billed as an “all-female crew” and a “tribute to empowerment,” and of course, it’s important to celebrate women in space. But are we celebrating the right ones? Suni Williams, a seasoned astronaut, was literally stuck in space for nine months in 2023 due to spacecraft issues—a harrowing, heroic ordeal that received a fraction of the media coverage Katy Perry’s short, curated jaunt did.

There’s also something deeply contradictory about praising the Earth from space, while contributing to the emissions-heavy industry that is commercial space tourism. These flights are not carbon neutral, and for all the talk of love for the planet, rocketing pop stars to the edge of the atmosphere for a selfie feels like more of a spectacle than a statement.

And let’s not forget who’s behind this. Jeff Bezos’ Blue Origin is not just about the wonder of space—it’s a business. A luxury offering for the ultra-wealthy to “experience the overview effect” while the rest of us are grounded, dealing with the real effects of climate change and economic disparity. It’s a new frontier, sure—but one increasingly defined by who can afford to play astronaut for a day.

So what was Katy’s journey really about? Promoting a tour? Boosting a brand? Making headlines? Probably all three. But it certainly wasn’t about advancing science or helping humanity understand the cosmos.

At a time when real astronauts are quietly risking their lives and conducting meaningful research above our heads, the glamorisation of celebrity space trips risks cheapening the entire endeavour. If this is the future of space travel—more influencer campaign than interstellar innovation—maybe it’s time we asked whether we’re truly reaching for the stars, or just staging another photo op.