Here's an overview of the most recent Blender jobs on Blender Artists, ArtStation and 3djobs.xyz: Looking for someone to create some low poly cartoonish clothing asset for my character I'm looking for an artist to make me a Thumbnail for YouTube Vert

Meta is reportedly set to invest $15 billion to acquire a 49% stake in Scale AI, in a deal that would make Scale CEO Alexandr Wang head of the tech giant’s new AI unit dedicated to pursuing “superintelligence.”Scale AI, founded in 2016, is a leading data annotation firm that hires workers around the world to label or create the data that is used to train AI systems.The deal is expected to greatly enrich Wang and many of his colleagues with equity in Scale AI; Wang, already a billionaire, would see his wealth grow even further. For Meta, it would breathe new life into the company’s flagging attempts to compete at the “frontier” of AI against OpenAI, Google, and Anthropic.However, Scale’s contract workers, many of whom earn just dollars per day via a subsidiary called RemoTasks, are unlikely to benefit at all from the deal, according to sociologists who study the sector. Typically data workers are not formally employed, and are instead paid for the tasks they complete. Those tasks can include labeling the contents of images, answering questions, or rating which of two chatbots’ answers are better, in order to teach AI systems to better comply with human preferences.(TIME has a content partnership with Scale AI.)“I expect few if any Scale annotators will see any upside at all,” says Callum Cant, a senior lecturer at the University of Essex, U.K., who studies gig work platforms. “It would be very surprising to see some kind of feed-through. Most of these people don’t have a stake in ownership of the company.”Many of those workers already suffer from low pay and poor working conditions. In a recent report by Oxford University’s Internet Institute, the Scale subsidiary RemoTasks failed to meet basic standards for fair pay, fair contracts, fair management, and fair worker representation.Advertisement“A key part of Scale’s value lies in its data work services performed by hundreds of thousands of underpaid and poorly protected workers,” says Jonas Valente, an Oxford researcher who worked on the report. “The company remains far from safeguarding basic standards of fair work, despite limited efforts to improve its practices.”The Meta deal is unlikely to change that. “Unfortunately, the increasing profits of many digital labor platforms and their primary companies, such as the case of Scale, do not translate into better conditions for [workers],” Valente says.A Scale AI spokesperson declined to comment for this story. “We're proud of the flexible earning opportunities offered through our platforms,” the company said in a statement to TechCrunch in May. Meta’s investment also calls into question whether Scale AI will continue supplying data to OpenAI and Google, two of its major clients. In the increasingly competitive AI landscape, observers say Meta may see value in cutting off its rivals from annotated data — an essential means of making AI systems smarter. Advertisement“By buying up access to Scale AI, could Meta deny access to that platform and that avenue for data annotation by other competitors?” says Cant. “It depends entirely on Meta’s strategy.”If that were to happen, Cant says, it could put downward pressure on the wages and tasks available to workers, many of whom already struggle to make ends meet with data work.A Meta spokesperson declined to comment on this story.

It's the same every year. Like clockwork, both social media and real media clamour to do what they do best: moan. Not about politics. Not about the trains. Not even about the weather. No, it's Glastonbury Festival time, which means it's time for the annual whinge-fest over how much it costs and how bad the line-up is. It's a tradition as sacred as Glastonbury itself. Within minutes of the headliners being announced, someone somewhere will tweet "WHO?" as if that settles the matter. The tickets, they declare, are extortionate. The food is overpriced. The toilets are... well, they're not wrong there, to be fair. And yet Glastonbury sells out. Every. Single. Time. In minutes. Not hours, not days, but minutes; just 35 of them, this time around. A digital stampede of fans crashes the ticketing servers, elbows each other out of the virtual queue, and desperately parts with £373.50 of their hard-earned cash. If people really thought it wasn't worth it, why would that happen? Deep down, Glastonbury fans know it is worth it. Not just for the vibes. Not just for the bragging rights. In terms of basic maths alone, it remains a much cheaper way to see all your favourite bands compared with buying tickets to individual gigs. Let's break it down. From this year's stacked, genre-hopping, generation-spanning line-up, these are my 10 ride-or-die bands, the ones I'm determined to see come hell or high water at this year's Glastonbury. And next to them is a reasonable estimate of how much it would cost to see them individually on tour. Alanis Morissette: £60-£135 Charli XCX: £85-£200+ English Teacher: £25-£35 Gracie Abrams: £100-£400+ John Fogerty: £35-£130+ Lola Young: £25-£40 Olivia Rodrigo: £120-£200+ Raye: £50-£100+ Wet Leg: £30-£40 Wolf Alice: £40-£60 You can quickly see how these individual tickets would add up, and that's before the beer-soaked chips and £17 parking surcharges at the O2. But at Glastonbury, they're all included, alongside more than two thousand other acts. Plus five nights of camping, firewood, circus performers, standup comedy, theatre performers, secret gigs, DnB raves, late-night poetry slams, kids' clubs, drone shows, the visionary chaos of Shangri-La, a bloke dressed as a badger doing tai chi at 4am, and the very real possibility of watching Chris Martin duet with a kestrel. All for less than the price of one premium Olivia Rodrigo ticket at the Birmingham NEC with a half-decent sightline. © Amy Fern © George Harrison © Amy Fern No one involved with the festival will ever say this out loud... but in truth, this is underpricing. Glastonbury doesn't cost too much; it's that it's charging less than it's worth. The organisers know it, the scalpers know it, and deep down, so do we. Why else would the event remain massively oversubscribed year after year? The lesson for freelancers Herein lies the lesson for anyone who's ever said yes to a freelance gig, then immediately regretted it because the fee barely covers your oat milk habit. Every time you flinch at raising our rates, worrying, "What if they say no?" you need to remember that people will always complain about the price. But then they pay it anyway, if what you're offering is good. Just like a Glastonbury ticket, your work has value that goes beyond the sum of its parts. Clients might baulk at a day rate, grumble at a quote, or attempt the classic "Can you do it for exposure?". But if they really want you, they'll find the budget. Sure, you could try to undercut your peers. Offer the cheapest design package. Throw in extra concepts for free. Discount your fee before they even ask. But all that gets you is the creative equivalent of being the sad burger stand next to the rave tent: underpaid, undervalued, and slightly sticky. Here's the uncomfortable truth: clients don't always know what things should cost. They base their expectations on their last hire, a Fiverr ad, or what their mate's cousin paid a graphic design student in 2017. © George Harrison © Yushy Pachnanda © JodyHartley But it's not your job to price yourself within their comfort zone. It's your job to price yourself according to your value. If clients can't afford you, that's not rejection; that's redirection. Someone else—someone better, someone ready—will always pay you what you're worth. Just like someone always buys the last Glastonbury ticket. So ignore the noise. Just like the festival, you're not for everyone, and that's fine. Your rates should make you feel slightly nervous, not make your client feel overly comfortable. That's how you grow. That's how you stay booked. That's how you avoid burnout and build a business rather than a bargain bin. In other words, next time you feel the urge to knock 20% off your quote "just to be safe", picture yourself standing in a Somerset field surrounded by 200,000 sweaty strangers who all agreed—despite the price, despite the moaning, despite the toilets—that it was absolutely worth it. And then charge accordingly.

On Tuesday, the Senate unanimously passed the No Tax on Tips Act, pushing one of President Donald Trump’s campaign promises one step closer to becoming law. The pledge to eliminate federal taxes on service and hospitality workers’ tips rallied voters in the 2024 election, so much so that even former Vice President Kamala Harris endorsed the idea in her campaign against Trump. Now, both Democrats and Republicans on Capitol Hill seem to want to make it a reality. It’s easy to see why “no tax on tips” has broad bipartisan support: It looks like a populist policy that gives lower-wage workers much-needed relief, and opposing it might make you seem out of touch with the working class. But as I wrote last year, “no tax on tips” would actually be more of a tax break for businesses that would cost the federal government an estimated $10 billion to $15 billion a year in tax revenue. In short, the policy incentivizes businesses to lower workers’ wages and make them rely more on tips. But that’s exactly the opposite of what workers — and tipped workers in particular — need. Tipped workers are underpaid. Some of them would certainly see their take-home pay increase if the federal government stops taxing them on tips, assuming that their wages stay the same. But tips can be volatile, and often vary by season, and a “no tax on tips” policy would make offseasons worse for tipped workers, who will likely be stuck with lower base pay. The reality is that the problem for tipped workers isn’t that their taxes are too high — it’s that their wages are far too low. Plus, not having their taxes tipped means workers might end up accruing less credit toward their Social Security. In fact, many underpaid workers won’t even see a difference from the policy. Some tipped workers — by some estimates more than a third of them — earn so little that they are already exempt from income taxes, which means that a “no tax on tips” law would do nothing to boost their take-home pay. More than that, “no tax on tips” doesn’t help out most low-wage workers: More than 95 percent of low- and moderate-wage workers don’t receive tips on a regular basis. So while Congress busies itself with flashy tax cuts that won’t go too far in helping low-wage workers, it might be better to focus on the root cause of tipped workers’ problem: the subminimum wage.What is the subminimum wage and why is it so low? The last federal minimum wage increase was in 2009, and it’s been the same since: $7.25 per hour. Many states have minimum wages that are higher than the federal level — but most also have a subminimum wage for tipped workers. That’s a carveout that allows employers to pay their workers less so long as they make up the difference in tips, and that wage is just $2.13 per hour. If a subminimum wage worker doesn’t make enough tips to reach the full minimum wage, the employer is required to pay the difference. These tiered minimum wages date back to the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA), passed in 1938. The legislation created a subminimum wage with the intention of encouraging employers to hire people “whose earning capacity is impaired by age or physical or mental deficiency or injury.” The idea was to ensure that job opportunities and work training programs would still be available for people with disabilities. But in 1966, Congress amended the FLSA to include a subminimum wage for workers who regularly receive tips, hoping this would lower payroll costs for service-sector businesses. This change fundamentally changed the culture around tipping: While customers used to give workers tips as a show of gratitude, tips became a necessity for workers in order to make ends meet. Since then, workers in the service and hospitality sectors in most places have been subject to a subminimum wage that has not increased since 1991. While tipped wages are often sold to workers as a benefit — in theory, there’s no limit to how much they can make if customers are generous — the reality is that their overall take-home pay, even including tips, is often not enough. For example, the median wage for waiters in 2024 was $33,760, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, and the bottom 10 percent of waiters earned about $18,000. For context, the standard deduction — that is, the portion of your income that is untaxed — is $29,200 for a married couple and $14,600 for an individual. “No tax on tips” might give waiters a small tax break, but it’s hardly enough to work as a meaningful solution to low wages.The movement to abolish the subminimum wageMany workers have grown frustrated with the tiered minimum wage system, leading to the creation of organizations like One Fair Wage, which advocates for getting rid of the subminimum wage — a measure that would likely help alleviate poverty. (At least eight states have eliminated the subminimum wage for tipped workers.) And because a handful of states have already abolished the subminimum wage in favor of one equal minimum wage for tipped and non-tipped workers alike, we can see how the former holds workers back.According to an analysis by the Center for American Progress, tipped workers have a higher poverty rate in states with a subminimum wage compared to states that have abolished it. In states with the subminimum wage, 14.8 percent of tipped workers live in poverty. By contrast, those same workers have a poverty rate of 11 percent in states that have gotten rid of the subminimum wage. The biggest problem with the “no tax on tips” idea is that it will likely only suppress wages, which will ultimately hurt workers in the long run. There are better ways Congress can help low-wage workers than eliminating taxes on tips, including by expanding the standard deduction — giving a meaningful tax cut to all low-wage workers, not just those who receive tips — or by finally getting rid of the subminimum wage. And they might consider increasing the minimum wage while they’re at it. After all, a raise is long overdue. This story is written for the Within Our Means newsletter. Sign up here.See More:

For our Financial Transparency theme, independent design executive and educator Rachel Gogel gets into navigating pay disparities, pricing for value, and why true success lies in unlocking human energy, not just income. Rachel Gogel’s career spans some of the most recognisable names in publishing and tech – GQ, The New York Times, Meta – and now, as an independent creative executive, she brings that experience to startups, nonprofits, and purpose-driven ventures alike. But the journey to building a financially sustainable, values-led practice wasn’t always smooth. From $12-an-hour gigs to leading multimillion-dollar design teams, Rachel has faced the realities of wage gaps, client pushback, and burnout culture head-on. In this powerful Q&A, she shares the hard-earned lessons that shaped her pricing philosophy, the tools that helped her take control, and why choosing impact over scale is her definition of success. How did you learn to navigate pricing, salaries, or negotiations in your field? My journey with pricing started from a place of absolute uncertainty. After graduating during the 2009 recession amid a hiring freeze, I took an internship at Diane von Furstenberg for about $20 a day, just trying to get my foot in the door. When they later offered me $12 an hour as a “full-time freelancer,” I thought that was a normal starting point! My first real design contract at Travel + Leisure was $20/hour—which felt like a fortune compared to my internship. Around the same time, I quoted a WordPress project for GQ at $60/hour, originally estimating it would take only 15 hours (I was way off). I still remember sending that first email, nervously suggesting just $900 for the entire project. My contact called me immediately to say, “This is not my money, this is GQ’s money. You should have a $1,000 down payment for taking on the project, then charge an hourly rate after that.” That conversation was a trigger to start taking myself more seriously. With each career move, I learned to negotiate better. From my $70,000 base starting salary at GQ (which I barely negotiated because I was so excited about the offer), to $120,000 as Creative Director at The New York Times, to $230,000 plus stock and bonuses at Facebook—each step taught me to advocate for my worth. When I officially launched my independent design business in 2020, I had this history to draw from, but establishing consistent pricing still involved a lot of trial and error. What transformed my approach was implementing a time tracker (I use Toggl) which helped me gather real data on how long projects actually take versus my estimates. This was eye-opening and gave me confidence in pricing conversations. Today, I maintain a sliding scale across client types and engagement models. My fractional executive work commands $375/hour, while nonprofits start at $200/hour. For my Airbnb creative director maternity coverage contract (40 hours weekly), I’ve structured a $200/hour rate with $300/hour overtime. I’ve also diversified beyond hourly rates to include day rates and project-based fees tailored to specific services. The biggest shift came when I stopped thinking about charging purely for hours and started charging for value—my unique perspective, expertise, and what the work will do for a client’s business. As Jessica Strelioff from Goodside puts it: “We built Goodside to do good work for good people but we also built it to fit into the lives we want to live. Staying small is hard but it’s worth it and it’s what works for us.” This resonated deeply with me as I’ve built a practice focused on quality and impact rather than size. Have you ever experienced pay disparity or financial challenges in your career? Absolutely. Early in my career, I discovered through casual conversations that male colleagues with similar or even less experience were making substantially more than me. That realization was both infuriating and motivating—it pushed me to become more assertive in negotiations and more transparent about compensation (see my Contractor Wrapped 2024 on LinkedIn). Throughout my career trajectory, being a woman in this industry has come with distinct financial challenges. I’ve been challenged during salary negotiations and requests for promotions in ways my male colleagues haven’t. As an independent practitioner, I’ve received comments about being “too expensive” from potential clients—feedback that often makes me wonder if male creatives face the same resistance. These micro-aggressions around compensation reinforce why I encourage women—and all marginalized voices—at every stage of their careers to talk more openly about money so we can help each other get paid equitably. Going independent came with its own financial challenges. The feast-or-famine cycle hit hard, especially in 2023 when clients rescinded contracts and my projected income fell short by about $40K from what I had forecasted. There were months when I questioned everything about my business model. But these challenges taught me to build financial resilience—creating a robust emergency fund, diversifying income streams through teaching and speaking engagements, and being much more strategic about planning for both busy and quiet periods. I’ve had to acknowledge the privilege embedded in my trajectory too—being a 37-year-old white woman in a dual-income household has allowed me to capitalise on opportunities not available to all. The volatility can be stressful, but I’ve learned that transparency about these challenges helps others prepare for similar situations. What’s the best piece of financial advice you’ve received as a creative professional? “If you’re not embarrassed by the amount you’re asking for, you’re not asking for enough.” A friend told me this early in my career, and it completely changed my approach to negotiations. As creatives, especially those of us who identify as women, we often undervalue our contributions. This advice pushed me to recognise my worth and ask for compensation that reflects not just my time, but the unique perspective I bring as a designer working at the intersection of brand, culture, and technology. When I transitioned from in-house roles to founding my San Francisco-based solo consultancy, this advice became even more crucial. What’s often left unsaid is that going independent can be financially empowering—especially for those historically underpaid in conventional roles. By setting our own rates and being transparent about money, we’re not just making a living—we’re thriving. While the business logistics may seem daunting (incorporation, taxes, insurance), the real breakthrough is mental: realising we have the ability to create sustainable businesses on our own terms, often matching or exceeding previous full-time compensation. How do you balance making a living with doing work that feels meaningful? I visualise my work as a Venn diagram of activities that bring me joy, generate income, and create impact. The sweet spot is where all three overlap, but I don’t expect every project to hit that trifecta. My consulting work (about 45% of my time) provides financial stability and allows me to be selective about other opportunities. I deliberately allocate time for teaching at California College of the Arts (15%), mentoring and volunteering (20% combined), and both speaking and writing (20% combined). While these non-consulting activities may not always be as financially lucrative, they fulfill my desire to support the next generation of creatives, contribute to causes I believe in, and share my perspective with wider audiences. I’ve learned to say no to projects that might pay well but don’t align with my values or wouldn’t allow me to do my best work. This has sometimes meant walking away from significant income, but it’s preserved my energy for more meaningful opportunities like collaborating with women-founded ventures such as A Space, In Between, Acora, Anew, and Chicken & Egg Films. Success isn’t necessarily about scaling up, and growth doesn’t always mean expansion. For me, it means intentionally keeping things small and intimate. There’s power in being selective; there’s wisdom in recognizing that sometimes, less is more—especially in a society that subconsciously breeds burnout, and women especially are not giving themselves permission to rest. As Jacqueline Novogratz, Founder and CEO of Acumen, once asked: “What if we measured true success not by the amount of money you have, but by the amount of human energy you unlock, the amount of potential you enable? If that were our metric, our world would be a different place.” This question has become central to how I approach my solo venture. For me, it’s always been about depth of impact rather than breadth of reach.

In February 2021, Morgan Wallen's future as country music's golden goose was hanging in the balance.First, there were the reports of drunken disorderly conduct during a night out in Nashville. Then, a video of Wallen flouting COVID protocols at a party in 2020 resulted in the postponement of his "Saturday Night Live" debut. But his then-latest incident, in which he was caught using a racial slur on camera, threatened to torpedo his career.As quickly as the industry had lifted him up as the genre's next global star, Wallen was disinvited from awards shows, criticized by peers, blocked from radio play, and suspended by his record label. Country music cable network CMT announced it would scrub his appearances from its platforms, saying Wallen's words and actions were "in direct opposition to our core values that celebrate diversity, equity, and inclusion."Then, something happened: People kept listening anyway.Four years later, Wallen, now 32, is bigger than ever. His 2023 album "One Thing at a Time" spent 19 weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard 200, the longest reign ever for a country album. He went back on "Saturday Night Live," where his latest viral controversy, in which he walked offstage while the cameras were still rolling, garnered him enough defenders to launch a cheeky merch line. (It's now sold out.) His new album, "I'm the Problem," only needed one day to become Spotify's most-streamed country album of 2025.These days, it pays to be the problem.The making and marketing of a modern antihero Morgan Wallen released his fourth album, "I'm the Problem," on May 16, 2025. Spidey Smith Sonically, there's nothing particularly special about Wallen's brand of stadium country music. His signature Tennessee twang is pleasant enough, but it pales in comparison to the richness of Shaboozey's, for example, or the expressive texture of Chris Stapleton's. The melodies aren't any catchier than the average single by Luke Combs or Florida Georgia Line, and his lyrics are teeming with tropes: the word "whiskey" is sung no fewer than 18 times on "I'm the Problem." In a genre historically obsessed with first-person storytelling and narrative cohesion, Wallen also isn't distinguished by his songwriting: he's not listed as the sole songwriter on any "I'm the Problem" tracks, and on 15 out of 37, he's not credited at all. (Forty-nine other songwriters are credited throughout.)However, a closer look at the album's title track and opener offers insight into a core element of Wallen's appeal. On the taunting kiss-off, addressed to an ex who's equally flawed but can't bear to share the blame, Wallen is equal parts self-loathing and vindictive: "You hate that when you look at me, you halfway see yourself / And it got me thinkin' / If I'm the problem / You might be the reason." These themes are woven into the fabric of Wallen's songs, many of which double as sly implications. He often sings about drunken screw-ups and toxic relationships that paint his friends, lovers, and listeners as co-conspirators, or even instigators. "Don't Think Jesus," his first solo release after returning to the spotlight in 2022, makes this theme explicit: "World likes to rear back and throw a few stones / So boy wants to throw a few stones of his own." In his big hit from last year, the Post Malone duet "I Had Some Help," Wallen reasons, "It ain't like I can make this kinda mess all by myself."John Malanga, a 21-year-old rising senior at James Madison University, said he likes Wallen more than other country stars because he sees him as authentic: the themes of his music align with his unpolished, unapologetic public persona."He recognizes his flaws and yeah, he's kind of like this young guy who's a little bit of a douchebag sometimes, but that's his character," Malanga said. "It seems like he's really not afraid of that."Devin Selvala, a Boston-based 27-year-old who said she's been in Wallen's top 1% of Spotify listeners for at least three years, agreed."Nowadays in the music industry, it's easy to be consumed by the machine," Selvala said. "He isn't one that's willing to be shape-shifted and evolved based on how the industry or how 'big music' wants him to be. I think he's very, 'Take me as I am or leave me.'"Still, not everybody has accepted Wallen's career rebound. When Tate McRae was announced as a feature on "I'm the Problem," some of her fans objected based on Wallen's reputation and presumed political views, describing their team-up online as tone-deaf and meme-ing McRae as a MAGA Republican.The Wallen fans I spoke to were well aware of the singer's slur scandal and didn't let it slide, either, calling his language "repulsive" and inexcusable. (Wallen, for his part, said much of the same at the time, instructing his supporters to stop defending him in a video shared online.) But none said the incident ultimately deterred them from enjoying and supporting Wallen's music, especially following his public apology."I know I've never called anybody the N-word, but I've called people other things and done really crappy things. I think everybody has," Laragh Thooft, a 32-year-old from Iowa, told me. "I would never stop listening to music that I like, or stop watching a movie that I like, because it's somebody doing really dumb and potentially hateful things if they're not seeming to me to be a dumb and hateful person.""If we start doing that," she added, "then we're just gonna have to listen to only AI music."Wallen doesn't innovate — he resonates Morgan Wallen performs during the "Dangerous" tour in Los Angeles. Getty/John Shearer Wallen's relatability is also bolstered by streaming-optimized savvy.His music is extremely popular on TikTok, a platform that rewards broad appeal and repetition to serve users content that echoes what they already know and love. To this end, Wallen and his collaborators are masters at integrating other sounds and genres into his well-worn country formula. His songs bear tones of '70s rock, radio-friendly pop, electronic, and hip-hop, and his duet partners are carefully selected to help legitimize those unions: Hardy ("Come Back as a Redneck"), Tate McRae ("What I Want"), Diplo ("Heartless"), Lil Durk ("Broadway Girls"). Wallen's most high-profile collaborator in recent years, Post Malone, has achieved similar success hopping between rap, pop, and country trends.Wallen also releases a lot of music. Like, a lot. "One Thing at a Time" had 36 songs on its tracklist, just one fewer than "I'm the Problem." Its predecessor, 2021's "Dangerous," was a double album with 32 songs total, including bonus tracks.Wallen is the ideal avatar for an attractive idea — a feeling of freedom, of open roads and judgment-free zones.Much has been written about the "more is more" strategy that excels in the streaming era, and Wallen is far from the only artist to take advantage of it. But he arguably does it better than anyone else. The proof is in the pudding, which is to say, his chart performances. As of Wednesday, tracks from "I'm the Problem" dominated nearly half of Spotify's Top 50 in the US, with four of the top five slots. "We see that the demand is there and we are happy to meet that demand," Wallen said in a press release for the album.In the process, Wallen avoids disappointing any fans who prefer specific flavors in his sound. It's a familiar failsafe — something for everyone — and it suits Wallen's creative process, which he has characterized as relatively directionless. "We just went with our gut. That's what we do a lot of times, we don't necessarily have a plan," he told Rolling Stone of his debut album, "If I Know Me," in 2018. "Hopefully it sounds good." Wallen may not be leading the writing or production of his songs, but there is something to be said for his sonic pliability. Paired with his everyman ease and nonconformist attitude, Wallen is the ideal avatar for an attractive idea — a feeling of freedom, of open roads and judgment-free zones.After all, Wallen was right: He had some help. His record label resumed promoting his music a few months after he apologized for the slur incident in 2021. Last year, he was nominated for male video of the year at the CMT Music Awards and won entertainer of the year at the CMAs. He's hitched a ride on a powerful pendulum, one that's swinging away from DEI initiatives and toward self-styled free thinkers and rebels against social etiquette.Consider "Working Man's Song," a track from Wallen's new album, which echoes recent anti-establishment, anti-elite hits like Oliver Anthony's "Rich Men North of Richmond" and Jason Aldean's "Try That In a Small Town": "I punch the clock, wanna punch a ticket to New York and punch the boss," Wallen sings. Never mind that Wallen's 2023 tour grossed over $300 million, making it the highest-grossing country tour of all time. When he moans about the indignity of 9-to-5 jobs and "underpaid checks," it strikes a nerve.For a lot of Wallen's fans, Selvala theorized, "It's not just the music. It's the embodiment, the aesthetic of everything.""When I think of country music, I think of long drives, being with my friends, feet in the grass, sunny and 75, beers in the cooler," she said. "A lot of amazing memories I have over the years, just like being with people I love, have Morgan playing in the background.""I'm the Problem" concludes as it begins, with a double-edged confession. In the chorus of "I'm A Little Crazy," Wallen casts himself as a "coyote in a field of wolves" — scrappy, perhaps, and proud to stand out, yet no more wild than anyone else."Yeah, the only thing keeping these tracks on the train," Wallen sings, "Knowing I'm a little crazy, but the world's insane."

"Artificial intelligence, if we're being frank, is a con: a bill of goods you are being sold to line someone's pockets."That is the heart of the argument that linguist Emily Bender and sociologist Alex Hanna make in their new book The AI Con. It's a useful guide for anyone whose life has intersected with technologies sold as artificial intelligence and anyone who's questioned their real usefulness, which is most of us. Bender is a professor at the University of Washington who was named one of Time magazine's most influential people in artificial intelligence, and Hanna is the director of research at the nonprofit Distributed AI Research Institute and a former member of the ethical AI team at Google.The explosion of ChatGPT in late 2022 kicked off a new hype cycle in AI. Hype, as the authors define it, is the "aggrandizement" of technology that you are convinced you need to buy or invest in "lest you miss out on entertainment or pleasure, monetary reward, return on investment, or market share." But it's not the first time, nor likely the last, that scholars, government leaders and regular people have been intrigued and worried by the idea of machine learning and AI.Bender and Hanna trace the roots of machine learning back to the 1950s, to when mathematician John McCarthy coined the term artificial intelligence. It was in an era when the United States was looking to fund projects that would help the country gain any kind of edge on the Soviets militarily, ideologically and technologically. "It didn't spring whole cloth out of Zeus's head or anything. This has a longer history," Hanna said in an interview with CNET. "It's certainly not the first hype cycle with, quote, unquote, AI."Today's hype cycle is propelled by the billions of dollars of venture capital investment into startups like OpenAI and the tech giants like Meta, Google and Microsoft pouring billions of dollars into AI research and development. The result is clear, with all the newest phones, laptops and software updates drenched in AI-washing. And there are no signs that AI research and development will slow down, thanks in part to a growing motivation to beat China in AI development. Not the first hype cycle indeed.Of course, generative AI in 2025 is much more advanced than the Eliza psychotherapy chatbot that first enraptured scientists in the 1970s. Today's business leaders and workers are inundated with hype, with a heavy dose of FOMO and seemingly complex but often misused jargon. Listening to tech leaders and AI enthusiasts, it might seem like AI will take your job to save your company money. But the authors argue that neither is wholly likely, which is one reason why it's important to recognize and break through the hype.So how do we recognize AI hype? These are a few telltale signs, according to Bender and Hanna, that we share below. The authors outline more questions to ask and strategies for AI hype busting in their book, which is out now in the US.Watch out for language that humanizes AIAnthropomorphizing, or the process of giving an inanimate object human-like characteristics or qualities, is a big part of building AI hype. An example of this kind of language can be found when AI companies say their chatbots can now "see" and "think."These can be useful comparisons when trying to describe the ability of new object-identifying AI programs or deep-reasoning AI models, but they can also be misleading. AI chatbots aren't capable of seeing of thinking because they don't have brains. Even the idea of neural nets, Hanna noted in our interview and in the book, is based on human understanding of neurons from the 1950s, not actually how neurons work, but it can fool us into believing there's a brain behind the machine.That belief is something we're predisposed to because of how we as humans process language. We're conditioned to imagine that there is a mind behind the text we see, even when we know it's generated by AI, Bender said. "We interpret language by developing a model in our minds of who the speaker was," Bender added.In these models, we use our knowledge of the person speaking to create meaning, not just using the meaning of the words they say. "So when we encounter synthetic text extruded from something like ChatGPT, we're going to do the same thing," Bender said. "And it is very hard to remind ourselves that the mind isn't there. It's just a construct that we have produced."The authors argue that part of why AI companies try to convince us their products are human-like is that this sets the foreground for them to convince us that AI can replace humans, whether it's at work or as creators. It's compelling for us to believe that AI could be the silver bullet fix to complicated problems in critical industries like health care and government services.But more often than not, the authors argue, AI isn't bring used to fix anything. AI is sold with the goal of efficiency, but AI services end up replacing qualified workers with black box machines that need copious amounts of babysitting from underpaid contract or gig workers. As Hanna put it in our interview, "AI is not going to take your job, but it will make your job shittier."Be dubious of the phrase 'super intelligence'If a human can't do something, you should be wary of claims that an AI can do it. "Superhuman intelligence, or super intelligence, is a very dangerous turn of phrase, insofar as it thinks that some technology is going to make humans superfluous," Hanna said. In "certain domains, like pattern matching at scale, computers are quite good at that. But if there's an idea that there's going to be a superhuman poem, or a superhuman notion of research or doing science, that is clear hype." Bender added, "And we don't talk about airplanes as superhuman flyers or rulers as superhuman measurers, it seems to be only in this AI space that that comes up."The idea of AI "super intelligence" comes up often when people talk about artificial general intelligence. Many CEOs struggle to define what exactly AGI is, but it's essentially AI's most advanced form, potentially capable of making decisions and handling complex tasks. There's still no evidence we're anywhere near a future enabled by AGI, but it's a popular buzzword.Many of these future-looking statements from AI leaders borrow tropes from science fiction. Both boosters and doomers — how Bender and Hanna describe AI enthusiasts and those worried about the potential for harm — rely on sci-fi scenarios. The boosters imagine an AI-powered futuristic society. The doomers bemoan a future where AI robots take over the world and wipe out humanity.The connecting thread, according to the authors, is an unshakable belief that AI is smarter than humans and inevitable. "One of the things that we see a lot in the discourse is this idea that the future is fixed, and it's just a question of how fast we get there," Bender said. "And then there's this claim that this particular technology is a step on that path, and it's all marketing. It is helpful to be able to see behind it."Part of why AI is so popular is that an autonomous functional AI assistant would mean AI companies are fulfilling their promises of world-changing innovation to their investors. Planning for that future — whether it's a utopia or dystopia — keeps investors looking forward as the companies burn through billions of dollars and admit they'll miss their carbon emission goals. For better or worse, life is not science fiction. Whenever you see someone claiming their AI product is straight out of a movie, it's a good sign to approach with skepticism. Ask what goes in and how outputs are evaluatedOne of the easiest ways to see through AI marketing fluff is to look and see whether the company is disclosing how it operates. Many AI companies won't tell you what content is used to train their models. But they usually disclose what the company does with your data and sometimes brag about how their models stack up against competitors. That's where you should start looking, typically in their privacy policies.One of the top complaints and concerns from creators is how AI models are trained. There are many lawsuits over alleged copyright infringement, and there are a lot of concerns over bias in AI chatbots and their capacity for harm. "If you wanted to create a system that is designed to move things forward rather than reproduce the oppressions of the past, you would have to start by curating your data," Bender said. Instead, AI companies are grabbing "everything that wasn't nailed down on the internet," Hanna said.If you're hearing about an AI product for the first time, one thing in particular to look out for is any kind of statistic that highlights its effectiveness. Like many other researchers, Bender and Hanna have called out that a finding with no citation is a red flag. "Anytime someone is selling you something but not giving you access to how it was evaluated, you are on thin ice," Bender said.It can be frustrating and disappointing when AI companies don't disclose certain information about how their AI products work and how they were developed. But recognizing those holes in their sales pitch can help deflate hype, even though it would be better to have the information. For more, check out our full ChatGPT glossary and how to turn off Apple Intelligence.