In 1504, Isabella d'Este stood before yet another failed commission. The painting was technically perfect, every brushstroke precise, every proportion correct. She studied it, then wrote to the artist: "Again. The feeling is not yet right."

She couldn't paint. But she could see what wanted to exist.

This is taste: the aesthetic sense that recognizes when reality has shifted but the forms haven't caught up. It's not preference or sophistication. It's the ability to feel the friction between what is and what's trying to become.

Every breakthrough technology brings this friction.

When automobiles arrived, we called them "horseless carriages." We built them high like carriages, with whip holders and lamps. It took twenty years before someone felt the wrongness, before cars became low, fast, shaped by wind rather than tradition.

When television came, we pointed cameras at radio announcers. When computers arrived, we made them imitate typewriters. When the internet emerged, we built digital brochures.

Each time, it took taste to recognize the new technology’s own aesthetic, its own way of wanting to be.

Right now, we're living through the largest technological shift in human history, and we're making the same mistake.

We use AI to write emails faster. To automate expense reports. To generate performance reviews no one reads. We're so busy making the old world efficient that we can't see the new world trying to be born.

This discomfort is information.

When you see AI writing cover letters that sound identical, automating status updates already visible in dashboards, generating reports that explain why guesses didn't match reality, you’re not seeing efficiency. You're seeing a desperate attempt to preserve forms that only existed because of previous limitations.

Taste recognizes which constraints were essential and which were circumstantial.

Communication is essential. Email is circumstantial.

Decision-making is essential. Meetings are circumstantial.

Understanding is essential. Reports are circumstantial.

The person with taste doesn’t analyze this. They feel it, like a chef knowing when to stop kneading dough, like a musician hearing the perfect note before it's played.

Taste becomes more valuable during technological revolutions; it’s the only faculty that perceives what wants to emerge before it has a name.

Surface-level thinkers see the obvious change (more books! faster factories!). Those with taste perceive the deeper transformation in human experience that technology enables. They feel the aesthetic pull of possibility.

We’re at such a moment now.

AI isn’t just another tool to optimize the familiar. It’s a fundamental shift in what's possible, as profound as writing, printing, or electricity. But we're so trapped in horseless carriage thinking that we can’t see what wants to emerge.

The question isn’t "How can AI make us more efficient?"

The question is: "What forms of human potential are now possible that weren’t before?"

Only taste can answer this. Not through frameworks or strategies, but through the ability to sense when possibility and form finally align. To feel the rightness when they meet, and the wrongness when they don’t.

Developing taste isn’t about refinement or traditional education. It’s about the courage to trust what you feel over what you know. To recognize discomfort when others see progress. To sense what’s trying to emerge while others optimize what’s dying.

In every revolution, most people automate the past. They perfect the irrelevant.

But a few — those with taste — see something else. They see the sculpture in the stone. They hear the symphony in the silence. They feel the future wanting to be born.

And then, like Isabella d'Este with her painters, they help bring it into existence. Not through their own hands, but through their ability to recognize it when it appears. To say "again" when it's wrong and "yes" when it's finally right.

In the age of AI, everything can be generated, automated, optimized.

Everything except this: the aesthetic sense that knows what matters before it’s obvious to everyone else. The faculty that distinguishes the eternal from the obsolete. The taste that recognizes not what is, but what’s trying to become.

This is the only competitive advantage that matters now. The only faculty that sees.

Taste.

Tomorrow, work will wake before you do.

Not because an alarm rings, but because the code you wrote last night will already be revising itself, an autonomous agent tightening product-market fit while you dream. By the time sunlight hits your window, the sprint retrospective will be finished, customer interviews will be summarized, and the next experiment will be queued.

The office? More a time slot than a fixed place, a shared moment when minds meet, sometimes in a building, sometimes on a screen. Presence will matter more than location.

Careers? Gone. The old model clung to resumes; the new one evolves like a living README; version-controlled and always in motion. The verbs will matter more than the nouns: build, teach, map, because those are things you do, not things you are. When someone asks what you do, you will answer with the next experiment, not the last title.

Money? A side quest. Value will find those who make something new possible, and let the reward take care of itself. “Work–life balance” will live on only as a historical footnote—a time when we mistook one life for two.

Managers? Mostly replaced by interfaces, simple dashboards that highlight what's slowing things down, small nudges when energy drops. The rare human manager will still matter: someone who brings the team together, spots what others miss, and helps people grow. They'll be valued for something no system can copy: taste.

Intelligence? Measured by optionality. The smartest people won’t be those with the most data in their heads; they’ll be the ones with the widest menu of meaningful actions. To be intelligent will be to orchestrate serendipity: to find the others, remix their insight, and give the group a direction it didn’t see until you spoke. The question won’t be “What do you know?” it will be “What do you want?” And your answer will become your map.

Failure? Cheaper than ever. Each micro-venture will be a hypothesis wrapped in code, backed by small collective grants, crowd-funded and ranked by others who share your itch. If it flops, the leftover parts will be recycled into someone else’s sprint by morning. Nothing precious, everything fertile.

Power? Will flow to those who can articulate a better question. AI answers will be free, abundant, increasingly correct. What will stay scarce, and rewarded, will be the audacity to ask what no one has framed yet, then to prototype the first reply.

Inequality? Still a shadow on the wall. Automation (etc.) will create time, but not everyone will get the memo. Eventually the social contract will be rewritten in public repos, pull requests, governance by collective merge. Until then, it will be messy: fragmented, uneven, and full of friction.

Meaning? Will turn out to be the final moat. Algorithms will optimize, but they can’t yearn. Your edge will be the shape of your longing. The future of work will be shaped by desire, by what only humans long for, and by the tools we build to make it real.

And the only truth we will really own? Change. The rules will mutate again before this paragraph finishes rendering on whatever device you’re holding. So we will cultivate the one durable skill: improvisation, a mind limber enough to pivot, a heart steady enough to care amid the pivoting.

When someone asks, “What do you do?” you’ll pause for a beat. Then say, “I follow my curiosity.” That answer will capture both who you are and who you’ve become. It will be your resume and your reflection, your opening move and your final note.

The rest, titles, org charts, even this prediction, will be a temporary interface, ready to be refactored the moment you imagine something better.

Work changed; humans didn’t. Our operating system runs on: curiosity, play, purpose, connection.

We build. We laugh. We dance. We do what humans do best: create from instinct, not instruction.

The rules were never real.

But now, neither is the ceiling.

Dream (again)

On a quiet Sunday morning, I step outside for my long run, headphones on, and press play. Queen’s iconic question fills the air: Is this the real life, or is this just a fantasy?

French philosopher Jean Baudrillard wrote about the precession of simulacra—a world where symbols no longer represent reality but instead reference other symbols. In his view, these symbols create a "hyperreality," where what we perceive as real is merely a constructed illusion. For example, advertising doesn’t just sell products; it sells lifestyles, aspirations, and ideas disconnected from the product itself.

Companies often talk about “innovation,” but it frequently serves as a facade to mask stagnation or superficial changes. Similarly, individuals curate online personas, chasing likes and validation that have little connection to their true selves. In both cases, symbols replace substance, leaving us navigating a world of reflections with little grounding in authenticity. We’ve traded genuine meaning for surface-level signals—maps that chart the terrain without ever "touching grass." This hyperreality defines much of modern life. Yet, just as the Renaissance shattered medieval norms, the Nova Renaissance gives us tools to rediscover reality.

It may sound paradoxical: we create artificial intelligence, and in doing so, it leads us back to what’s real—wouldn’t that be a great joke.

Roasting the simulacra

Baudrillard warned of simulacra—symbols that replace reality itself. Over time, objects lose their intrinsic value, becoming hollow simulations.

The idea of “roasting” is about exposing the gap between symbols and their realities. For instance, a corporate mission statement might sound visionary, but does it lead to meaningful action? An AI strategy might impress in a presentation, but does it deliver real value?

Today, work often prioritizes appearances over purpose. Polished business cards and corporate dinners mask the erosion of genuine human experience. Stripped of its original purpose—to create for its own sake—work becomes a hollow performance.

Building a new map

To create something meaningful, we must confront - roast - the illusions we’ve built. For companies, this means addressing skill gaps, misaligned values, and surface-level changes that lack substance. For individuals, it means questioning whether our goals are truly our own or shaped by external pressures.

The observer effect reminds us that the very act of observing something alters its outcome. Symbols, like performance metrics or engagement statistics, exemplify this by creating an illusion of progress that often disconnects from true value. By challenging surface-level indicators, we can engage with what is real and begin to rebuild - rise - on a new foundation.

It’s not about growth—It’s about transition

Technology is breaking open the realities we’ve constructed. If machines can replicate intellect, surpass problem-solving, and mimic creativity, what remains uniquely human?

Our age glorifies growth, but this pursuit often traps us in illusions rather than fostering true understanding. The challenge isn’t endless growth but transitioning toward a future defined by integrity and curiosity.

Your sense of self isn’t tied to rare skills. The ladders you’ve climbed were never permanent. As intelligence becomes ubiquitous and exclusivity dissolves, the illusions propping up institutions will crumble. When knowledge loses its scarcity, we will redefine value.

This shift—from supply-and-demand metrics to authenticity, resilience, and creativity—offers a chance to build something new.

My first post ended with the phrase, “buckle up.” For what? For a future where intelligence saturates every facet of life. This transition demands we confront how technology reshapes our realities. It’s a call to action—to rise with authenticity and resilience in the face of profound change. Intelligence will be everywhere and nowhere, embedded in everything. You’ll no longer be the smartest person in the room. Intellect itself will become a trap.

What remains sacred is the raw, unmediated experience of being. The ultimate question becomes: if we strip away all signs, layers, and constructs—what remains?

If you can’t face the most fundamental fact of your own existence, what can you face?

Happy holidays.

Last week, we set the stage for what we’re calling a Nova Renaissance—a global, technological era echoing one of the most transformative periods in human history. This week, we turn our attention to the original Renaissance: what sparked it, how it evolved, and why its spirit still resonates.

Picture a dimly lit workshop in 15th-century Florence. A young apprentice carefully grinds pigments for his master’s next creation. Around them, clay models, mathematical treatises, and anatomical sketches coexist in a space where boundaries blur between craft and scholarship. Outside, the city hums with conversation as merchants, scholars, and artists mingle. This is no quiet age—it’s a century of voices, questions, and intense curiosity.

A world rediscovering itself

The Renaissance (14th to 17th century) didn’t appear overnight. It emerged gradually as European thinkers rediscovered ancient Greek and Roman texts that had long been scattered, forgotten, or suppressed. With these old ideas brought to light, human intellect found fresh soil in which to grow. The movement disrupted a world long guided by rigid hierarchies and singular authoritative views. Instead, the Renaissance embraced nuance and complexity. Scholars shifted their focus from asking "what is true?" to exploring "how can truth be understood through multiple perspectives?" This shift demanded critical thinking and a deeper understanding of context.

Central to this intellectual bloom was the shift toward humanism—a cultural and intellectual movement that placed human beings, rather than divine order, at the center of inquiry. Scholars like Petrarch and Erasmus championed rhetoric, moral reflection, and critical thinking. They looked back into the past not as dogma to be memorized, but as inspiration for evolving thought. This mindset nurtured fields as diverse as anatomy, astronomy, engineering, painting, and poetry. In turn, the lines between disciplines became delightfully blurred: an architect could be an accomplished mathematician, a painter an inventor, and a patron a cultural visionary.

The interplay of ideas and commerce

Florence, Venice, and other thriving Italian city-states grew wealthy through trade, and this commerce carried more than goods. It ferried ideas, texts, artistic techniques, and technological marvels from far beyond Europe’s familiar horizons. Exchanges with the Islamic world, Africa, and Asia not only broadened understanding but challenged narrow thinking. The influx of new materials—whether rare pigments or navigational charts—fueled invention. Artists, supported by pioneering patrons, experimented with perspective in painting. Engineers tested new machinery. Explorers charted unknown coasts, returning with knowledge that would reshape maps and minds alike.

The printing press: A catalyst of change

At the heart of this intellectual excitement, Johannes Gutenberg’s printing press shattered old barriers. Ideas once confined to monasteries or palace libraries could now travel widely and inexpensively. A student in Nuremberg or Paris could encounter texts that would have been nearly impossible to access just decades before. In this dawning information age, debate flourished. It wasn’t always harmonious—disruption rarely is—but it made knowledge more dynamic, participatory, and responsive. Much like today’s digital networks and open-source platforms, this new landscape allowed people to refine their understanding by comparing multiple viewpoints, cross-referencing discoveries, and applying reason rather than relying on unquestioned authority.

Embracing complexity and contradiction

Renaissance thinkers did not fear complexity; they embraced it. While religion remained central for many, faith and reason coexisted in lively tension. Innovations in art and science didn’t always align neatly with established doctrine, but this friction sparked conversation rather than silence. The Renaissance mind found beauty in paradox, inviting dialogue where once there might have been dogma.

All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them. – Galileo Galilei

The Renaissance, while often associated with well-known figures, was shaped by many individuals, including women like Isabella d’Este who sponsored artists and influenced cultural currents. Countless other contributors—many unnamed by history—helped weave the complex tapestry of the period. True innovation rarely springs from a single source; it emerges when diverse skills and perspectives interact.

Why does this matter to us now?

By understanding the Renaissance’s layered complexity, we gain a lens for interpreting our own world’s shifts. Just as their new tools, ideas, and cultural exchanges paved the way for a more dynamic society, our emerging technologies and global conversations can create fertile ground for modern reinvention. Recognizing how the Renaissance embraced flux and dialogue can help us respond to our era’s challenges with greater nuance and patience.

In the coming weeks, we’ll explore how the Renaissance spirit of openness and inquiry can guide our choices today. For now, picture yourself beside that Florentine apprentice, immersed in a world rethinking its assumptions, blending the old with the new. Their legacy reminds us that when old foundations shake, we have the opportunity to rebuild with resilience and creativity.

Carrying the flame into uncertainty

We, too, face an era of unpredictable frontiers. The unknown is already here, woven into every moment, inviting discovery instead of retreat.

We all know this feeling. As children, we greeted the world as explorers, curiosity guiding us into uncharted territories. As we grow older, we often lose this spark, trading open-ended wonder for the security of contracts, plans, and fixed outcomes, all in the name of ‘safety.’ Yet in a world on the verge of transformation, we can return to that original sense of awe—not from innocence, but from understanding. Instead of seeing doubt as a reason to retreat, let it become your compass, pointing you toward places you fear to go. In those corners, where new truths wait, you will find beautiful questions.

As clarity emerges, opportunities hidden in plain sight come to light, inviting us to roast past assumptions and rise to meet new possibilities.

Just as Renaissance pioneers reshaped their world on shifting sands, we are called to think, to question boldly, and to create anew.

Isn’t that a beautiful gift?

In our lifetimes, we've watched technology transform our world, redefining industries and careers. But in this rush, we often leave something essential behind: curiosity, bold exploration, and the wisdom to question everything. The Renaissance was a time of rebirth—an era where art, philosophy, and science blended seamlessly. Today, we have the chance to relive that spirit on a global, digital scale.

I call it The New Renaissance.

The original Renaissance was sparked by a transformation in how knowledge was distributed. The church once held a monopoly on knowledge, but the invention of the printing press shattered this control, giving people access to new ideas and fundamentally changing society. Today, we are experiencing something similar. Technology is reshaping how we view institutions—media, education, work, and now, with AI, even our ideas of ourselves and consciousness. Information is more accessible than ever, and perspectives are shifting rapidly. Just as the printing press broke down barriers to knowledge, today's technological advancements are allowing us to break away from outdated measures of worth, like diplomas, and define new paths based on creativity and hands-on achievements.

Today, your portfolio speaks louder than any diploma. Creativity and the projects you build are your new credentials. In an era where value is defined by what you create, not the qualifications you earned years ago, lifelong learning becomes essential. It’s not just about keeping up; it’s about finding the opportunity to lead in a rapidly evolving landscape. What you make today matters far more than what you once studied.

Borders no longer confine us; ideas are the new passport. Those driven by ambition and curiosity are turning work into play—and you can't compete with someone who loves what they do. Clinging to old frameworks won’t get us far, if they ever did. Instead, we must find freedom in uncertainty. Failure isn't a setback; it’s fuel for progress. It's time to Roast and Rise.

We must recognize our role while living in harmony with everything else. Why and how we do something matters, but the drive to explore is what moves us forward. Don’t take things for granted—question how everything works, be curious, and actively shape your future. Let’s tell stories that push the limits and celebrate courage and creativity.

Buckle up, everything is about to change. Welcome to a new chapter.

Nova Renaissance.