The shape of this blog is entirely predictable, given it's published on Google's Cloud site and was written by Jack Buser, their Global Director for Games. It's a sales pitch written by a Company Man, full of low-calorie, Linkedin-bait lines like:
We need a structural shift to revive the ecosystem where creative risks are sustainable again. Fortunately, AI has matured enough to help drive that renaissance.
But what I'd like to draw your attention towards was a section near the end, where Buser specifically highlights three "exciting" use cases for AI in game development:
This opens up exciting new creative possibilities that will forever transform player experiences, and we’re already seeing this reflected in gameplay today:
Square Enix is integrating "Chatty Slimey” into Dragon Quest X Online, creating a real-time, multimodal companion that builds a personal, evolving relationship with the player based on their shared journey.
10Six Games launched YOU vs. Zombies this summer, a time-traveling horde-survival roguelite game where players use a custom AI generation system called "The Ritual" to turn anyone or anything into a personalized, spell-slinging playable hero to fight through the zombie apocalypse.
Ubisoft’sTeammates prototype replaces traditional command menus with natural voice-directed play, allowing players to coordinate battlefield tactics with AI squadmates who react immediately to human intent.
Do you mean to tell me that we are 3-4 years into this collective descent into madness, and this is all you can come up with to support your sales pitch? These three minor, annoying and deeply unpopular gimmicks? This is your ‘Golden Age’?
The fact this is all Buser could point towards in such a slick company blog is just so deeply embarrassing. Developers and studios all-in on AI in their production pipelines have had years to come up with something that makes normal people care about the technology (AI was supposed to let you release games in a fraction of the time!), and all Buser has to talk about are three wet farts. I thought AI was supposed to speed up development and liberate our creativity!
Where's the pioneering RPG with AI-generated characters, whose witty and contextual responses have made gamers the world over fall in love with them? Where's the trailblazing space sim where an AI-generated universe gives players limitless worlds to explore (and ones that are worth exploring)? Where's the life sim where AI creates a friend who is interesting, and not just responsive?
They're nowhere, because it can't do any of this. AI cannot and never will be funny, or unique, or be able to create a damn thing, because it's a crude machine that eats actual creative endeavours, digests them into a casserole and shits it out on a plate. And I don't think it's significantly helping speed up or streamline the development process on the backend either, because surprise surprise, the biggest problems facing video game developers (and release schedules) are not mild limitations on the available technology, butthe ineptitude and shortsightedness of everyone's managers and owners, who are usually the onespushing AI on their workers in the first place.
It’s fitting that Buser ends his blog with an analogy, saying:
I think of AI as an exoskeleton — an Iron Man suit for developers. The armor does the heavy lifting, but it does nothing without the intent of the human pilot inside.
Because Iron Man suits are a fantasy that don’t actually exist.
You know one thing about filmed media that always drives me up the wall? More often than not, the concept of personal (or even cultural) style goes ignored. Unless you’re watching a film centered on the subject (The Devil Wears Prada, I Love Boosters) or on teenage characters discovering their own style, it’s rare to find people in film or television discussing how they choose what to wear, or how much time it takes to coif their hair each day, or where their shoes came from. If the story itself isn’t about fashion or physical self-expression, you’re given the impression that everyone Just Wakes Up Like This.
It’s ignoring one of the greatest aspects of worldbuilding and character conveyance available to the audience. How much time does Tony Stark spend shaping that signature goatee every day? Is there a room on the TARDIS devoted to washing and/or replicating 12 of the same outfit for the Doctor? Does being Gandalf the White mean that dirt just kinda bounces off the couture? Why don’t Jedi carry suitcases for pajamas??
What does this have to do with Star Trek? I’m so glad you asked.
Image: Marni GrossmanParamount+
Star Trek: Strange New Worlds has been enjoyable for a number of reasons, but the show tends to get extra plaudits for the ways it has updated the aesthetics of The Original Series for a new century. Namely, it took a show that was famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) for putting its female officers in improbable beehives and miniskirts (with matching Starfleet-issue underwear) and its male officers in purpled eyeshadows and low-heeled boots, and recreated the feel of this environment with a slight air of added practicality. Strange New Worlds is a show replete with bright colors, winged eyeliner, the occasional bouffant hairdo (mostly on its captain), and short skirts that are now worn with Starfleet-issue trousers or leggings. The boots are not significantly heeled, but they are gorgeous.
What bothers me is that the style choices the show makes are taken for granted in a fun ‘n flirty business-as-usual sense. That’s intentional, of course—each Trek series has a different look or aesthetic vibe, and because Strange New Worlds is a show that will lead into the events of TOS, it’s the perfect place to offload that design sensibility. It’s a built-in excuse to go “retro” without much need for explanation. And that’s a tragedy because that explanation isn’t an idle thing.
What? You didn’t think that winged eyeliner just swooped into those lash lines out of nowhere, did you?
Much as I love a layer of meta-commentary, there are far more interesting in-universe reasons as to why Strange New Worlds looks that way in does. The fact it’s never so much as mentioned within the show itself is weird decision on the part of its creative team—why would you go through all this trouble in creating a fictional universe with layered and complex histories and ignore how its artistic and cultural preferences shift in response to current events? So I’m gonna get into it, starting with the central issue that this stylistic shift springboards off of:
Strange New Worlds is a post-war narrative within its own fictional universe.
Image: Paramount
Though it was only meant to have lasted two years, the Federation-Klingon War that began with the Battle at the Binary Stars resulted in tens of thousands of Starfleet personnel killed in action, one third of the Federation’s fleet decimated, and one hundred million Federation citizen casualties. A horrifying conflict born from the Klingon Empire’s need to unite its people against a common threat so they might stop fighting each other, the war brought devastating losses to both sides and resulted in very little change, aside from minor shifts to territorial borders. It devastated many of the officers who had up-close experience in the fight (M’Benga and Chapel are riddled with PTSD from their time in it). Others were still likely to have lost friends and colleagues, and sport their share of survivor’s guilt—we know Pike has difficulty with the fact that the Enterprise was ordered to stay out of the conflict.
And that wasn’t the only major threat the the Federation was able to send packing in a short period—directly after this war, the U.S.S. Discovery learned that Section 31’s threat assessment system (known as Control) had gone rogue and was soon to gain enough power to wipe out all sentient life in the galaxy. Discovery was able to neutralize this threat by sending the necessary information Control required to evolve far into the future. So in a three year span, the Federation not only managed to survive their first major war against another galactic power, but avert a galaxy-ending disaster. (Even if it was a disaster of their own making.)
It’s no secret that wartime clothing choices tend toward austere practicality while post-war fashions embrace experimentation and vibrancy—economics and cultural sentiment affect everything at the societal level, from lipstick shades to grocery staples to cocktail preferences. After World War I, the roaring ‘20s led to the popularization of the flapper: smoking cigarettes, drinking gin, and rouging their knees. The prosperity the United States saw following World War II led to a longer period of growth, ushering in beatniks, greasers, and finally ‘60s counterculture, with mods and hippies and a sexual revolution.
Image: Paramount
If you watch interviews with actresses on Star Trek: The Original Series (which premiered in 1966), a lot of them loudly defend those skirted uniforms—for the period when the show premiered, younger women typically considered the miniskirt a sign of liberation and power, regardless of who enjoyed looking at them. That was the real-life context of the skirted uniform, at least in part (some women finding them empowering certainly doesn’t mean all women did, or lessen the impact of the executives and censors who okayed these costumes with an eye toward male viewer gratification). The uniform’s heeled boots for men were ripped from a style largely popularized by the Beatles, a hybrid Chelsea boot with a Cuban heel that was named after the band.
The vibrancy of TOS can be put down to this cultural moment and the transition to color television. The changeover from black and white broadcasting revved up in the 1960s, which meant two things: showcasing color was all the rage, and makeup techniques to make actors more visible on black and white film had to be rapidly adjusted to serve a strange interim period. Ergo, the uniforms were bright because they could be, for the very first time. But the makeup was compensating for a point in time when plenty of TV sets were still black and white, meaning that it couldn’t be done away with, and men had to wear it similarly to women. Smoky eye shadow in abundance.
Slay. (Image: Paramount)
This is where I pause and to note that it is both disappointing and unrealistic for Strange New Worlds to avoid putting its male officers in pronounced makeup looks now and then, given this history. It’s not as though the show doesn’t acknowledge male style preferences (with Pike leading by utterly charming example), and there’s no reason to be weird about men wearing makeup a couple hundred years into the future when they already have throughout many points in history. Acknowledging that men are liable to go back to wearing cosmetics as an aspect of continuing societal change would be a heartening (and smart) message to send right now.
Plus, it just looks so good.
So those are the reasons for some of the stylistic choices made around The Original Series, yet within the narrative of the show, we’re given no reasons as to why things look the way they do. It mattered less at the start because Starfleet and the Federation existed in a vacuum with no more narrative attached—this was simply the way the show looked. Sixty years later, there’s centuries-worth of plotted story, missions and wars and major changes in allegiances, and the worldbuilding is robust enough to support historical context. Which means that The Original Series really shouldn’t look the way it does just because it was filmed in the 1960s. There should be in-universe information that backs the shift up.
Image: Paramount
Making the Federation-Klingon War a precursor to this shift is a sensible move, and to that end, we find that the Starfleet uniforms prior to and during that war were a far cry from the colorful array TOS and Strange New Worlds showcase. The first seasons of Star Trek: Discovery offer us uniforms that seem like a natural evolution of the blue naval-style coveralls that we see on Enterprise. They are paneled and piped with different metallic colors to denote the officer’s division: gold for command, silver for sciences, copper for operations. Unlike the early coveralls, they’re made of a fairly stiff fabric that looks starched and not particularly comfortable (in fact, Discovery’s cast frequently noted how difficult those uniforms were to wear over long shooting days).
Not all officers are wearing those versions of the uniform, however: Appearances from Enterprise crew members in season two show us the earliest version of the colorful tunic ensembles that TOS uses, but still with a high, stiff collar and sharpened shoulders. This is clearly meant to create a tie between the version of the Starfleet uniform seen in Star Trek’s pilot “The Cage,” which had higher collars than the ones settled on for the series run. But again, the meta context is less important here than an attempt at textual solvency—the uniform still looks militant because Starfleet has been on war footing. They’re trying something new, but they haven’t landed on the final form, it seems.
Image: Paramount
Yet by the time we reach Strange New Worlds, officers on the Enterprise are sporting a uniform that hews much closer to the original uniforms, with more room to move, fewer angles in the silhouette, lower collars. Where officers on the Discovery wore comparatively little makeup and opted for simple hair styles, the Enterprise crew is now braiding, coiffing, spraying, buzzing, and twisting their hair into improbable shapes, and nearly every female officer wears thick eyeliner, including their no-nonsense security chief La’an.
That, my friends, is a visible culture shift.
Image: Paramount
The Federation is entering a post-war era—one in which they believe this little alliance of theirs might have legs, as the saying goes. They successfully defended themselves against a formidable foe, which is bound to serve as a signal to others in the quadrant that their experiment is holding a full century in. This is an ideal place to set the tone for what dealings with the Federation are going to look like. So the change is really twofold; yes, Starfleet officers are embracing more exciting fashions and vibrant physical expression now that their safety has been reasserted, but perhaps even more relevant is the fact that Starfleet is making many deliberate choices about how they want to be viewed on a wider galactic stage.
And they chose to look relaxed, colorful, and approachable.
It’s a frankly genius way to recalibrate the meaning behind the Original Series uniform: When we look at this particular era, it is the least militant and structured of any Starfleet regalia shown on screen (yes, arguably even moreso than the TNG onesie, which screams essentially another version of a navy coverall and is mostly black). Their officers are decked out in cheerful primary colors, and the captain of their flagship is literally sculpting his hair with putty every morning. Rank signifiers are snazzy banding at the wrist, and the most basic version literally reads as… a tailored long-sleeved v-neck shirt and a pair of black pants. There’s a little padding at the shoulders, if you wanna quibble over details.
And we’re learning, for the first time, that this was intentional. We are currently in a period when the Federation wanted the galaxy to know: Our ships are full of interesting nerds and we would like to be your friends. It’s worth acknowledging that this does cause them trouble on occasion—you can sense the lack of respect rolling off certain factions when the viewing screen snaps to and some guy in bright yellow is blithely explaining the United Federation of Planets like he’s sitting on a stack of brochures he just can’t wait to hand out. (And I’m not even touching on the fact that different alien cultures are bound to have different ideas around what colors represent, provided that they even see color in the same way.) But it’s a calculated risk at a point when Starfleet is intending to act as outreach as much as defense and exploratory arm.
Image: Paramount
This is why I’m salty about the fact that no one on Strange New Worlds ever discusses their sartorial preferences—there are so many layers to what’s happening here. I want to know who is excited about winged eyeliner getting popular again, and where folks get their hairstyling tips, and how everyone is feeling about having a nice low collar for a change. I want to see Spock try on eyeshadow for the first time, and wipe it off in a panic because it looks too different. I want to know if anyone feels silly in their new division colors and has been lobbying Starfleet Command to change the hue. And I definitely want to know that the entire crew of the Enterprise is aware of how this new era is meant to look from the outside:
Here are our cheery little tunics and fancy-haired officers. We brought photon torpedoes just in case, but we also brought cake! (Our captain baked it from scratch, and he has too many opinions about flour-sifting technique, please do not ask.) We can probably solve your world-ending problems in an afternoon. Wanna hang out?[end-mark]
And we’re learning, for the first time, that this was intentional. We are currently in a period when the Federation wanted the galaxy to know: Our ships are full of interesting nerds and we would like to be your friends.
Democratic decision-making puts the power of a choice into the hands of a larger group of people. Instead of having one person (or a few people) call the shots, the whole group gets to decide the best way forward. The group takes more time to ensure that everyone is up to speed on the problem. They discuss possible solutions, ask questions, refine ideas, and vote on what to do. Fist-to-five is one of the easiest ways that groups can take a democratic vote. It follows a consent-based decision model.
what is fist to five
Fist to five helps people quickly gauge how the group feels about an idea. It's flexible and low/no-cost. Votes can be asynchronous (with a set time limit) or take place when people are all together. Everyone can vote; anyone can suggest, support, or block a proposal.
proposals
Fist to five starts with a proposal, or suggestion, for what a group should do. What makes a good proposal? It's one everyone can understand. Anyone can ask clarifying questions before the first vote. Everyone, no matter how new, is eligible to vote (as long as they understand the problem and solution). Because voting is so easy, I usually discourage amendments until after the first vote. That gives the group a better sense of how close their support/opposition is to others in the group.
Anyone can propose edits to a proposal. We can add them to a proposal using fist to five voting, or vote for the updated proposal itself. Changes to a proposal can happen anytime provided the group can vote for the final version.
voting
How do we vote? At Long Haul Kitchen, we vote through our signal group chats. We've had many discussions about how long to keep a vote open. We found that 24 hours gave folks time to read and ponder without delaying action on a decision. At our last meeting, a group of 6 crafted proposals and voted to send them to the larger community for a full vote. When it's time to vote, people signal their support with their digits, fingers or otherwise.
5️⃣ - I give my full and enthusiastic support 4️⃣ - I am fine with this proposal as-is 3️⃣ - I don't love this proposal, but you have my consent to move forward 2️⃣ - I have a small problem with the proposal and I will work to amend it 1️⃣ - I have a serious problem with the proposal and I will work to amend it ✊🏾 - I can't consent to this proposal in any form
Here's what happens after the vote:
If anyone votes for a fist, the process cannot proceed. The group learns why the voters are blocking the proposal. They may be able to find a new approach that works better for all participants.
If anyone votes 1 or 2, the approval is on hold until members can work out a solution. If people are far apart on a solution, the process may take many rounds of discussion and voting.
If everyone votes a 3 or above, the group approves the proposal. Members can get to work on the actions they approved.
things to consider
Fist to five is a simple approach to making consent-based decisions. Decisions made this way are not always easy; there's no promise the process will be drama-free. Participants must act in good faith and with the belief that there is a way forward. Here are some things to be aware of and their potential remedies.
People who don't understand the situation might opt out of voting. Remedy: Organizers should encourage everyone in the group to stay informed and vote. Ample time for questions and discussions is important. The proposals should be easy to follow but detailed enough so we all know what will happen after the vote.
Power dynamics skew support for a proposal. New or junior folks may not feel comfortable sharing their concerns with proposals. This is especially true for proposals their more senior peers support. Remedy: consent-based voting doesn't allow for strong persuasion or coercion. When someone votes a proposal low, it's the group's job to understand their misgivings and work to fix them.
The fist feels nuclear. It may seem extreme to shut down a proposal completely. But believing a proposal is unworkable is a position we should be willing to take. Remedy: encourage people that their input matters. One person may notice an issue that others might not. Solving the problem now, before we approve a proposal, is easier than trying to fix it later.
The proposal is too big. Proposals can do too much, confusing voters on what they're voting for. Remedy: Break up a proposal into smaller proposals and let people vote on each one.
The proposal is way too big. A multi-page proposal feels inappropriate for fist to five. The amendment and voting process might take a long time. Remedy: consider a proposal to allow a smaller group to work through the details. A different voting method might also be appropriate.
Fist to five is a powerful tool to help groups make decisions together. It’s easy to understand and explain. It's a more productive, and generally safer, way to use one's fist.
After neighbors took care of neighbors during the COVID-19 pandemic, the concept of mutual aid suddenly catapulted into the national spotlight. The speed and nimbleness with which mutual aid projects emerged was a strength, but it also meant many participants did not have preexisting relationships, trust, or shared political commitments. What has happened to the mutual aid movement since…
If you asked me the number one “topic” people come to me about, I would say communication. That's the specific word cited most often.
When I ask more questions, what gets shared ranges from trust to transparency, from inclusivity to managerial effectiveness. But when we finally land on the actual thing, 99% of the time, the real topic is decision making.
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