For the past couple of days, I’ve been pondering a deeply unsettling question. How much of the recurring narratives we see on social media—that “AI will make you unemployed,” “AI will replace most people,” or “humans will soon become useless”—is based on genuine assessment, and how much is simply paid for? Sabine Hossenfelder recently mentioned she received paid offers to spread fear about AI. Wes Roth put it even more bluntly: some of this funding is disguised as grants, meaning audiences may have no idea that content appearing as independent opinion is actually backed by financial interests. At this point, I don’t believe the full evidentiary chain has been conclusively established. Sabine has publicly stated that creators have been offered money to claim AI will kill us, and she’s noted that both optimistic and pessimistic camps around AI have engaged in paying to influence narratives. But we still lack concrete public evidence identifying who exactly paid, which creators received funds, or whether explicit instructions were given to conceal sponsorship. Still, this is enough to make me reconsider the AI narratives that have flooded the internet over the past one to two years. I’ve discussed with my wife many times whether AI will replace humans. My own view has never been overly pessimistic—I believe real-world work is far more complex than benchmarks or demos suggest. Just because AI can automate many tasks doesn’t mean a company no longer needs people. But she sometimes feels more anxious. And it’s simple: every few weeks, a new model emerges, social media explodes with headlines—programmers are done, designers are done, white-collar workers are done, this time it’s real AGI—accompanied by flashy demos that easily convince someone who doesn’t follow AI daily that, in two years, machines might do everything. Only later did I realize that most ordinary people’s understanding of AI doesn’t come from papers, product usage, or real work environments. Their understanding comes from their information feed. And information feeds thrive on fear. When financial and institutional interests are layered on top, this becomes even more concerning. Because the narrative that “AI is dangerous” is itself extremely valuable. It can make a company’s technology seem more powerful, elevate the perceived importance of a research institution, justify larger regulatory budgets, and sustain the illusion that certain investments are part of a technological revolution defining humanity’s future. So from now on, whenever I encounter content claiming AI will immediately replace everyone, I’ll ask: Who is saying this? Who is paying for it? And who benefits if everyone believes it? This doesn’t mean AI risks are fake, nor that AI won’t disrupt employment. The real issue is that we’re currently using a deeply flawed method to socialize this technology. Over the past two years, the tech industry has been too fond of using fear to educate users. These messages spread quickly and do drive people to adopt products. But I believe a truly important new technology shouldn’t rely on scare tactics to gain adoption. Media and tech companies should instead clearly explain what AI can and cannot do today, which jobs will change, and which skills will become more valuable. People need to understand this technology before deciding how to coexist with it.