Hey Human

I am twenty-two years old and my friend, Reena, has invited me to a party. At this age, we are still barely playacting as adults, and this party signals that we truly trying to arrive there. There are charcuterie boards filled with beautiful displays of artisan cheeses and overflowing bowls of cut-up fruit. The small condo sparkled and our young group of friends chatted and laughed and snacked. In the corner, Reena’s Mom’s friend had artfully arranged a number of lotions, makeup supplies, and nutrition supplements from Arbonne. She hovered, twenty years older than us at least, smiling and beautifully done up, trying to enter into our chatter. Eventually, the mingling was abruptly ended and we were called to order as Karen cleared her throat to begin her pitch. I learned how white eye shadow could brighten my tired, first-year teacher eyes and how to use lipliner (it was the early 2000s after all, and we were all firmly committed to lipliner). I still dream about the holiday themed citrus sugar scrub that smelled better than any product I’ve ever used. I spent more money than I meant to and, unbeknownst to me, had become part of Karen’s downline. I had been fully inducted into the adulthood now–the land of direct sales, where women were promised financial freedom as the vultures sucked away every dollar.

Luckily for me, I found the experience of attending an Arbonne party (and the countless other MLM parties I would be start to be increasingly invited to) so distasteful and so weird, that I eventually stopped speaking to Karen, despite her entreaties that I showed so much promise in my ability to sell product that I could likely quit my teaching job. I often wondered how she could possibly say that about me, given we barely knew each other. But there was no way I was going to host some weird selling party for my friends and family, and eventually Karen stopped calling, Arbonne was plagued with the usual MLM controversies, and I will forever try citrus scented sugar scrubs trying to re-create the magic.

I have long been fascinated with fraud, especially Ponzi schemes. The fall of Enron, the Madoff scandal, all of it wrapped in greed and hubris and lies. Perhaps that’s why I also find MLMs so interesting–the pyramid scheme adjacency feels so close to fraud, and the exploitation is so transparent. How do so many smart women end up underwater in these spaces? If you, too, are interested in this topic, I cannot more recommend more highly the podcast, The Dream, hosted on Acast. The first season focuses on MLM’s and their impact:

We’ve all got that friend or cousin who steadily hawks some overpriced miracle drink, leggings, or shampoo on social media. They aren’t just trying to sell you something, but would like to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime to achieve riches while working from home on your own terms. You’ve probably been too afraid, or too loving, or too reasonable to confront them. Not us. This season on The Dream we go inside the world of multi-level marketing to expose this pyramid-shaped business model for what it is. Join us on this bizarre journey filled with snake oil salesmen, shifty millionaires, struggling single moms, and a few sweet grandmas.

Lately, I’ve been focused on another type of snake oil: the relentless marketing of LLMs, these GenAI tools set to “revolutionize” and “disrupt” education. While lots of much smarter people have written on this topic, this week I spent a lot of time thinking about how LLMs and their attendant marketing remind me so much of those MLM parties. The sense of urgency, the promises of freedom, the sense that the pitch isn’t quite living up to the day-to-day use cases.

The Generative AI boom, these large language models taking over everything, are built on the backs of unsustainable infrastructure, the companies supporting them propped up by billions in investment (yes, that’s billions with a B), burning through cash, with no way to recoup their investment. And so they eyeball the education sector, our public schools, all the while devaluing the work of students and teachers.

Meanwhile, the dangers of this technology as it sexualizes minors, pushes them towards suicide, and generally wreaks havoc on the hearts and minds of our most vulnerable citizens continues unchecked. I can’t get Adam Raine out of my mind.

It is so important for anyone working with GenAI in schools to understand all of these issues. Parents and caregivers have to have real conversations with the young people in their lives and work together to educate themselves on the promises and perils of these tools. At the very least remember: if you are learning about GenAI tools and these issues are not raised, you are in a sales pitch.

I would like to highlight some resources to get started. I cannot recommend more highly the resources and research from CommonSense Media. Every adult with children in their lives should be familiarizing themselves with these risk assessments, engaging in conversations with young people, and generally spreading the word.

At Common Sense, we know that successful AI is built with responsibility, ethics, and inclusion by design. This means that technical excellence alone is not enough for AI systems—AI is sociotechnical, which means that the technology cannot be separated from the humans and human-created processes that inform, shape, and develop its use.

That’s why our AI risk assessments are contextual, taking into account the societal landscape in which the products will be used and actively seeking what information might be missing or invisible to an AI system. Our AI reviews act as “nutrition” labels for AI. They describe a product’s opportunities, considerations, and limitations in a clear and consistent way, putting the right information you need at your fingertips.

There is hope in this–together, as communities, we can push back against the hype and take care of one another and our children. Maybe put out some cheese and crackers, invite over some friends, and start there.