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From Lego To Code

There is a straight line from the first Lego brick to a codebase.

Not a neat line, obviously. More like a child’s line. Slightly crooked. Unreasonably ambitious. Heading directly toward something structurally unsound and wonderful.

I know this because I’ve been building like that for as long as I can remember.

As a kid, I had thousands of Lego pieces. They came in through the usual channels: birthdays, Easter, Christmas, the occasional parental lapse in judgment. Naturally, every new set was built once according to instruction. Because of course it was. You had to understand the official version first. Respect the system. Learn the intended shape of the thing.

And then, just as naturally, it had to be destroyed.

Not out of disrespect, but out of curiosity. Out of creative necessity. The pristine police station, spaceship, pirate fortress, whatever it was, had served its purpose. It had delivered its parts into the republic. The bricks were no longer loyal to the box art. They had been assimilated into larger, stranger, more important plans being run by a child brain with absolutely no regard for scope management.

That was one of the first true flow states of my life.

Hours disappeared. The world fell away. There was only structure, tension, possibility. A pile of pieces and the intoxicating sense that reality was, at least in some small radius around me, negotiable.

That instinct went beyond Lego.

When I was three, I apparently deconstructed a vacuum cleaner. “Deconstructed” is a generous word for what was, from the vacuum’s perspective, a catastrophic event. My father, an electrician and engineer, had to put it back together. I’m sure this was inconvenient for him. But in retrospect I like to think he recognized the species of problem. Some children play with toys. Some want to know what the toy is hiding.

Or, more precisely: how the machine works, where the seams are, and whether it could be made to do something else.

That urge led me, among many other things, toward engineering. Which felt less like a career choice than a formalization of a preexisting condition.

Engineering, at its best, is organized agency.

It is the refusal to stand in front of a system and treat it as fixed just because somebody else assembled it first. It is the belief that environments can be understood, modified, redesigned. That constraints are real, but not sacred. That the world is, in fact, made of parts. And if it is made of parts, then it can be learned. If it can be learned, it can be shaped. And if it can be shaped, then maybe you are not merely living inside fate. Maybe, to some degree, you get to build it.

That idea never really left me. Only the medium changed.

I learned actual coding with QBasic, then Pascal, then C in the early 90s. In the early 2000s I moved into web development. From there into design, creative direction, strategy. On paper, that can look like a sequence of pivots. From the inside, it feels much simpler: I’ve always been building.

Sometimes with bricks. Sometimes with code. Sometimes with language, systems, teams, narratives, interfaces, brands, and operating models. But always with the same basic instinct: take the thing apart, understand the pieces, imagine a better architecture, build again.

Which is why the current AI moment feels less alien to me than it seems to feel to some people.

A lot of the current discourse around coding agents carries either panic or cosplay. Either software is over, or everyone is suddenly a ten-person product team with a prompt window and a dream. Both are a little silly. The more interesting truth is simpler: the cost of building has collapsed again, and that changes who gets to play.

That matters.

Because agents, at their best, do not eliminate the need for human taste, judgment, or ambition. They amplify them. They give people with agency more surface area. More reach. More iterations. More ways to move from idea to artifact without needing an entire institutional machine just to test whether the idea has legs.

In other words: more people get to play with Legos again.

Just with different bricks.

This weekend, while working on our latest release, I had that thought more than once. There I was, once again in a room, happily immersed for hours, arranging parts into systems: AI agents, code fragments, Python classes, components, prompts, event flows, schemas, states. Same feeling. Same quiet electricity. Same ridiculous optimism that if I keep moving the pieces around long enough, something elegant might emerge.

And maybe that is one of the most beautiful things about this moment.

For all the noise around AI, one of its gifts is that it returns building to people who were previously kept at the edge of the workshop. Not everyone will use that gift well. Many will build nonsense. Some are building haunted demoware held together by vibes and unsecured API keys. That, too, is part of the tradition.

But some people are using these new tools the way children use bricks: seriously, playfully, obsessively, with taste and nerve and unreasonable hope. They will build because they can. Then build because they must. Then wake up one day and realize that the real joy never was the finished object. It was the agency.

The chance to shape your environment a little more deliberately.

The chance to shape yourself with it.

We never really stop being the child on the floor surrounded by parts. The lucky ones just find better workshops.

And better toys.

 

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Jo Wedenigg is the founder of Apes on fire, where he builds human x AI collaboration systems for creative, strategic, and transformation work. He is the creator of Ape Space and focuses on turning AI into a partner for advanced thinking.

 

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What I Learned About The Value Of Human Work, After Months of Working With AI Coding Agents

I’ll start with a confession:

I was wrong.

Not about AI being powerful. It is.

Also, not about AI changing software work. It already has.

I was wrong about what kind of thing AI is. I assumed, at first, that AI might simply be “more intelligent” than humans in the way a crane is stronger than a person: bigger machine, faster output, same category.

After ~14 months of building with coding agents — shipping prototypes, breaking systems, rebuilding them, and moving from a locally run CLI toy into a real platform — I don’t think that anymore.

What I see now is this: AI is not a better human mind, it’s a different cognitive architecture all together. If you miss that, you will misread both AI and human work. A tiny lapse in reasoning, that sits underneath a lot of the current AI discourse. It’s also why “software is dead” hot takes sound clever on social media and then die the moment you need auth, billing, persistence, observability, or a system that still works on Tuesday.

Thesis 1: Clarity is kindness

The first thing coding agents taught me about human work: Clarity is not bureaucracy. Clarity is kindness.

Kindness to your team. Kindness to your future self.

Kindness to the machine you just asked to produce 5,000 lines of code before lunch.

LLM-based agents are wildly capable. But in their cognitive core, the LLM doing all the “thinking” churn, still operates as bursts of token throughput: tokens in, inference, tokens out. Let me be clear, in case there is any doubt: this is NOT how human brains work. Humans live in something else entirely: a continuous cognitive stream. We keep context alive across time (within the boundaries of our long-term and short-term memory). We carry intent. We revisit assumptions. We ask, nonstop:

  • Is this still the right direction?

  • What problem are we actually solving?

  • What are the non-goals?

  • Which constraint is real, and which one is just noise?

That loop is not overhead — we call it ‘inner monologue’, ‘strategic thinking’, ‘executive functions’. And however you want to call it: that loop is the work.

In long development sessions with coding agents, we’ve seen this pattern clearly reflected: what we are doing is often not “coding” per se. Coding agents have focused almost our entire developer time on doing directional labor:

  • defining scope

  • goals setting

  • non-goals definition

  • specs writing

  • requirements alignment

  • sequencing constraints

  • sharpening product intent

Yes, the AI can generate pieces of that. But it doesn’t have your intent. It doesn’t know your taste. It doesn’t know which compromise is acceptable and which one would quietly wreck the product six weeks from now.

This is not just an anecdotal founder rant. Anthropic’s 2025 internal study (132 engineers/researchers, 53 interviews, internal Claude Code usage data) found strong AI use for debugging and code understanding, with big self-reported productivity shifts — but also explicit concern about losing deep technical competence, weakening collaboration, and needing new approaches to learning and mentorship. They describe this as an early signal of broader societal transformation. 

That tracks exactly with what we’ve seen:

The agent can move fast.

It cannot care.

It’s the equivalent of a self-driving chainsaw. Human judgment is the only thing between your code and its teeth.

Thesis 2: Vibe architecture is no architecture

The funniest and most dangerous lie in AI right now is the idea that, because “vibe coding” can produce software, architecture no longer matters.

It matters more.

Coding agents can produce impressive looking output fast, and it was still the wrong move.

Our early version was a local CLI MVP. Great. Fast. Useful. Then we moved toward a real platform and the grown-up questions arrived immediately:

  • user identity

  • authentication

  • storage/persistence

  • billing

  • deployment strategy

  • infrastructure

  • observability

  • failure modes

That’s where many people discover: “generate app” is not the same ask as “design a system.”

It’s not that AI can’t help with these kinds of problems. It absolutely can. It can accelerate implementation and explore options quickly. But the truth is modern software development is a series of deliberate choices. If you don’t know the landscape,  if you don’t understand the option space, a coding agent will happily assist you as you “vibe code” yourself into a backdeadend you never meant to even build in the first place.

I’ve done it. Several times.

And that is not an AI failure. It’s a leadership failure. A product failure. An architecture failure.

The benchmarks are quietly saying the same thing. OpenAI’s SWE-Lancer benchmark used 1,400+ real freelance software tasks (including managerial decision tasks), and OpenAI explicitly reports that frontier models were still unable to solve the majority of tasks. METR’s randomized trial with experienced open-source developers on their own repos found that, in that setting, AI tool use made them 19% slower on average—even though the developers expected speedups. METR also stresses not to overgeneralize, but the result is a useful antidote to benchmark fantasy. 

That doesn’t mean AI is bad. It just means reality is large.

So yes, vibe coding is real. It’s useful, and it can be magical. But It is also often a speedrun into hidden complexity.

Vibe architecture is no architecture.

Thesis 3: Creativity does not come from abundance

The third thing coding agents taught me surprised me the most.

AI makes cognition feel abundant:

Need 20 implementation paths? Done.

Need 10 names? Done.

Need 4 refactor strategies? Done.

But creativity does not thrive in abundance. Innovation is born from scarcity. And creativity is innovation + relevance, optimized under utility constraints.

That last part matters: utility constraints.

A coding agent can be inventive. It can absolutely produce novel moves. But novelty is not creativity by itself. Creativity starts when someone makes a judgment:

  • this is the direction

  • these options are out

  • this tradeoff is worth it

  • this is elegant enough

  • this is useful enough

  • this is aligned

In other words: creativity is not just generation.

Creativity is selection under constraints.

And selection is painful. It means cutting away options, aying no. It means carrying the weight of taste, context, and accountability.

Machines are very good at generating options. Humans are still doing most of the meaningful reduction.

This is where the broader evidence is nuanced. The OECD’s 2025 review of experimental evidence summarizes real productivity gains (often 5% to 25%+ in the right tasks), especially when task fit is good — but also emphasizes that benefits depend on user skill, output evaluation, and proper use. They also flag a real risk: over-reliance can reduce independent thinking if people stop critically engaging with outputs. 

AI doesn’t eliminate the need for human judgment. It dramatically raises the cost of not having any.

This is not a software story, but a civilization story

If machines become abundant generators, then human value shifts upstream and downstream:

  • upstream: framing, intent, constraint design, ethics, taste

  • downstream: judgment, integration, accountability, consequences

You can see this in the current public discourse around coding roles: even people building agent tools are saying the center of gravity is moving from typing code to writing specs, defining intent, and talking to users. Boris Cherny, creator of Claude Code, said he expects major role shifts and more emphasis on spec work.  Stanford HAI’s expert predictions similarly point toward collaborative agent systems with humans providing high-level guidance — and note the growing pressure to prove real-world value, not just demos. 

And globally, the labor signal is neither utopian nor apocalyptic. The ILO’s 2025 update says one in four workers is in an occupation with some degree of GenAI exposure, but also emphasizes that most jobs are more likely to be transformed than eliminated, because human input remains necessary.  Meanwhile, the World Economic Forum’s 2025 digest says 39% of workers’ skills are expected to be transformed by 2030, with AI skills rising alongside creative thinking, resilience, leadership, and lifelong learning. 

That combination is the signal: Humanity is being re-specified, not replaced: Humanity is going to get itself one giant promotion — from working to leading. Leading armies of AI agents doing the work.

The danger is not (only) job loss. It’s skill atrophy, shallow thinking, and handing over too much judgment because the machine sounds fluent.

The opportunity is the opposite: teach people critical thinking, taste, rigor, ethics, architecture, and the discipline to choose. And the result will be a world where more people can build and thrive.

AI is changing what “being useful” means.

AI accelerates cognitive work. It does not make it any less tedious. If you want the upside without the chaos, you still need the “boring” things:

  • architecture

  • product thinking

  • systems design

  • constraints

  • taste

  • deliberate choice

Not sequentially. In parallel. All the time.

That’s the real lesson from 14 months of building with agents: the machine can do more of the work than I expected, and it has made human thinking more critical than ever.

Inconvenient for people who expected a shortcut.

Excellent news if you are in it to build.

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Jo Wedenigg is the founder of Apes on fire, where he builds human x AI collaboration systems for creative, strategic, and transformation work. He is the creator of Ape Space and focuses on turning AI into a partner for advanced thinking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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