ChatGPT
Perplexity
Claude
Gemini
It's 10pm. You're horizontal, phone overhead, thumb on autopilot. You scroll past a child presenting an impossibly elaborate birthday cake captioned "this is my first cake." Swipe. Jesus fused with a crustacean rising from the sea. Swipe. An elderly stranger's AI-generated face asking you to wish them a happy birthday. Swipe. With every hollow flash of the screen, your memories of a quieter internet flicker faintly and fade. This feeling — of being duped into a dissociative doomscroll — is the result of enshittification, what happens when platforms built to share your stories and showcase your creativity quietly become machines for extracting your attention instead.
The writer Cory Doctorow coined the term "enshittification" a few years ago to describe a pattern he kept seeing in tech: platforms start out genuinely good for users, then slowly squeeze users to serve advertisers, then squeeze everyone para maximizar los beneficios de los accionistas. Es el ciclo de vida de cada plataforma social que has adorado y luego has dejado de adorar poco a poco. Lo que le está pasando a tu feed ahora mismo es ese proceso llegando a la capa de contenido, y la IA generativa es lo que hizo que ocurriera a esta velocidad y escala.
The incentive isn't to show you something meaningful anymore, it's to keep you scrolling. Because every second you stay is another ad impression sold. And the cheapest, fastest way to do that at scale is slop: content farmed by individuals or small operations deliberately targeting high-value advertising markets, generating and posting at inhuman volume purely to exploit platform monetization. A Kenyan creator en declaraciones a la revista New York described asking ChatGPT to write prompts that would "bring high engagement on Facebook," feeding those into an image generator, and repeating the cycle indefinitely. A 22-year-old medical student in India told WIRED he was making a few thousand dollars a month creating an AI influencer persona, spending no more than 30 to 50 minutes a day on it. None of it made for tú. Todo ello hecho a las a ti. Y el feed se pudre un poco más.
Slop works by stopping the scroll, not by earning it. Shrimp Jesus goes viral because it's so bizarre you can't look away, not because it's telling a compelling story. The quality is obviously low, the artificiality is plain to see — and everybody knows it. Shock is a one-time transaction. It arrests your attention for a second and deposits you back into the same hollow feeling you were scrolling to escape. No resonance, no point of view, nothing to return to. And the more of it there is, the more people can feel the difference between content that stops the scroll and content that actually means something.
Por eso la enshittification, con todo el daño que causa, no puede acabar con el buen gusto. Consumer preference for AI-generated content has collapsed from 60% in 2023 to 26% in 2025, according to research from Billion Dollar Boy. Audiences aren't just indifferent to slop; they're getting faster at spotting it. The uncanny valley of AI content — the too-smooth skin, the background that dissolves into nothing if you look closely, the hand with seven fingers — has become its own cultural shorthand. What stops the thumb now isn't the most polished thing in the feed. It's the most specific. The most unmistakably made by someone, for someone.
The backlash is already reshaping behavior. Brands are now explicitly asking creators to no over-produce — to leave the wrinkled shirt, the unwashed dishes, the imperfect lighting. Founder-led and behind-the-scenes content is outpacing polished brand creative by 3x to 8x on Meta and TikTok. Authenticity is becoming the scarcest resource in the feed, and scarcity creates value.
The readers of this blog are not the slop problem. They're the antidote. Becky Owen, CMO of Billion Dollar Boy, le dijo a Digiday: "The majority of bad AI content that flooded our feeds didn't come from creators. It came from people that thought AI was going to unlock the magical creative spark inside of them and then cruelly found that is not the case." The slop problem was never about AI. It was about using AI as a substitute for having something to say, rather than a tool for saying it better.
Si estás aquí, ya tienes algo que decir. Tienes gusto, un punto de vista, un mundo visual que estás construyendo o una historia que quieres contar. Lo que estas herramientas te dan no es un sustituto de eso, sino un multiplicador de fuerza. Y ahora mismo ese multiplicador está en un terreno donde casi nadie más lo está aprovechando bien. Las granjas de contenido producen volumen, las marcas producen pulido, y casi nadie produce vision — work with a clear human behind it, a reason to exist beyond filling a slot in a posting schedule, an aesthetic that holds together across everything it touches.
Esa distancia es tuya. Trabajo que es inconfundiblemente yours no solo destaca: se convierte en aquello por lo que la gente vuelve, el oasis en medio del doomscroll, eso que por un momento hace que la plataforma se sienta como antes. El antídoto contra la mierdificación no es menos IA, porque sinceramente ya no podemos meter otra vez ese genio en la botella. Lo que sí podemos hacer es crear con intención, para crear algo que merezca la pena encontrar en este caos de feed.
Para eso existe OpenArt. Desde el principio, lo hemos construido para narradores visuales; personas con un punto de vista real, una historia real y la ambición de contarla de la forma más bonita posible. Las herramientas ya están aquí, pero el vacío en el feed es real. La única pregunta es qué vas a crear para sacudirlo.