The lure of Silicon Valley is persistent. Every new technology is heralded as a break with the past, a leap forward in how we look, make and experience. But anyone who seriously analyses the recent demise of both Sora (OpenAI's video production platform) and Metaverse (the artificial world of Facebook owner Meta) sees something else above all else: not the future of culture, but the limits of technological promise.
“This feels to many of us like the “ChatGPT for creativity” moment, and it feels fun and new. There is something great about making it really easy and fast to go from idea to result, and the new social dynamics that emerge.” Said Sam Altman of OpenAI 6 months ago on his blog
““You'll be able to do almost anything you can imagine” said Zuckerberg in his official Founder's Letter and presentation at the launch of Meta's Metaverse vision (2021), positioning it as the successor to the mobile internet.
But the reality turns out to be different.
The facts are clear. Sora, OpenAI's generative video app, was sacrificed after less than seven months to make room for a broader AI strategy. At the same time, Meta's Metaverse (positioned for years as the next internet) was scaled back to a marginal role in practice. What remains are not revolutions, but costly corrections. Billions and billions have been invested in it. For the cultural sector, this is not a footnote, but a signal.
Because behind both projects is the same miscalculation: the idea that technological innovation from above can determine how culture evolves. Both Sam Altman (OpenAI) and Mark Zuckerberg of Meta presented their products as fundamental shifts in how we interact with images. But culture cannot be designed in a boardroom, much less enforced through capital.
What Sora became in practice is illustrative. Where it was presented as a new form of artistic expression, it turned out to be primarily a machine for what the author sharply characterises as “high-fidelity slop”: endless variations on memes, irony, racism, sexism and visual jokes. Not because the technology necessarily dictates it, but because users want it. The gap between intention and use proved fatal.
The metaverse suffered from a similar mismatch. The idea of an immersive digital world where working, learning and creating came together turned out to be primarily a projection of technological ambition onto an audience that simply did not need it. The famous, somewhat lifeless avatars became almost a symbol of that disconnect: a world designed with no sense of how people actually want to move and express themselves. Ernest Cline's ‘Ready Player One’ is still a long way off.
The lesson for the cultural sector
For museums, art institutions and video makers, there is an uncomfortable lesson here. In recent years, the sector has remarkably often allowed itself to be carried away by such promises. From NFTs to VR exhibitions and AI tools, time and again the hope arises that technology is not just a tool, but a new cultural infrastructure.
But the history outlined in this article shows otherwise. True shifts in visual culture rarely occur top-down. They emerge from a complex interplay between technology, users and economic models. Platforms like Vine or Roblox (which do have lasting impact) succeeded precisely because they provided space for users to create their own meaning, within a structure that also supported this economically.
This has direct implications for the cultural sector.
Firstly It requires a different attitude towards technology. No longer as a promise from the outside, but as material that only acquires meaning in use. So the question is not: what can this technology do? But: what do artists, makers and audiences actually do with it?
Second, this touches on governance. Cultural institutions operate in a field where digital dependencies are increasing - from platforms to AI tools. The reflex to get behind every new development increases those dependencies. The rapid winding down of Sora and the metaverse shows how fragile those foundations can be.
And third, there is a cultural dimension that often remains underexposed. If technologies like Sora lead mainly to a plethora of generic, algorithmically optimised images, the role of the cultural sector shifts precisely towards selection, interpretation and quality. Not more production, but better orientation.
Perhaps that is the most relevant conclusion. Not that technology does not matter, but that its impact rarely lies where it is announced. Silicon Valley's grand narratives promise a new cultural order every time. What they actually deliver are experiments - sometimes valuable, often temporary. For the cultural sector, this means: less belief, more judgement. Less following, more positioning. Because those who take culture seriously know that it does not allow itself to be programmed.
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