As slick, machine-generated visuals become ubiquitous, artists and designers are embracing a style of handmade imperfection. Two and a half years ago, Christine Tyler Hill, a designer and artist in Burlington, Vermont, began working as a crossing guard in her neighborhood. The city paid her twenty dollars an hour, but the real draw was the chance to get to know local families and "be more enmeshed with my very immediate, outside-my-door community," she told me recently. She was tired of staring at a screen doing design work, and new clients were getting harder to come by, in part, she surmised, because of the rise of generative artificial intelligence . She began documenting her crossing-guard shifts on Instagram, posting mini comics about the frigid weather, the charming habits of commuting children, and the beauty of an overflowing trash can.

Will A.I. Make College Obsolete? More and more people may decide that its stamp of approval isn't worth the cost. A few weeks ago, while I was dealing with taxes, it occurred to me that the money my wife and I were putting away in a college fund for our children might be better used somewhere else. This wasn't a novel musing, but it felt particularly pressing as I watched my account balance go down, a portion of its resources funnelled into something that can't be touched for at least the next nine years. When my nine-year-old daughter graduates from high school, in 2035, I asked myself, will the landscape of higher education look the way that it does now?

Readers respond to Sarah Stillman's piece about the detention of migrant children, Patrick Radden Keefe's investigation into car-insurance fraud in New Orleans, and Ronan Farrow and Andrew Marantz's profile of Sam Altman. Sarah Stillman, in her excellent article on the U.S. government's detention of migrant children, does what many media outlets find impossible: she stays with an ongoing horror even as the news cycles that placed it front and center have passed ("No Mercy," April 20th). Stillman's piece also reminded me that the United States is the only U.N. member state that refuses to ratify the organization's Convention on the Rights of the Child, which enshrines children with certain rights--including to stay with their families whenever possible and to due process. America's refusal dates back to the nineteen-nineties; considering this, the current Administration's actions can be seen only as a shameful continuation of our country's failure to respect human rights, even on its own soil. Stillman's piece details widespread medical neglect at the Dilley Immigration Processing Center, in Dilley, Texas, and points out that one source for its population's medical problems is the town's water.

With A.I., Anyone Can Be an Influencer TikTok and Instagram made it easy to monetize the physical self. Now the social-media-savvy can use A.I. to play with their identity, or overhaul it entirely. A few months ago, a forty-five-year-old homemaker living in Georgia, whom I'll call Robin, started playing around with an A.I. image generator. Growing up, Robin had loved reading; she dabbled in writing, too, but after her first child was born, the habit faded. A.I. offered something different--a kind of world-building that allowed her to project herself into places and situations she'd never inhabited.

The show exists in a strange world where men repeatedly confess their love for each other. Does it make them better people? Much ink has been spilled, and countless TikToks recorded, in an effort to explain the female fervor unleashed by the series " Heated Rivalry ." I, a thirty-eight-year-old woman who owns a T-shirt that bears the logo of Shane Hollander's Montreal Metros and another that celebrates Ilya Rozanov's Boston Raiders (Valentine's Day gifts, it should be said, from my indulgent husband), don't find its appeal so mystifying. Two gorgeous young men, as elegantly muscled as Myron's discus thrower, have ecstatically unbridled, mutually satisfying sex to a soundtrack designed to tickle elder millennials' nostalgia-pleasure centers, all while falling in the kind of soul-sustaining love that most of us can only dream of.

What Will It Take to Get A.I. Out of Schools? The tech world assumes that A.I.-aided education is necessary and inevitable. A growing number of parents, educators, and cognitive scientists say the opposite. I don't like A.I., and I am raising my children not to like it. I've been telling them for years now that chatbots are manipulative and dangerous, that A.I.-image generators are loosening our collective grip on reality, that large language models are built atop industrial-scale intellectual-property theft. At times, I find myself speaking with my kids about A.I. in the same terms that we might discuss a creepy neighbor who lives down the block: avoid eye contact, cross the street when you walk past his house, and, when in doubt, call on a trusted adult. Yes, I, too, have suspected that the creepy neighbor walks on cloven hooves inside his Yeezy Boosts, but he probably isn't going anywhere--in fact, he keeps buying up properties around town--so just try your best not to engage. Somehow, I was not prepared for the creepy neighbor to start hanging around my kids' schools; somehow, I thought we had until high school.

When the Netflix anthology series "Beef" premièred, in 2023, it was a revelation in more ways than one. The show, which traced the depths into which two Angelenos descend after a road-rage incident, reintroduced Ali Wong as a dramatic lead, gave Steven Yeun a chance to go darkly comic, and shined a rare light on the issue of Asian American mental health. It also remade the career of its creator, Lee Sung Jin, a seeming overnight success who actually had nearly two decades of TV-comedy writing under his belt. Lee first pitched the show after he stalked another driver for a half hour following a parking-lot dispute; he similarly drew from life for Season 2, which stars Oscar Isaac as Josh, a country-club manager, and Carey Mulligan as his interior-designer wife, Lindsay. The couple are caught on video having a nasty fight by two members of his staff, Austin (Charles Melton) and Ashley (Cailee Spaeny). The Gen Z employees, about to embark on their own marriage, see the footage as blackmail material--and thus an opportunity to start their next chapter on secure financial footing. As in the first season, the story quickly broadens beyond the central conflict, roping in the club's new billionaire owner, Chairwoman Park (Youn Yuh-jung), her unreliable plastic-surgeon husband, and the seething resentments of both the haves and the have-nots. I met Lee earlier this month, at his new office in Hollywood. The space was sparsely decorated, but he'd already mounted posters for "Beef"; "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia," the show that gave him his start in the industry; and "Thunderbolts," a 2025 Marvel movie directed by his creative partner, Jake Schreier. Lee, who has gone by Sonny since childhood and was credited as Sonny Lee for the first half of his career, opened up about the long road to "Beef"--a journey toward more intentional storytelling, as well as feeling "O.K. in my own skin." Perhaps surprisingly, the "Beef" character he seemed to relate to most was Josh, a congenial go-getter who mires himself in workaholism to avoid addressing his grief, as Lee did when one of his dogs died suddenly during production. We talked about his method of tailoring dialogue to his actors, the differences between Korean and American billionaires, and why class and capitalism are such inescapable themes on TV today.

How the artists in this year's survey do or, more often, don't acknowledge those who paved the way for them. Machado makes pieces that one might call documents of reverence, excavated burial grounds. If nothing else, the 2026 Whitney Biennial, curated by Marcela Guerrero and Drew Sawyer (at the Whitney Museum through August 23rd), introduces viewers to what I call ChatGPT art--facsimiles of facsimiles by makers who have little if any relationship to what they're putting out there, aside from its being a product in service of a career. Indeed, it's difficult to think of the people who grew up with and apparently condone the use of A.I. sources in the creation of "art" as artists themselves, especially if you define art as a creative expression of thoughts or feelings that have changed, and contributed to the vision of, the artists who made it. It's true that, nearly from the beginning, postmodern art challenged the notion of originality, or, more specifically, the weight of originality--often with great joy and wit and not a little fear.

How Bad Is Plagiarism, Really? From ancient Rome to the era of A.I., people have prized originality, but the line where influence ends and cribbing begins is notoriously blurry. One pleasing facet of plagiarism is that, in the eyes of the law, it doesn't exist. I could come over later, bring a few beers, and we could, you know, get down to some serious humanizing. Hard to resist, these days, given what's at stake. For students with assignments to complete, who have already vanquished their desolation by asking ChatGPT to compose an essay on their behalf, a humanizer is an A.I. tool that takes what has been produced, puts it through a further digital mill, and makes it sound as if it had emerged from a verifiable person. Among the companies that offer such tools are StealthWriter, HIX AI, and QuillBot. Anyone who has buttered and blitzed a mountain of mashed potatoes into a purée will understand.

The skills needed for wrapping up aren't always what you expect. My house contains a vaguely defined room--a parlor-like space that was created by a renovation decades ago. After my son was born, it served as a playroom, full of baby and toddler toys. Then it became a nook where, late at night, my wife and I could listen to music and read. That equilibrium held until the Legos and board games arrived; their incursion was the beginning of the end.