I’ve been reflecting on something that’s been on my mind lately, maybe you’ve noticed it too. We have more ways to connect than ever before, and yet, there’s an odd sense of distance between us.
I’d like to explore that feeling through the lens of Isaac Asimov’s The Naked Sun, a story that feels less like science fiction and more like a gentle warning.
Growing up, I devoured tales of the future: Isaac Asimov, John Wyndham, Arthur C. Clarke, and their vivid worlds weren’t just about robots or alien planets. They showed societies that felt wonderfully alien, yet eerily familiar.
Right now, I’m enjoying the new adaptation of Asimov’s Foundation series, which still feels comfortably distant. But The Naked Sun hits closer to home. On Solaria, people live miles apart, interact via holographic “viewings,” and shy away from any physical contact. Robots far outnumber humans, and conversations with machines are the norm.
What once felt like pure fantasy, now feels a lot like my daily schedule. Almost every day begins not with people but with pings: Zoom links, Slack messages, meeting reminders. Colleagues show up as pixelated faces, often accompanied by AI assistants taking notes.
We’re “more connected” than ever, and yet, perhaps more alone.
So I can’t help but wonder: Are we, in our pursuit of efficiency and convenience, quietly building our own little Solaria?
We face that same tension in marketing today. AI enables us to create more content than ever, yet how much of it creates genuine connection?
In marketing, when speed and volume become the only metrics, connection erodes. AI can churn out content faster than we can read it, but that efficiency comes at a cost: engagement rates plateau, unsubscribes rise, and brand trust thins. What we save in production time, we may lose in relevance and loyalty.
This plays out in an endless stream of assets: slide decks, webinar invites, campaign emails, moving faster than teams can align messaging. We measure reach, but lose relevance in the rush to publish.
It didn’t happen all at once.
At first, it was convenience. Then safety, thank you, COVID. Then scale. Now it’s simply the default.
We’ve started turning to AI because it listens without judgment. We prefer texts to calls because they're asynchronous, controlled, we can edit and sanitise our responses. We say we’re overwhelmed, but we rarely step away. I’ve seen friends share secrets with ChatGPT they wouldn’t voice to anyone else. I've heard marketers talk about AI companions not as colleagues and companions.
Empathy by algorithm.
Trust by design.
Presence without presence.
It feels eerily familiar.
We have already lived through many fiction-turned-fact moments: Dick Tracy’s wrist radio reborn as the smartwatch. The gestural interfaces of Minority Report sparked real research into natural user interfaces. The future doesn’t arrive all at once; it seeps in until it feels ordinary.
On Solaria, human interaction had been optimised out of daily life, face to face connection replaced by holographic “viewings” and robotic helpers. That’s fiction. But when I look at many of my own habits, I can’t help seeing the resemblance.
People were free, but they isolated themselves, unable to tolerate the mess of humanity. We’re not there yet, but the trajectory is visible.
But unlike in fiction, there’s no narrative arc forcing a course correction.
Only choice.
What struck me about Asimov as a kid wasn’t just his imagination. It was his warnings. His stories weren’t utopias. They were stress tests, exploring what happens when we outsource listening, decouple abundance from community, or trade friction for control.
And here’s the part that keeps me up at night:
As marketers, designers, and technologists, we hold strange power. We’re not just shaping behaviour. We’re shaping norms. Every chatbot, every virtual meeting space, every AI-generated persona, these aren’t just features. They’re cultural signals.
I used to read science fiction to escape the world.
Now, I read it to understand the one we’re building.
Because Solaria isn’t some distant planet. It’s here, stitched into our daily lives, hidden inside our productivity goals, embedded in our AI roadmaps. We didn’t inherit it. We are authoring it in real time.
And the question isn’t whether we’re living in the worlds Asimov and others created for us.
It’s whether we’re brave enough to write the endings that will be best for all of humanity, or just a select few.
We don’t need to live in Solaria. We can build something better, but only if we stay human enough to notice when we’re trading presence for productivity.
That’s why I’m so passionate about helping marketers close the AI Literacy Gap and navigate the challenges of Governing AI wisely.
Because the future won’t be won by the tools that scale speed at the expense of substance, if we go that route, we inherit the hollowness Asimov feared.
It’ll be won by those who design for depth over breadth, and apply technology to connect more deeply with their target audiences.
Before your next campaign, ask one uncomfortable question: does this deepen connection or just fill a slot on the calendar? The companies that thrive won’t be the fastest publisher. They’ll be the ones whose use of technology makes their audiences feel more seen, not more processed.