
grab the report here
This guide is designed for product and engineering teams exploring how to build their first agents,

grab the report here
This guide is designed for product and engineering teams exploring how to build their first agents,
In a village just outside Nairobi, a multinational company funded the construction of a new water pump. A ribbon was cut. Smiles were photographed. A press release declared: “Clean water for all.”

But within months, the pump broke. No one had been trained to repair it. No local ownership, no follow-up. The company moved on. The community didn’t.
This is the story of too many corporate social good efforts. A good deed, performed once, and then forgotten. A billboard where there should’ve been a blueprint. An applause line where there should’ve been a legacy.
We live in an age where companies are expected to stand for something beyond profit. Climate justice. Equity. Mental health. Community resilience. These aren’t just trends. They are tectonic shifts in public expectation.

But according to a new 2025 benchmarking report, Understanding the Emerging Field of Evaluation in Corporate Social Good, most companies are still struggling to answer one basic question:
Is any of it working?
The numbers are telling. 72% of companies report growing pressure to demonstrate social impact. And yet, the median evaluation budget? Just $100,000. Often no plan, no trained staff, no structure. Just well-meaning teams doing their best—with no compass, no dashboard, no map.
Let me be clear: doing good without knowing what’s working is not just inefficient—it’s irresponsible.
You can’t fix what you won’t face.
You can’t grow what you won’t measure.
And you can’t lead if you don’t listen to the data.
If we want to close the yawning gap between intention and outcome, between the glossy brochure and the lived reality, we need a new operating system for corporate responsibility—one built around three fundamentals:
Right now, we’re short on the second and starving for the third.
This report lays it out plainly. While C-suites talk the talk, only 10% of companies invest in building evaluation capacity. Fewer than a third bring nonprofit partners into the process of interpreting results. And most treat evaluation as a PR function, not a feedback loop. It’s not learning—it’s laundering.
That has to change.
Because when metrics are vague and budgets are thin, we get performative philanthropy: theater instead of transformation. We measure smiles, not systems. We celebrate moments, not movements.
This isn’t just a critique. It’s a call to action. Every company that claims to stand for something has a responsibility to build a better way. Here’s where to start:
1. Fund Evaluation Like It Matters
If your impact budget doesn’t include evaluation, you don’t have a strategy—you have storytelling.
2. Hire or Train the Right People
Would you trust your financial reporting to an untrained intern? Then why leave impact measurement to chance?
3. Use What You Learn
Insights aren’t trophies. They’re tools. They should change how you fund, partner, and show up in the world.
Too often, corporate impact is measured in impressions, not improvements. Headlines, not healing. We must reject the comfort of performative good in favor of a radical accountability—one that listens, learns, and leads with truth.
Because the world doesn’t need more promises.
It needs proof.
And proof begins with a simple, courageous question:
“What changed?”
Read the full report: Understanding the Emerging Field of Evaluation in Corporate Social Good

Google just dropped this.

What if the future of artificial intelligence was already mapped out—month by month, twist by twist, like a Netflix series you can’t stop binging but also can’t stop fearing?
That’s what AI-2027.com offers: a meticulously crafted timeline by Scott Alexander and Daniel Kokotajlo that projects us forward into the near-future of AI development. Spoiler: It’s not science fiction. It’s disturbingly plausible. And that’s the point.
But this isn’t just a speculative sci-fi romp for AI nerds. It’s a psychological litmus test for our collective imagination—and our collective denial.
The Future Has a Calendar Now
The site lays out an eerily realistic month-by-month narrative of AI progress from 2023 through 2027. The breakthroughs. The existential questions. The human reactions—from awe to panic to collapse.
It feels like a prophetic script, written not in the stars, but in Silicon Valley boardrooms.
But here’s the uncomfortable twist: The most shocking thing about this speculative future is how… reasonable it sounds.
We’re not talking about Terminators or utopias. We’re talking about:
Is This a Forecast—Or a Mirror?
What makes AI-2027 so fascinating—and so chilling—isn’t just its content. It’s the format: a timeline. That subtle design choice signals something terrifying. It doesn’t ask “if” this will happen. It assumes it. You’re not reading possibilities; you’re reading inevitabilities.
That’s how we talk about weather. Or war.
The real message isn’t that the timeline will come true. It’s that we’re already living as though it will.
The Comfort of Fatalism
There’s a strange comfort in deterministic timelines. If AI will do X in June 2026 and Y in October 2027, then we’re just passengers on the ride, right? There’s no need to ask messy questions like:
The AI-2027 narrative doesn’t answer those questions. It forces you to.
Luxury Beliefs in the Age of AGI
This timeline exists in the same cultural moment where billionaires spend fortunes on yacht-shaped NFTs while workers are told to “reskill” for jobs that don’t yet exist and may never come. We’re living in a dystopia disguised as a tech demo.
In this context, AI isn’t a tool—it’s a mirror held up to power. It reflects a world that prioritizes acceleration over reflection, data over wisdom, and product releases over public good.
So What Now?
If AI-2027 is right, then the time to think critically about what we’re building—and who we’re becoming—is now. Not in 2026 when the genie’s out. Not in 2027 when the market’s crashed and ethics panels are writing blog posts in past tense.
This timeline isn’t a prophecy. It’s a provocation.
The future is being imagined for us. The question is: do we accept the script?
Or do we write our own?
By the time you finish reading this, a TikTok from a Chinese factory worker will have reached more people than a Hermès campaign ever will—and done more damage than any critic ever could.
Welcome to the collapse of the luxury illusion.
Across Chinese TikTok (Douyin), manufacturers are lifting the curtain on fashion’s most guarded secret: what luxury goods actually cost to make. The numbers aren’t just embarrassing—they’re revolutionary.
No glossy editorials. No influencers. Just raw footage, pricing receipts, and factory walk-throughs. And people are watching—millions of them.
This isn’t a trend. It’s a reckoning.
Luxury was never about the object.
It’s about what the object says about you.
A logo is a social passport. A flex. A shield against invisibility. We don’t buy luxury for the leather—we buy it for the lie: that owning it means we’ve arrived.
But what happens when the people who make these items show up on your feed saying,
“This costs $6 to make. Here’s the link if you want it without the markup”?
What happens is chaos.
Because luxury depends on distance. Mystique. A carefully orchestrated silence between the sweatshop and the storefront. These TikToks smash that silence like a hammer through glass.
French theorist Jean Baudrillard warned us: when reality becomes too ugly, society turns to symbols. We stop consuming things—we consume the idea of them.
That’s luxury: the hyperreality of status.
A Hermès bag isn’t a bag. It’s a narrative: wealth, taste, power.
But when the factory shows the exact same bag being made for pennies, the narrative falls apart.
And we’re left staring at a sobering truth:
You’ve been paying for permission to feel worthy.
This wave of viral transparency isn’t just financial—it’s philosophical.
It doesn’t just question what luxury costs.
It questions what luxury is.
Suddenly, luxury becomes indistinguishable from fast fashion—except with better PR.
This new generation isn’t just style-savvy. They’re system-savvy.
They’re not asking, “Where can I buy this?”
They’re asking, “Who made this, how much were they paid, and why am I being manipulated?”
And that’s what terrifies the luxury world:
Not knockoffs, but informed consumers.
Because when status is no longer about price but principle, the entire luxury model—built on secrecy, seduction, and shame—starts to collapse.
If luxury is no longer a price tag, maybe it’s time we redefine it.
Maybe the new luxury is:
Luxury isn’t dead. But its costume is rotting.
And the people who made your favorite “It” bag?
They just set the costume on fire—and filmed it in 4K.