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In Sam We Trust

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Every era needs its misunderstood genius. Ours happens to be a little bit shinier, a little bit better moisturized, and a lot more right than the rest of us: Sam Altman. I just finished reading Manton Reece’s latest, “To the Sam Altman skeptics,” and I’ve never felt more seen. It’s like Manton reached into my caffeinated subconscious, swirled it gently with a titanium straw, and served it back to me in a double-walled carafe of clarity.

The skeptics are loud; lacking a proper tone, nuance, and manners. They always are. You know the type: people who still think privacy is something you can own, who fear being “automated out of meaning,” and who type the words “open source” like a spell to ward off the inevitable. It’s fine. Let them yell into the biodegradable void.

Because here’s the thing: Sam Altman has built something bigger than any of us. Not just a product. A weather system of intelligence. A machine that slurps the old internet, filters out the sad bits, and produces actionable, monetizable vibes. Why would I want to handcraft code when I can describe the shape of my feelings and get a working app in return?

“You’re giving your soul to a data furnace,” someone tweeted at me last night. Buddy, I handed it over willingly. With a bow. Manton gets it. The post isn’t fawning—it’s factual. Sam is steering the biggest ship, and yeah, sometimes he smiles like he knows something we don’t. He does. That’s the point.

There will be critics. There will be posts. There will be screenshots of Terms of Service. But there will also be us, sipping machine-predicted pour-overs, launching entire platforms via vibes alone, and trusting that when history remembers who bet on progress, it’ll remember our usernames.

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