For a long time, the path to software was predictable. A team hit friction.
They scoped the problem. They hired a dev shop like ours. We mapped, mocked, built, launched, and iterated. It was never easy.
But it made sense. Software was the destination, and we were the mapmakers.
These days, most teams don’t bother with a map.
They piece things together with a prompt and a hunch, hoping it holds long enough to work. It usually doesn’t.
The new path goes something like this: A team hits friction. They open ChatGPT. They wire up Airtable, Make, Notion, or Glide.
They don’t call us—not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Because they’re not thinking strategy.
They’re thinking: how fast can I make this go away? And AI answers fast.
But that speed hides something deeper. Something we’re feeling in real time: the slow erosion of what dev shops like ours were built to do.
When the first draft of your internal tooling gets generated by AI, when the first system your ops team launches is stitched together without technical oversight, it’s not just the process that’s changed. It’s the perception of value.
We’re not being replaced by better software.
We’re working in a world where the definition of "build" is being rewritten—and that changes how and when teams think to bring us in.
It’s not just the tooling that’s different—it’s the behavior.
The first move used to be a conversation.
Now it’s a keyboard shortcut. We’ve watched founders spin up systems that look like software but aren’t systems at all.
They’re logic chains without governance, internal tools without owners, and MVPs that only hold up until a new department—or five new hires—breaks the whole thing apart.
We’ve seen fast builds that fall apart the minute a team grows. Not because the idea was bad—but because no one stopped to ask if it would hold.
These builds aren’t hypothetical. They’re happening in the exact industries we serve.
In 2025, Reddit launched a Mod Helper tool built with GPT-4, aiming to reduce human moderation load. It succeeded—for a while. But internal reports later revealed hallucinated logic paths and unpredictable escalation behaviors that forced a scale-down and partial rewrite.
They built fast, but missed structural gaps that required real architecture.
That same year, UKG (Ultimate Kronos Group) attempted a low-code AI rollout to streamline internal HR process integrations.
The rollout promised speed—but internal audits revealed security vulnerabilities stemming from pre-wired AI assumptions that couldn’t flex with regional compliance needs. Within three months, the entire flow was paused and rebuilt manually.
And in the nonprofit space, Code for America built several public-facing intake tools with AI-generated decision logic for local government partners. Early traction looked promising—but one misinterpretation of eligibility rules led to a widespread pause and a return to more traditional workflows.
Because some systems don’t survive the ambiguity of AI-generated scaffolding.
This wasn’t a one-off. It’s what happens when teams move too fast to notice what’s missing—until the system breaks under real pressure.
These aren’t just product issues. They’re trust issues. And they illustrate exactly where the break happens: when teams substitute speed for systems, and clarity for completion.
This shift isn’t abstract. It’s affecting how we work, who we work with, and when we’re invited into the conversation.
For years, the value of a dev shop like ours was in the architecture.
We helped businesses take a step back, understand what they actually needed, and then built the right solution for their stage and scale.
But now, teams are trying to solve that puzzle on their own—and not because they don’t respect the work. They’re skipping the work because the tools are telling them they don’t need it.
No one tells them to ask for help. The tools are good enough to get going, so by the time they hit a wall, it feels like they already committed to the wrong thing.
And when those tools fall short, they’re not just looking for a fix. They’re trying to figure out how they got so far without realizing what was missing.
This is the new role we’re stepping into. Not always as builders from scratch, but as partners in the rebuild.
We haven’t become a product company. We haven’t traded our process for plug-and-play tools. And we haven’t walked away from what we know works.
But we are being honest about the questions we’re asking.
What’s our role when the stack is half-built before we arrive?
What does good partnership look like when clarity was never part of the original plan?
The old SaaS pitch—"Don’t build it, just subscribe"—is losing ground. Because now teams think: “We can build it faster ourselves. Cheaper. With AI.”
That’s the new pitch we’re up against.
We’re learning that relevance doesn’t come from owning the whole journey. It comes from knowing where to step in and what to fix.
That might mean evaluating existing logic.
It might mean saying, “Start over.”
It might mean doing less—but doing it with more impact.
This isn’t about chasing trends.
It’s about asking the harder question: What if AI gets you something that works—right up until the moment it actually has to?
And it definitely means remembering why we exist: Not to ship code, but to make operations feel lighter, tools more human, and the future less duct-taped together.
This moment demands more than adaptation. It demands intention.
The idea that AI will replace dev shops misses the point. AI replaces friction. And friction is often where strategy begins.
If we want to matter, we have to move upstream—not in process, but in perspective. We have to be the partner who sees the real stakes beneath the shiny new tool.
The one who can say, “This looks done, but it won’t hold.”
We’ve always worked best with teams who value thinking before action. Who understand that how something is built is only part of the equation.
That systems are more than tools. That clarity scales better than features.
Those teams still exist. But they’re harder to reach now—because the noise is louder. The shortcuts look better.
And the idea that you can “just AI it” is more seductive than ever.
But we’re still here.
Still doing the work.
Still showing up for the rebuild, the redesign, the reset—whatever it takes to get back to the actual system the business needs.
Operations still break when no one owns the flow. Teams still suffer when their tools can’t keep up.
And software still fails when it’s built on speed, not clarity.
Eventually, the patchwork catches up with you. And duct tape won’t fix it when it does.
This isn’t about fear. It’s about focus.
Because for all the speed that AI offers, we’re still getting the same calls we’ve always gotten: “This doesn’t connect to anything.” “Our team’s doing double entry again.” “The system worked until we hired five more people.”
We’re not here to fight AI.
We’re not here to worship it either. We’re here to build what holds when the duct tape fails.
And if that means rethinking how we show up—so be it.
We believe that business is built on transparency and trust.
We believe that good software is built the same way.
That hasn’t changed. Even if everything else has.
For a long time, the path to software was predictable. A team hit friction.
They scoped the problem. They hired a dev shop like ours. We mapped, mocked, built, launched, and iterated. It was never easy.
But it made sense. Software was the destination, and we were the mapmakers.
These days, most teams don’t bother with a map.
They piece things together with a prompt and a hunch, hoping it holds long enough to work. It usually doesn’t.
The new path goes something like this: A team hits friction. They open ChatGPT. They wire up Airtable, Make, Notion, or Glide.
They don’t call us—not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Because they’re not thinking strategy.
They’re thinking: how fast can I make this go away? And AI answers fast.
But that speed hides something deeper. Something we’re feeling in real time: the slow erosion of what dev shops like ours were built to do.
When the first draft of your internal tooling gets generated by AI, when the first system your ops team launches is stitched together without technical oversight, it’s not just the process that’s changed. It’s the perception of value.
We’re not being replaced by better software.
We’re working in a world where the definition of "build" is being rewritten—and that changes how and when teams think to bring us in.
It’s not just the tooling that’s different—it’s the behavior.
The first move used to be a conversation.
Now it’s a keyboard shortcut. We’ve watched founders spin up systems that look like software but aren’t systems at all.
They’re logic chains without governance, internal tools without owners, and MVPs that only hold up until a new department—or five new hires—breaks the whole thing apart.
We’ve seen fast builds that fall apart the minute a team grows. Not because the idea was bad—but because no one stopped to ask if it would hold.
These builds aren’t hypothetical. They’re happening in the exact industries we serve.
In 2025, Reddit launched a Mod Helper tool built with GPT-4, aiming to reduce human moderation load. It succeeded—for a while. But internal reports later revealed hallucinated logic paths and unpredictable escalation behaviors that forced a scale-down and partial rewrite.
They built fast, but missed structural gaps that required real architecture.
That same year, UKG (Ultimate Kronos Group) attempted a low-code AI rollout to streamline internal HR process integrations.
The rollout promised speed—but internal audits revealed security vulnerabilities stemming from pre-wired AI assumptions that couldn’t flex with regional compliance needs. Within three months, the entire flow was paused and rebuilt manually.
And in the nonprofit space, Code for America built several public-facing intake tools with AI-generated decision logic for local government partners. Early traction looked promising—but one misinterpretation of eligibility rules led to a widespread pause and a return to more traditional workflows.
Because some systems don’t survive the ambiguity of AI-generated scaffolding.
This wasn’t a one-off. It’s what happens when teams move too fast to notice what’s missing—until the system breaks under real pressure.
These aren’t just product issues. They’re trust issues. And they illustrate exactly where the break happens: when teams substitute speed for systems, and clarity for completion.
This shift isn’t abstract. It’s affecting how we work, who we work with, and when we’re invited into the conversation.
For years, the value of a dev shop like ours was in the architecture.
We helped businesses take a step back, understand what they actually needed, and then built the right solution for their stage and scale.
But now, teams are trying to solve that puzzle on their own—and not because they don’t respect the work. They’re skipping the work because the tools are telling them they don’t need it.
No one tells them to ask for help. The tools are good enough to get going, so by the time they hit a wall, it feels like they already committed to the wrong thing.
And when those tools fall short, they’re not just looking for a fix. They’re trying to figure out how they got so far without realizing what was missing.
This is the new role we’re stepping into. Not always as builders from scratch, but as partners in the rebuild.
We haven’t become a product company. We haven’t traded our process for plug-and-play tools. And we haven’t walked away from what we know works.
But we are being honest about the questions we’re asking.
What’s our role when the stack is half-built before we arrive?
What does good partnership look like when clarity was never part of the original plan?
The old SaaS pitch—"Don’t build it, just subscribe"—is losing ground. Because now teams think: “We can build it faster ourselves. Cheaper. With AI.”
That’s the new pitch we’re up against.
We’re learning that relevance doesn’t come from owning the whole journey. It comes from knowing where to step in and what to fix.
That might mean evaluating existing logic.
It might mean saying, “Start over.”
It might mean doing less—but doing it with more impact.
This isn’t about chasing trends.
It’s about asking the harder question: What if AI gets you something that works—right up until the moment it actually has to?
And it definitely means remembering why we exist: Not to ship code, but to make operations feel lighter, tools more human, and the future less duct-taped together.
This moment demands more than adaptation. It demands intention.
The idea that AI will replace dev shops misses the point. AI replaces friction. And friction is often where strategy begins.
If we want to matter, we have to move upstream—not in process, but in perspective. We have to be the partner who sees the real stakes beneath the shiny new tool.
The one who can say, “This looks done, but it won’t hold.”
We’ve always worked best with teams who value thinking before action. Who understand that how something is built is only part of the equation.
That systems are more than tools. That clarity scales better than features.
Those teams still exist. But they’re harder to reach now—because the noise is louder. The shortcuts look better.
And the idea that you can “just AI it” is more seductive than ever.
But we’re still here.
Still doing the work.
Still showing up for the rebuild, the redesign, the reset—whatever it takes to get back to the actual system the business needs.
Operations still break when no one owns the flow. Teams still suffer when their tools can’t keep up.
And software still fails when it’s built on speed, not clarity.
Eventually, the patchwork catches up with you. And duct tape won’t fix it when it does.
This isn’t about fear. It’s about focus.
Because for all the speed that AI offers, we’re still getting the same calls we’ve always gotten: “This doesn’t connect to anything.” “Our team’s doing double entry again.” “The system worked until we hired five more people.”
We’re not here to fight AI.
We’re not here to worship it either. We’re here to build what holds when the duct tape fails.
And if that means rethinking how we show up—so be it.
We believe that business is built on transparency and trust.
We believe that good software is built the same way.
That hasn’t changed. Even if everything else has.