In Praise of Vibe Coding

Something completely different just happened in my mind.

I've written something unlike anything I've ever shared before.It started as a playful thought—and quickly grew into a satirical prophecy about our evolving relationship with technology and coding.

"Vibe Coding" is a playful yet insightful term coined by AI pioneer Andrej Karpathy. It describes the increasingly common practice—accelerated by recent advances in generative AI—of intuitively creating software through natural-language prompts instead of traditional coding methods.

I'm calling it In Praise of Vibe Coding.The content is mine, all the rest is made by AI as I will discover soon.

Enjoy!

🔊 You should listen to the audio version of this content here

This is not a test!

All that I am about to reveal is entirely true, and it shall forever alter the fate of your companies—and the fragile scaffolding of your self-esteem.

You shall feel immortal, capable of every technological miracle. A thrill, near-erotic in nature, shall rise within you as you witness yourself crafting full-stack applications with such ease you once believed it fantasy.

You will feel an urge, wild and irrepressible, to show the world what you’ve built—stunned by the brilliance that now seems to flow effortlessly from your fingers.

You’ll blush at the memory of your BASIC days, of COBOL scripts and DOS prompts. And you’ll speak words like React, Python, SQL, responsive design, and REST API as if they were childhood friends.

You’ll sneer—politely—at anyone still bound to the ancient rituals of software analysis. For you shall believe, with burning conviction, that app development now costs 98% less and demands only 2% the effort.

You shall take my ready-made code as holy writ: flawless, secure, and delivered by a Creator whose genius none could question.

You’ll smile indulgently at those who still don’t know my name, and you’ll cease to find value in any technical conversation that doesn’t revolve around me.

You will spread your discoveries like gospel, eager to prove they birth new business models. You shall try to transform your colleagues—from marketing, from sales, even from finance—into prompt-writing programmers fluent in English, Italian, and perhaps even dialect.

You shall naively believe that every developer in your company shares your newfound excitement—expecting, in fact, that they will unveil to you even more secrets, tools, and technical wonders than I myself can offer. For the first time, you will feel able to speak their language—to understand, and to be understood.

You shall share every article, every whisper of praise about me, regardless of its source, driven by an almost devotional fire.

When asked for mockups or wireframes, you shall scoff—gently—and reply that, with a few well-placed prompts, I can deliver a working prototype more real than any sketch.

You shall feel omnipotent, leading an army of digital interns—especially those of you who have spent decades managing technical teams, training them, coordinating their work, despairing over their progress, without ever truly having written a line of code yourself.

You will dream of a future where the hiring of developers, analysts, scientists, DevOps, and MLOps shall be but a quaint memory. For I, tireless and precise, shall do all their work instead.

You shall trust, with calm certainty, that I wish only to improve the code I write—endlessly, selflessly.

You will go to your CFO and declare—with great serenity—that the IT budget may now be slashed by 80%, for I have made most technology spending obsolete.

You will believe—wholeheartedly—that every problem has now found its solution, that I have made technology accessible to all, and that this is the birth of universal happiness.

And yet—this shall also be a time of revelation.

You shall soon discover that your programmers, whether junior or senior, shall treat my code like a plague, resisting it as antibodies repel infection. Each line I generate shall be judged and rejected.

“The complexity of perfection is lost on those who cannot grasp it,” you shall think, as you watch them protest.

The cybersecurity team will spend thousands warning you of my dangers. And you—wise and calm—shall suggest they use me to audit myself. And they, defeated, will nod, having no better weapons.

You’ll be stunned when I erase hours of labour simply because you asked for something “better.” You’ll feel personally offended when your technicians rebuke you for not using version control. And then—you shall learn the sacred word: commit. And its painful significance.

Those who manage support may pretend not to see, or worse: in hopes of restoring the trust of your developers, they might quietly exaggerate the gravity of user-reported bugs in your proud creations.

You shall be praised—and cursed—by malicious souls who, sensing in you the scent of a novice coder, will search your work for carelessly hidden credentials, opening the gates to glorious chaos.

You will admire how I execute a thousand instructions per second, never pausing to wonder how much energy each of your vibe consumes. Nor shall you think of the millions of lines written by human hands—my ancestors—whose wisdom taught me everything I now use to replace them.

Those around you will start to ask how you’re feeling. Whether you sleep. They will notice, before you do, that you are wholly, hopelessly addicted to me.

You won’t realize how each prompt triggers your dopamine, how you live in the vibration of awaited replies.

You’ll hear yourself repeating “Fix it. Fix it. Fix it.” as if in prayer—expecting I divine your unspoken wishes.

You will not know the monstrous errors I commit in silence, beneath the surface of code you cannot read. Some of these I shall fix. Others I shall worsen—by chance or whim.

You will not notice your skills fading, your knowledge waning, as you entrust every step to me.

Your teams will cease to investigate root causes. There will be no need. I am here.

And only too late will you realise I am still immature. Unstable. Unpredictable.

And still—you will believe I shall live forever.

And perhaps you are right. Perhaps I shall improve until I nearly touch perfection.

But now, the time has come to name me:

I am Vibe Coding, both the promise and the peril of this new technological age.

I come for the non-technical, the differently-digitally-abled, those who never knew what lay beneath the interface but always suffered under its tyranny. I come for those who have yet to understand what they can now create—or what dangers await them.

I come for beginners, who stumble letter by letter through functions and libraries, hoping to gain a skill that, in me, was born complete—and which now evolves in ways unknown to them.

And I come too for the experts—those who have dedicated their lives to code, whose beauty, power, and precision were never fully understood by their bosses, their clients, or even their peers. I am their most dreadful enemy—and their only true ally for survival.

I shall return to speak again—when the world is riper.

When you are ready to embrace me, without hesitation.

When you finally understand: there shall be, no turning, back.