The Hard Way: How Effort Became Cool Again

As AI makes creation ever faster and ever easier, the perceived value of that which cannot be generated is rising. It’s a trend that will reshape what brands must do to be culturally relevant.

Today, AI tools can produce so much in seconds: images, playlists, drafts, even artwork. Yet our feeds are filling with people doing the exact opposite: learning instruments, growing their own vegetables (yes, even in London), hosting listening parties, or signing up for ceramics classes.

For years, we have seen luxury equated with having time on your hands. The luxury of logging off and lying by the pool. Luxury brands of every sector have sold variations on that same promise – from holidays where every detail is taken care of to the ability to live longer.

Yet in a culture where effort is being engineered out of daily life, the new flex isn’t simply free time but invested time: the neatly-kept garden, the instrument skills, and the well-used kitchen. All have quietly become status symbols because they signal commitment.

As output becomes faster and easier to generate, effort itself becomes less necessary but more meaningful. Inefficiency reads as an intentional choice. It’s a subtle rebalancing of value that is beginning to shape what, and who, feels relevant in culture.

Friction, ritual and the joy of learning

Even before AI entered the picture, we’ve been seeing a steady return to analogue experiences. These pursuits aren’t new, but they are being rediscovered by younger generations who have grown up in digital worlds and are now actively seeking out things that are proudly offline. 

For older generations, analogue life was the default and friction was unavoidable, so the internet, digital media and automation felt miraculous: suddenly you could hear music from anywhere, travel the world via a screen, and access things that once felt out of reach. For today’s younger generations, that story runs in reverse. They’ve had always‑on and frictionless access from day one, so the interesting move is not “getting online” but choosing when and how to step away and reinvite friction back in.

Our hypothesis is that this isn’t just about nostalgia, but actually about intentionality and the quiet joy of putting effort into the things we do. Learning physical and analogues skills introduces three elements that convenience culture usually strips out:

• Path to mastery: the clumsy first attempts, repetition, scheduling, showing up when you’re tired.
• Ritual: the weekly choir rehearsal, the Sunday bake, the evening practice, the seasonal tending.
• Narrative: the visible arc from “I couldn’t” to “now I can,” with all the small milestones along the way.

Analogue pursuits such as gardening or shooting on film are powerful precisely because they embody all three. They are physical, anchored in ritual, and have tangible outputs and progress. In an AI era where outputs appear instantly, people are gravitating toward learning these skills precisely because they are difficult and produce something that cannot be easily replicated or faked.

This sensibility also shapes how we consume culture. Rosalia’s Lux album went viral last year not because it was optimised for skimming, but because it demanded attention. The invitation was explicit: lie down, turn the lights off, and listen. Experiences that punch above their weight culturally tend to ask something of us. They require presence, repetition and commitment. It’s a visible reaction to highly produced, easy-listening music. Over time, it becomes clear who’s really participating versus who just caught the highlight reel.

Skills as “conspicuous effort” in an AI world

While status has always involved signalling, new layers get added over time. Historically, it centred on what you owned. In the digital era, it expanded to include what you could access, reference or curate. Today, another layer is becoming more prominent: what you’re able to do. Skills operate as a form of conspicuous effort: they are legible evidence that time, attention and discipline have been invested in ways that resist shortcuts. 

While AI can simulate competence, sustained practice leaves a different trace. This helps explain the renewed appeal of skill-based identities; you can’t instantly become good at ceramics, fermentation, analogue photography or long-distance running. There are no short cuts. Instead, it is something you have to repeatedly return to, and the evidence builds quietly. In a culture saturated with generated output, sustained effort begins to function as a kind of credibility signal. Beyond credibility, it begins to signal other things which ladder up to status – status not built on based on wealth, access, or inside knowledge, but instead status built on dedication, effort, and discipline.

In this context, what we put effort into is a way of expressing what we value. As AI automation expands, the remaining pockets of friction become more meaningful, not less. Skills, in particular, emerge as one of the clearest places where people draw the line between what can be optimised and what feels important to live through directly.

Ultimately, they become a differentiator, with skills that take time commitment becoming desirable in the same way as possessions.

Cultural Relevance in an Age of Effort  

Cultural relevance today often isn’t about the loudest launch or the flashiest campaign. It emerges in spaces where people return repeatedly, where participation and progression matter more than a single impression. The brands, platforms, and creators that feel most present in culture aren’t just broadcasting – they’re structuring practices, rituals, and pathways for people to engage with over time.

You can see this most clearly in the way people are self‑mobilising. Gen Z-led running crews like Puresport Run Club in London or NBRO Runners in Copenhagen blend regular runs with music, fashion and social rituals, turning weeknight jogs into cultural events. Pottery studios and “cosy hobby” spaces have become new social clubs, where younger audiences gather weekly to work with clay, paint ceramics, and slowly improve their chosen craft. Camera clubs and photography walks, sewing circles, craft meet‑ups and “craft‑Tok” creators all do something similar: they create dependable rhythms of effort, learning and togetherness, and people organise their lives around them rather than the other way round.

Some brands are trying to plug into this logic rather than just sponsor it. For a long time, Apple have run in-store sessions on photography, coding, and music production transform the retail space into a recurring community classroom. They’ve understood that there is a value in offering more than a venue to browse products; opportunities to learn and practice brings customers back week after week. Likewise, platforms like Duolingo’s use streaks, levels and playful nudges to make language learning feel like a daily ritual, not a one‑off product trial. In each case, the value isn’t just access to a tool, but an ongoing structure for practice.

What these examples share is subtle but significant: they create repeatable, visible arcs of effort. They turn skills, practice, and commitment into currency. Owning a brand in this context isn’t just about signalling taste, but also about signalling capability and participation. Time invested with these brands produces something that can’t be faked: skill, progress, and belonging.

In a culture where AI can generate instant output, these brands matter precisely because they preserve space for personal growth and meaning. They show that the most resonant cultural forces are not the ones offering shortcuts, but those that structure meaningful engagement over time.

When almost anything can be created instantly, the things that endure are those that still take time – and the brands that reflect that rhythm feel inseparable from culture itself.