Dear Creatives: Are you nervous?
I think there’s a real chance you are. I am too, because the conversation around AI and creative work (or literally any white-collar, knowledge-based job) has gone from “this is interesting” to “OMG, what is happening” faster than most of us were ready for. Some didn’t see it coming at all. I was somewhere in the middle.
Clients are asking about it. In some cases, budgets are shifting because of it. And some of you have already lost work to it.
In fact, I recently got a call from a former colleague and college classmate. She was frustrated, and rightfully so. One of her clients had used AI to generate a batch of creative work, then handed it to her and basically said, “Run with this.” No brief. No collaboration. No originality. Just: here’s what the machine made, now make it work. My friend wasn’t asking for sympathy, but what do I even do in this situation?
That call stuck with me.
So let me say this: if you’re fearful or frustrated, it makes sense. It’s a reasonable response to a real thing happening everywhere.
But fear is not the place to stay.
That said, before I go further, I need to set the record straight: I’m not necessarily anti-AI. I use it regularly for repetitive, low-risk tasks that used to eat up too much of my day. For me to pretend otherwise would be dishonest.
This piece isn’t about rejecting technology. And it’s not about AI taking our jobs, although that is happening in certain sectors. What I’m attempting to address is something deeper: the hint that because a machine can approximate your craft, it will eventually replace who and what you are.
And before you say, “Mark, that take is a little theatrical, don’t you think?” know this: in the past year, I know former colleagues who have walked away from 25-plus-year careers because AI made them question their worth as creatives. That’s beyond tragic, and I don’t want that for you.
The Machine Has Always Been Here
This is written for all creatives, but I’m also talking in a mirror to myself. This is something I want all of us to understand: The threat you’re feeling right now is not new. The tools are new. The speed at which they work is new. But the underlying force claiming that human hands are inefficient, that human creativity is a line-item expenditure to be reduced, and that any machine that can approximate your work at scale is better…
That force has been around a long time.
In fact, there’s an old American folk story that captures this age-old dilemma perfectly.
Meet John Henry. He was a steel-driver. Back in the railroad days, that meant drilling holes through solid rock. One man would hold a long iron drill against the rock face, while another swung a twenty-pound sledgehammer to drive it in.
Clang! Turn the drill.
Clang! Turn the drill.
Little by little, a hole would open up that was large enough for a stick of dynamite. Over time, entire mountains gave way.
John Henry was the best at this job. He was strong, and he sang while he worked. The other men sang with him. Together, their tunes, rhythm of labor, and sweat brought the tunnels to life. It was something authentically human.
Then one day, a man in a fancy coat showed up with a steam drill and a sales pitch.
“Buy one of these,” he told the crew boss, “and you can fire half your workers.”
That should sound familiar.
The entire camp went quiet. They knew what this meant. If the steam drill performed as advertised, they were all out of a job. What’s more, there would be no more songs. The machine would take it all.
Hearing this, John Henry stepped forward with fists clenched around his hammer and boldly shouted, “I’ll race it! Me against the machine. Whoever drills the deepest hole wins.”
The salesman laughed. “Son, you’re going to lose.”
John Henry didn’t flinch. “Set it up.”
The Race
The entire work camp and the nearby village came to watch this duel between Henry and the machine. His wife, Polly Ann, stood at the front, holding their son. The steam drill hissed and clanked. John Henry held twenty-pound hammers in each hand and began to swing.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Faster and faster. Sparks flew through the air. The other men sang to keep him going:
“Before that steam drill shall beat me down, I’ll die with my hammer in my hand!”
Six hours later—yes, six hours—they measured the holes.
The steam drill had drilled nine feet.
John Henry had drilled fourteen.
He sat down slowly. Exhausted, he looked up at his wife one last time and smiled. He had worked himself to death, and right then and there, his heart gave out. He died, hammer still in his hand.
And the steam drill? It eventually broke down and was sold for scrap.
Nobody sings songs about the machine. But people sang songs about John Henry for a hundred years. They’re even retelling his story in obscure blog articles about marketing.
The machine was forgotten. The man became a legend.
What This Means for You
At this point, I don’t think any of us are naive about AI. It’s a challenge, and it’s not going anywhere. It’s also not all bad. But I’ve been around long enough to know that the market always, eventually, and without fail, finds its way back to what’s real and authentic.
We’ve seen it before through the decades. Stock photography exploded, and everyone said photographers were done. They weren’t. Desktop publishing came along in the late ’80s, and people said designers were obsolete. They weren’t. Copywriters and strategists who sharpened their thinking and built meaningful relationships with their clients—they’re still here.
Tools change. The innate human need for creative work, in both production and consumption, doesn’t change.
So what do we do in the meantime? I have a few suggestions:
Know what your hammer is.
John Henry’s talent was his hammer, and, according to the full story, he’d known it since he was a boy. What’s yours specifically? What do you do now that would take others years to develop? What do you bring to a project or team that can’t be replicated by an AI prompt? Get crystal clear on what that is, and refine the heck out of it.
Swing harder, not cheaper.
I believe the worst thing you can do right now is try to compete with AI on price or speed. Unlike John, you will lose that race every time. Instead, go deeper. Get more specific (see previous point). Develop a point of view so particular and distinctly yours that no one could possibly replace you with a tool.
Don’t stop singing.
The men in that tunnel sang because all of mankind throughout history shares this trait: when the going gets tough, we rally together and ingenuity takes over (if we allow it). Don’t let the pressure of AI keep you silent and cowering in the corner. Keep making what matters, talk about why it matters, and show up for others who do the same. But for the love of God, please don’t sing at work.
The Song Echoes On
People haven’t retold the story of John Henry because he outlived the machine. He didn’t. His memory lives on because he stood for the dignity of skilled labor and the value of personal craft.
And his song still echoes in those old tunnels. That’s how you know he won.
Your work matters. Not because it’s faster or cheaper than what AI can produce, but because it was forged by human hands and a lived experience.
No AI model can copy that. No prompt can come close.
So pick up your hammer, wireless mouse, paintbrush, guitar, pen, camera, keyboard, or tool of choice. Pick up that thing you’ve devoted your life to. Swing it and sing, and refuse to let the machine win.
Mark Henderson
Senior Director of Creative
As a member of the executive team, Mark Henderson is primarily responsible for elevating the agency's creative product and guiding client brand strategy. His career spans more than 26 years, from the dot-com bubble to the AI era, across startups and national agencies. He has served B2C, B2B, and B2G clients, ranging from multinational brands to mom-and-pop shops down the street. He's also a proud South Dakota State University alum.