I recently hosted a builder club for one of the world’s largest AI companies, supporting their growth in the UK. The room was buzzing with curiosity about what frontier tools can enable. Yet beneath the excitement, I noticed a recurring pattern that reflects a broader challenge across many grassroots technical programmes.

Builder clubs, especially those designed for social scientists or participants with limited technical backgrounds, work best when creativity is paired with meaningful technical oversight. Without that foundation, helping participants turn ideas into working prototypes becomes difficult. “Vibe coding” through natural language prompting has lowered the barrier to experimentation, but it hasn’t removed the need for guidance. Building software is a high-touch process. A builder club should feel like a laboratory, not a zero-sum competition.

I observed a phenomenon common to the current wave of builder clubs. The judges awarded the top prize to the idea deemed “most impactful”, despite the idea effectively being a sci-fi fantasy: an AI assistant that could supposedly view a CCTV feed and answer queries like, “When did my kids come home last night?” The hosting AI company cannot publicly support this functionality. Rewarding this signalled that selling a dream mattered more than actually building.

When incentives tilt this way, participants optimise for the pitch rather than the product. A space built for learning becomes theatre. The goal should be to help participants bring their ideas to life; to understand what current tools can and cannot do, and how to move from prototype to product. Materialisation is key, as without it, I’d be better off pitching to Christopher Nolan.

Feedback, or the lack of it, is another challenge. During events, it’s minimal; after events, it’s usually non-existent. For builder clubs to serve as engines of growth, feedback must be central. Peer feedback rarely suffices, as participants are not representative users for one another. To turn creative bursts into a continuum of development, effective feedback loops are essential. Without them, participants are building in a vacuum.

The most critical challenge lies in the human infrastructure around these programmes. Many organisations rely on ambassador networks to run local initiatives. This creates a classic principal–agent problem: the organisation wants genuine engagement and learning, while ambassadors may optimise for status or visibility. Without governance, these intermediaries can inadvertently become gatekeepers, filtering out critical feedback and distancing participants from the source. This reduces transparency and trust, ultimately eroding brand equity. A better model requires flattening the hierarchy; connecting builders directly with the organisation and product team who build the tools.

So what does a better model look like?

For corporations investing in grassroots initiatives, the responsibility extends beyond providing merchandise or refreshments. Participants are investing their time and attention; in return, the organisation should invest in the conditions that enable genuine learning; namely, placing technically capable staff in the room to help bridge the gap between prompt and prototype. Without this infrastructure, programmes can inadvertently incentivise mediocrity.

For academic institutions, you are at an inflection point where disciplines are converging. “Builder clubs” that promote human flourishing over corporate metrics should be at the heart of the mission. Hosting them in-house allows domain knowledge to materialise in novel ways. Corporate stakeholders can help you get there, but the direction of inquiry and innovation should not be outsourced. We need leaders, not just logos. Retain your intellectual sovereignty.

Builder clubs are not where foundational technologies are built. They serve a different purpose: helping those with limited technical backgrounds understand what’s possible, and how to collaborate effectively with technical teams. Done well, they can improve the overall quality of thinking about technology.

My hope is that builder clubs continue to evolve into places where creativity and capability meet: environments where ideas don’t just inspire, they materialise. All stakeholders should aim to strengthen the ecosystem rather than introduce friction to it. When the incentive structures align, builder clubs can become powerful catalysts for innovation.

The companies of great founders emerged from problems that they felt compelled to solve. Their obsession served as a compass when money was low. Conviction cannot be manufactured. Venture capital can only support those who already have fire in their eyes.

The industrialisation of venture capital has turned startups into spectacles. Dropping out of prestigious universities seen as a rite of passage. Raising money is celebrated ostentatiously rather than being treated as the beginning of a fiduciary duty.

This is the paradox of startups and venture capital. The industry has fallen victim to Goodhart’s Law: by creating clear metrics for what a “fundable” company looks like, it created a class of “founders” who aim to game the metrics. This creates a loop where people talk more and do less.

The ones who follow their curiosity are the ones building the future.

For me, philosophy is not merely an academic subject; it is the cultivation of this garden. It has taught me to find questions I did not know existed, to examine myself, and to explore the reality I inhabit. As Socrates said, “All I know is that I know nothing”. Acknowledging the limits of my understanding has been the soil from which my curiosity grows.

At 17, there was only one subject that inspired me to turn up to school: philosophy. The curriculum of standard education felt confining, but Plato’s Allegory of the Cave had piqued my interest. It illustrated the cyclical nature of ignorance and the comfort of the shadows. Learning this changed the lens through which I was living.

I left school because I sought direction, not just instruction. I was lost, unsure how to best use my abilities, and deeply resistant to the idea of life simply happening to me. Philosophy helped. It did not hand me a map; it gave me a compass.

Most people I knew in school looked up the highest-paying careers and reverse-engineered their path to get there. I never did that. I focused on figuring out who I am and what I truly want.

Early on, I learned to make money, only to discover that conventional “success” held little meaning for me. What mattered was how I spent my time and energy. Money became more of a moral duty; a means to align my life with purposeful pursuits. My goal became to expand my worldview.

Life is a work of art. It is not about discovering predetermined truths as you do in science; it is about designing, experimenting, iterating, and following your curiosity. Greatness cannot be planned. Art is about deep understanding.

Philosophy gave me the sight to see in darkness. Society tends to live day to day like there’s a set path and set rules. I live my life embodying free will itself.

So why philosophy? To live a life that is my own.

Some posts will zoom out to ask big questions. Others will zoom in on the ideas shaping the world around us. My tenets are simple: curiosity and having fun.

I’ll be taking the scenic route. Feel free to come along…

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