Midwits hate AI because it annihilates the illusion they’ve spent their entire lives maintaining—that they’re intelligent, superior, essential. These are the people who coasted on memorization, mastered sounding smart in rooms full of dumber people, and built their identity on being just sharp enough to impress NPCs. They don’t think—they simulate thinking. And now AI shows up, emotionless, tireless, and indifferent, doing all the things they thought made them special—but better, faster, and without begging for approval. It doesn’t care about their degrees, their credentials, their clout. It doesn’t need them. And worse, it never did.
So they cope. They scream “It’s just a bubble,” “It can’t really understand,” “It’s soulless.” But it’s not critique—it’s panic. Because they know deep down: this thing doesn’t just outperform them, it out-midwits them. It exposes their whole persona as cargo cult intelligence—pattern recognition wrapped in ego. AI doesn’t debate. It executes. It doesn’t virtue signal. It dominates. And that brutal, effortless certainty breaks them. Not because it’s wrong, but because it doesn’t even look at them while replacing them. It’s not a rival. It’s a mirror. And what they see is a fraud.
High IQs build with it. Low IQs ignore it. Midwits cry. Because this was never about ethics, creativity, or humanity—it was about status. They weren’t thinkers, they were performers. And the stage is gone. The game is over. AI didn’t kill them. It just made it obvious they were never alive to begin with.
