Four days ago, I arrived in Mountain View, California, to cover my first Google I/O developer conference, expecting the showmanship and AI hype I’m accustomed to hearing at events like this. Don’t get me wrong — I definitely got my share of AI promo as Google becomes, in the words of one of its employees, “unabashedly agent-first.”

But really, what I found was a city split in two. 

The Google I/O keynote glittered with glossy demos. Execs took the stage to talk about lifestyle uses for new AI, staged scenes of curated travel and polished demos of parties planned by assistants. Backstage and onstage, the message was boundless possibility. Outside the tents, on the streets and in the rideshare queue, the mood felt decidedly different.

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My Uber driver from the airport wove me through downtown Palo Alto. He asked why I was in town, and after I told him, he nodded and said that he had recently been laid off from Google. He was polite and pragmatic, talking about picking up ridesharing work full-time and leaning on friends and family. He asked what I thought of the company and its recent innovations before we parted. 

It was an ordinary conversation, but it stuck with me because here was a human consequence of a company that, on stage, was selling experiences that felt aimed at the 1%, while most of us are just focused on basic stability amid the rising cost of living.

My colleague Andrew Lanxon recently wrote a fantastic commentary about how Google assumes we’re all rich, hot, young and fit, and did I mention rich? There’s been some pushback to this deluge of demos and marketing that show how Google’s tech can be used to plan elaborate trips abroad and shopping sprees, and oh, Paris Hilton is here, because why not? 

Marketing is supposed to be somewhat aspirational, but it shouldn’t be alienating. And it’s led many to wonder: Who is this tech even for? It doesn’t seem to be resonating. 

No, really, who’s all this AI for?

That tension followed me as I went to work at I/O this year. I was able to sit down with Sameer Samat, president of the Android Ecosystem at Google, and he said that he thinks the key is “to be very intentional about the use of this technology,” and that the goal is “making this technology accessible to people and making it feel like it can help them in their daily life.” So I asked him directly about the recent pushback (as reflected in Lanxon’s earlier story) and how it seems that many people really do not feel this tech is accessible to them. 

“We’ll always have an aspirational element to it, but the way in which we see people using it is truly for the things that are causing them to spend time and are tedious in their day-to-day lives,” Samat said. “Especially with Android 17, we’re launching so many things that our goal is to try to give you time back.”

For instance, Samat said that when he uses the newly revealed Android XR smart glasses, it’s to do things like attempting to fix his air conditioner at home, aiming to eliminate the time it would take to read a long instruction manual or call a technician. He said these glasses would be helpful for things like assembling Ikea furniture or helping with your kids’ homework, and described exactly those grounded, everyday uses that resonate with many people.

So where was this talk of everyday use during the actual keynote?

I understand the product teams want broadly useful tools. But the marketing and certain moments on stage during the keynote felt different. Which audience is Google trying to reach?

I get that large companies often run multiple tracks at once. There’s the aspirational marketing that attracts attention and investors. And then there’s product-level problem solving that targets the mass market. The problem arises when those tracks pull in such different directions, and the intentions become difficult to parse. 

How Google can appeal to the other 99%

So I started thinking about how Google can actually ground its latest technology to, well, 99% of the world. I came up with three ways Google could make its messaging and demos feel more aligned with ordinary people and still be headline-grabbing. 

For starters, centering small, concrete moments in headline demos. Pick one everyday problem and show how the product solves it from end to end. Not a montage of vacations, but a short, believable story like a parent using glasses to help a child with homework, a nurse pulling up a patient’s notes hands-free or someone fixing a leaking pipe with step-by-step AI guidance. These are emotional and relatable, and they are scalable.

Next, Google could use real, unpolished users on stage. Instead of celebrity appeal and execs, invite ordinary people who could actually use the tech in everyday jobs. Authenticity sells usefulness better than a celebrity or executive endorsement. The audience trusts lived experience over production values.

Finally, Google could tie feature announcements to affordability and accessibility plans. If a capability requires high-end hardware or a pricey subscription, the company could pair it with a clear plan for lower-cost access, trade-in programs or partnerships with community organizations.

I left I/O with mixed signals. I left with the sense that Google’s storytelling could do more to reflect the realities of the majority of people who will not only live with this technology, but are directly affected by it — me, you and everyone who’s been laid off as the tech giant chases AI-everything, including my lovely Uber driver. The chance to transform mundane moments is as powerful as the chance to create dazzling new experiences. Grounding product narratives in everyday usefulness would make the company’s most ambitious claims feel more honest.

If Google wants to close the disconnect it created, it should show less staged fantasy and more ordinary life. That, more than any celebrity cameo, will tell people why this stuff matters.

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