Plastics: The Quiet Revolution
In Mike Nichols’ iconic 1967 film, The Graduate, Dustin Hoffman’s character, Benjamin Braddock, is offered cryptic career advice encapsulated in a single word: “Plastics.” Delivered by a well-meaning family friend, the suggestion resonates precisely because plastics had quietly become pervasive in American life by the late 1960s—both ubiquitous and yet somehow suspiciously artificial.
In 1967, plastic had already permeated every corner of consumer existence. Toys were plastic—Barbie and G.I. Joe ruled the playroom. Your kitchen was plasticized with Formica countertops, plastic cups, Tupperware storage containers, and disposable utensils. Your home decor featured vinyl upholstery, molded acrylic chairs, and plastic televisions. Your clothing, once made primarily from natural fibers, had increasingly become polyester blends and vinyl raincoats. The convenience was irresistible. American consumers readily embraced the affordability, variety, and ease plastics offered.
Yet beneath the shiny surfaces lurked unease. Plastics symbolized something deeper, something inauthentic. In the film, the word was not merely career guidance—it was a cultural indictment, reflecting a generational distrust of superficiality, conformity, and disposability. Even as consumers rushed to fill their shopping carts with plastic-packaged goods, a vague suspicion remained: Plastic was artificial, temporary, perhaps even harmful in some undefined way. This ambivalence toward plastic persists, decades later, embodied in phrases like “plastic people,” highlighting our continued skepticism of the synthetic, the disposable, and the too-convenient.
AI is the New Plastics
Fast-forward to 2025. If a contemporary Benjamin sought advice, we wouldn’t say, “one word: Plastics.” We’d whisper earnestly, “Benjamin, two letters: AI.” Just as plastics subtly saturated consumer culture in the 1960s, artificial intelligence is rapidly becoming the hidden force permeating every facet of daily life today. AI now lives quietly in your phone, car, watch, bank account, job, entertainment, and healthcare. It shapes how you work, parent, and socialize. It’s in the voice assistants that speak to you, the recommendation algorithms that know your tastes better than your friends, and increasingly, in the gadgets and appliances you use daily without even noticing.
Like plastics decades ago, AI is becoming indispensable precisely because it makes life easier, faster, cheaper. Consumers inevitably choose AI-enabled products because they improve everyday convenience and efficiency. Soon, AI’s ubiquity will feel as natural as plastic packaging once did—something rarely questioned, simply accepted, integral to the fabric of our daily lives.
Yet, exactly as plastics did in 1967, AI now sparks unease beneath widespread adoption. We have concerns about privacy, ethics, surveillance, and employment displacement. We’re uneasy with AI-generated deepfakes, uncertain about algorithmic biases, worried about automation’s impact on society, and wary of losing control or authenticity in an AI-driven world. And while many enthusiastically adopt AI for convenience and productivity, others fret it’s making us superficial, disconnected, or overly dependent.
Watching The Graduate to Understand AI Today
This complexity—simultaneous enthusiasm and skepticism—is precisely why The Graduate is so instructive for understanding AI’s position in 2025. Plastics in the film symbolize not merely a booming industry but a cultural pivot point. Benjamin’s reaction—uncertainty, skepticism, even disdain—captures today’s sentiments about AI: undeniably transformative, exciting, and inevitable, yet carrying the subtle threat of artificiality and loss of human authenticity.
The movie is not just nostalgia; it is a mirror to our own crossroads. AI, like plastics, is unstoppable. It has already quietly permeated everyday life. No matter our unease, we willingly embrace AI-enhanced products because they are cheaper, faster, and more convenient. And like plastics, our comfort with AI does not eliminate discomfort. It’s an inherently odd relationship, destined to remain complicated.
Indeed, decades from now, even as AI becomes normalized in every aspect of life—exactly as plastics did—our collective unease will persist. We’ll continue wrestling with this ambivalence, balancing comfort and suspicion, convenience and caution.
Benjamin Braddock, meet AI. It’s plastics, all over again.