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To be part of the vibrant tech community, you have to wear a certain uniform. Put on a down or fleece vest, preferably from the Patagonia brand, use phrases like circle back And create values, and embrace the idea that all societal problems can be solved with code.
My new Austrian acquaintance reads out the criteria he found from Google’s AI service. He, who is in Stockholm to raise money for his startup, frowns and thinks little.
In the end, the self-diagnosis is that he is nobody Tech bro. “My vests come from Lidl,” he says emphatically.
After a few hours, I realize that I (and apparently the other 10,000 visitors) spent most of the day waiting in line at Scandinavia’s largest technology trade fair, the Techarena in the Strawberry Arena. I ask a man who is last in one of these ranks what we are waiting for. He looks at me happily. “Coffee of course, what else?”
I thought the tech people would be more upset about this time-consuming activity, but the CEOs and crypto entrepreneurs are obediently waiting. I know their job titles because at check-in they all receive a necklace with the largest name tag I’ve ever seen, like a clearance document you get on a plane as an unaccompanied child.
In another queue, I try to stir up a sense of rebellion about the long waits. “God, the coffee lines are long,” I say to the woman in front of me. She turns around and replies blankly with a chalky smile: “It is?”
This optimistic acquaintance is in itself easy to understand. Stockholm was recently named the capital of Europe by The Economist and Sweden is a popular location for AI startups. This week news broke of a French multi-billion dollar investment in a large AI data center in Borlänge.
As I filled my cup I decide to park in front of the “Arena stage”, the largest stage at the trade fair. That’s where it seems to happen. But first I trip and spill the precious potion on not one, but two tech brothers. My eyes haven’t yet adjusted to night vision, and in certain corners of the fair where the blue flashes don’t reach, it’s pitch black.
Embarrassed, I stand in front of the stands, from where I have a view of the arena. Huge screens and spotlights frame the stage. Ebba Busch sits there and is interviewed in a panel discussion led by a former CNN journalist. She says in her American Swedish that “before and after AI is a bit like before and after fire.”
With the venue drowning in exclamations and house music, many conversations are conducted with hearing aids in the form of flashing headphones. It’s similar to a “silent disco” where the music can only be heard through headphones, only darker: what we hear are conversations about Europe’s major disadvantage in the global AI race. Our bureaucracy is too slow! “If Europe doesn’t start behaving like a start-up, it will stay in the dust,” warns a woman at one such meeting, receiving applause.
On the big stage Ulf Kristersson accuses the European Parliament of slowing down domestic AI development. The Prime Minister is then asked to describe his own use of AI. The answer is no longer that he has it as a “second opinion” in his political work, but that he likes Spotify’s built-in intelligence, which offers just the right amount of exciting music.
On the way out of the arena I have to be careful not to get punched in the way. To the tune of “Ice Ice Baby,” I pass a screen showing the highlights of the fair and realize that I chose the wrong day to visit. The next day, both Boris Johnson and Zlatan Ibrahimovic are flown in, and a company arranges “Crypto & Cava.”
