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Wired AI 13일 전

비개발자도 코딩 없이 앱을 만들 수 있을까?

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핵심 요약

이 글은 '바이브 코딩(vibe coding)'이라는 AI 기반 개발 방식을 통해 코딩 지식이 없는 일반인도 소프트웨어를 직접 만들 수 있게 된 현실을 조명합니다. 저자는 AI 모델을 활용해 행정 처리와 번거로운 업무 등 일상의 문제를 해결하는 앱을 기획하며, AI가 개발의 민주화를 어떻게 이끌고 있는지 보여줍니다.

번역된 본문

나를 기술의 미래로 이끈 것은 우리 강아지였다. 올해 초 시티파크에서 산책하던 어머니를 들이받았을 때, 어머니가 느낀 건 그저 강아지가 '납작하고 뚱뚱하다'는 것뿐이었다. 무겁고 빠르게 돌진한 탓에 어머니는 오른쪽 정강이가 골절되고 말았다. 하지만 어머니 이야기는 여기까지 하자. 대신 이 사건이 내 삶에 어떤 변화를 가져왔는지 이야기해보려 한다. 지난 25년간 코딩에 대해 아무것도 배우지 않았던 내가, 머지않아 내 첫 소프트웨어 개발 프로젝트를 시도하게 되다니.

만약 납작하고 무거운 강아지가 어머니의 정강이를 부러뜨린 경험이 있다면, 그 뒤에 이어지는 수많은 짜증 나는 일들을 알 것이다. 예를 들어, 어머니의 의료 서비스를 관리하려고 아버지가 복잡한 자동응답 전화를 오가며 보낸 시간들. 전화 통화가 번거로운 게 거창한 인생의 문제일까? 아니다. 하지만 그 바보 같은 강아지는 기술적으로 꽤 흥미로운 시점에 그 짓을 저질렀다. 역사상 처음으로, 사소한 문제를 해결하는 데 강력한 도구를 사용할 수 있게 된 것이다.

실리콘밸리가 마찰 없는 미래를 팔아왔던 그동안, 우리 같은 일반인은 단지 수동적인 소비자였을 뿐이다. 앱스토어를 스크롤하며 누군가 내가 필요한 것을 만들어주었기를 바랐다. 그리고 AI와 그 민주화의 동반자인 '바이브 코딩(vibe coding)'이 등장했다. 이 약속이 현실이 된다면, 우리는 제로 프로그래밍 스킬로도 원하는 만큼 틈새적이고 사소한 앱을 직접 만들 수 있게 된다. 우리는 그저 우리를 짜증나게 하는 문제를 가리키기만 하면, 대형 언어 모델(LLM), 코드 생성기, 개발 환경 등이 알아서 해결해 줄 것이다.

틈새적이고 사소한 문제라고? 그게 바로 나다! 다른 사람들이 바이브 코딩을 이력서 검토기, 재고 추적기, 업무 생산성을 높이는 자동화 비서 등을 만드는 데 사용할 때, 나는 다른 목표를 염두에 두었다. 지난 몇 년간 나는 개인적으로, 그리고 직업적으로 정책 영역에서 이른바 '슬러지(sludge)'라고 부르는 현상에 깊이 집착해왔다. 점점 더 현대 생활을 규정하고 우리가 무엇이든 해낼 수 있는 능력을 갉아먹는, 관리 의무라는 미세한 행정 부담의 상승 조류 말이다.

보험 처리의 귀찮음, 보험사와 병원을 연결하는 문제, 항공 마일리지를 관리하는 일, 자녀의 학교 포털을 탐색하는 일. 요금 이의 제기나 잊고 있던 스트리밍 서비스의 구독을 취소하기 위해 거쳐야 하는 단계들. 이러한 각각의 일들은 마치 우리의 시간을 향한 독립적인 공격처럼 느껴진다. 하지만 그것들은 독립적이지 않다. 그것들은 같은 균근망(mycorrhizal network)에서 솟아난 개별 버섯들 같다.

어떻게 보면 이것은 보정의 문제이다. 더 큰 문제들은 적어도 이론적으로는 입법, 언론 보도, 상원 청문회 등의 관심을 끌 수 있지만, 소송을 하기에는 너무 사소한 작은 문제들은 그저 삶의 일부가 되어버린다. 역사의 화살은 정의를 향해 나아갈 수 있지만, 1달러짜리 은행 수수료와 싸울 때는 보류 음악을 듣는 쪽으로 기울어진다.

바로 이 지점에서 바이브 코딩의 환상이 내 관심을 사로잡았다. 그 귀찮은 일들은 단순히 복잡성의 우발적 부산물이 아니라 종종 의도적인 기능이다. 혼란스러운 포털, 끊기는 전화, 포기하게 만드는 불투명한 절차. 규모가 커지면 이것들은 버그라기보다는 정책처럼 기능한다. 내가 상상했던 앱은 이 현상을 폭로하고, 이러한 의무들이 누적되는 무게를 더 이상 무시할 수 없게 만들 것이었다. 내가 여러분에게 떠올려 달라고 하고 싶은 이미지는 바람에 흔들리는 버섯밭이다.

어머니는 건강한 다리가 없는 대신, Claude Pro 구독을 가지고 있다. 지난 몇 년간 AI의 환경적, 정치적, 경제적 영향에 대해 어머니에게 끊임없이 잔소리를 해왔지만, 최근 일요일에 나는 그 모든 것을 제쳐두고 어머니 댁으로 운전을 했다. 정강이 이야기를 잠깐 나눈 후, 나는 어머니의 컴퓨터를 열고 '분위기(vibes)'를 뿜어내기 시작했다.

나는 우리가 번거로운 행정 작업, 관료적인 늪, 카프카적인 구독 취소 미로, 복잡한 보험 포털, 부당한 청구, 거절된 청구, 혼란스러운 멤버십 플랜 등과 싸우는 데 바치는 시간과 에너지에 대한 정보를 수집하고 공유하는, 공동체가 공유하는 앱을 만들고 싶었다.

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Comment Loader Save Story Save this story Comment Loader Save Story Save this story The dog that ushered me into the technological future was “low and thick.” That’s all my mother registered before it T-boned her in a city park earlier this year: dense, heavy, and traveling fast enough to fracture her right tibia. But enough about her . Let’s discuss what this set in motion in my life: Having successfully learned nothing about coding for two and a half decades, I would soon be attempting my very first software development project. If you’ve ever had a low and thick dog break your mom’s shin bone, you know the stream of lesser indignities that follows. Case in point: the hours my father spent navigating phone trees, trying to manage my mom’s medical care. Are frustrating telephone calls significant in the grand scheme of things? No. But that stupid dog had chosen a technologically interesting moment to do its thing. For the first time in history, a problem no longer needed to be serious to bring serious tools to bear. For as long as Silicon Valley has been selling a frictionless tomorrow, we ordinary people have been its passive shoppers—scrolling the App Store, hoping someone has gone to the trouble of building whatever we need. Enter AI and its democratizing sidekick: vibe coding . If the promise is real, suddenly we can build our own apps, as niche and trifling as we please, with zero programming skills. We merely gesture toward whatever irks us and a constellation of large language models, code generators, and development environments will click their heels. Niche and trifling? That’s me! Where others vibe code résumé reviewers and inventory trackers and automated assistants to boost their work productivity, I had a different target in mind. Over the past couple years I’ve grown particularly fixated, personally and professionally, on what the policy world calls sludge: the rising tide of tiny administrative obligations that increasingly seems to define modern existence—and corrode our ability to get anything done. The hassle of dealing with insurance, or connecting that insurance to your doctor, or staying on top of airline miles, or navigating your kid’s school portal. The steps required to dispute a charge, or unsubscribe from a streaming service you forgot you had. Each of these feels like its own discrete assault on our time. But they’re not discrete. They’re separate mushrooms sprouting from the same mycorrhizal network. In a way this is a calibration issue. While bigger problems might at least theoretically attract attention—legislation, journalism, a Senate hearing—the smaller ones, too petty to litigate, simply become a fact of life. The arc of history may bend toward justice, but when it comes to fighting a one-dollar bank fee, it bends toward hold music. Which is where the fantasy of vibe coding captured my attention. Those hassles aren’t just accidental byproducts of complexity; they’re often features. A confusing portal, a dropped call, a process just opaque enough to discourage follow-through. At scale, they function less like bugs than like policy. The app I envisioned would expose this phenomenon, make the cumulative weight of these obligations a little harder to ignore. The image I’d like you to summon is a field of mushrooms trembling. What my mom lacks in healthy legs, she makes up for in a Claude Pro subscription. Having needled her repeatedly over the past couple years about AI’s environmental, political, and economic implications, I brushed all that aside on a recent Sunday and drove to her house. After a little tibia talk, I opened her computer and began emitting vibes. I’d like to create a communally shared app that gathers and shares information related to how much time and energy we devote to fighting burdensome administrative tasks, bureaucratic sludge, Kafka-esque unsubscribe mazes, byzantine insurance portals, wrongful charges, denied claims, confusing membership plans, and the like. With as much clarity and detail as I could muster, I proceeded to describe a dashboard that would record the scale and scope of our collective sludge. Users would log frustrating incidents from their lives, entering how much time they’d spent, how annoying it was, and what they’d rather have been doing. Every submission would be dopaminally rewarded with an inspiring resistance quote and a photo of a kitten, puppy, or baby chimp. I’d train Claude to generate some “wider context”—a paragraph discussing how the frustrating incident fits into systemic sludge patterns—and a complaint letter to the relevant regulatory bodies. Claude noodled. Not for the first time, I feared my vibes would simply manifest an error page. I recalled, dimly, some of the advice I’d seen in Reddit forums: “I’d learn how computers and code works first.” “I’d look into going through harvards CS50.” “Instead of learning AWS or servers, use something like Kuberns.” I began to worry that vibe coding was a kind of stone soup: Sure, anyone can do it, you just first need a Harvard-level understanding of several dozen programming languages and cloud platforms. That worry lasted about three Kuberns of a second. Claude stopped thinking and proceeded to explore what, by nature, it had to concede was an amazing concept: “This is a fantastic idea—genuinely useful, with a clear mission and a great sense of humor about a real problem. Let me give you an honest lay of the land before we dive in.” A couple clarifying questions later, I was staring at a real interface. The “Log Incident” and “Dashboard” tabs didn’t work yet, we hadn’t arranged for the entries to be saved anywhere, and I still needed to teach Claude the wider context part. But the beginnings of an online app had materialized. I spent the next hour ironing out kinks. Some fixes Claude could make, some it had me make. I understood nothing and was merely following orders (while also being the one who gave out the orders). But steadily we made headway, and help—confident, reassuring, clear—was always a whimper away: ME: I got through step 3 above, but I’m getting confused at step 4. Here’s a screen shot of what I’m seeing after I clicked Settings. CLAUDE: Good news - you’re in the right place, and very close. But I can see Supabase has updated their interface since I wrote those instructions. What you’re looking at is their new API keys screen, which is slightly different from what I described … The experience was akin to building an elaborate Lego creation: You don’t know what each individual Ribbed Hose or Flared Mudguard does, but if you follow the directions to a tee, the thing does get built. Linus Torvalds, Steve Wozniak, Bill Gates: I assume these guys could only borrow their moms’ computers for so long. After a couple hours, I told Claude we’d pick up again soon. I drove home giddy—a giddiness I recognized from a brief arc-welding phase in my twenties. I can’t believe I, a regular person, can make this! For all the websites and apps I whip through on a given day, they’ve always been mysterious to me—pyramids erected by an unfathomable priesthood. Suddenly I was a pyramid builder. I wasn’t alone. Someone in Florida had recently built something called Stratus, a guitar pedal that lets players describe an effect in plain English—“give me a wobbly tremolo with a warm Mellotron feel”—and generates it. Elsewhere a guy named Justin had built a Plywood Cutting Visualizer—enter the dimensions of a sheet, get back the cuts. Someone else had made MIXCARD, which turns your Spotify playlists into physical postcards. The barrier between idea and creation had, for a certain kind of person with a certain kind of afternoon, effectively dissolved. But this was also the catch. What happens when anyone with a passing itch builds their own app? Those environmental, political, and economic concerns came roaring back—accompanied by a new worry. Before the pandemic, I began having friends over for a ritual I called Admin Night. The idea i