We often discuss the competence gap, formally defined as the disconnect between remunerable skills and a country’s productive forces. When this gap becomes too wide, it typically leads to higher levels of unemployment and reduced productive capacity for local industries and, ultimately, the nation as a whole.

Currently, this gap is evident not only in job postings—where there is often a struggle to find candidates with the right competencies, a predictable outcome of the shift toward more digitalized economies—but also within the educational system. Education lags behind, clinging to outdated models boxed into methods that not only fail to appeal to younger generations but also offer limited pathways to acquire new competencies, reducing the justification for its rising costs.

It appears we are facing a kind of perfect storm. Some educators remain in denial, nostalgically attached to past methods no longer relevant, reminiscent of the Arts and Crafts movement of the early 20th century, which sought to bring artisanal production back to the forefront, unable to envision a future shaped by mass production. We all know how that ended.

At the core of this issue lies digital illiteracy—a relatively new concept. Educators of my generation didn’t have to consider this problem because it simply didn’t exist. The full impact of what Bauman calls “light capitalism”, which prioritizes flexibility above all else, had not yet emerged. We were navigating the remnants of the 90s economy, marked by stable jobs and material security.

However, things have taken a dramatic turn. A generational shift has ensured that technology is now not just a reality but an expectation. Parents (and educators) who idealize the simplicity of the past risk leaving younger generations unprepared and under-resourced for the future. As with any skill, digital literacy is easier to acquire with a fresh, adaptable mind, so in many ways, we are wagering on their future.

Not only were we insufficiently prepared to anticipate the crises of climate change and inequality, but we are now also struggling to keep potential solutions within reach. We recognize that the barriers to acquiring new competencies are high, and we either cannot—or are unwilling to—cross them.

For example, the design disciplines have barely begun to explore the full potential of computational design, a shortfall that can largely be attributed to academia. Meanwhile, students are inundated with information about climate change and even penalized if their proposed solutions are deemed “not green enough.” But how can they truly innovate when they lack the tools to do so?

When else, if not in graduate school—most often a full-time commitment—do students have the time to explore, research, and test new technologies that could genuinely advance the field?

The architects of tomorrow are being shaped today. Yet, instead of learning how to develop biomimicry into algorithms that reduce material use or produce better, more recyclable components, we linger on the glorification of traditional architectural styles. It’s a joke, to put it mildly.

The world we want to live in is a shared responsibility, and it demands action. We have the tools; the least we can do is use them.