Only recently, agentic internet traffic surpassed that generated by humans. So who are these silent, efficient, unemotional agents that compute, research and perform invisible labour on our behalf? We want them to be helpful, considerate and cheerful, yet we never imagine them rising above us—there are no promotions in the books for AI assistants.

In Office Ladies, an ongoing series by Emi Kusano, the artist draws a parallel between these increasingly ubiquitous AI agents and the Japanese cultural archetype of the Office Lady, or OL. Historically employed in clerical and support roles, OLs were expected to keep the workplace running smoothly while remaining largely invisible within corporate hierarchies. Even more curiously, the shokuba no hana (職場の華), or 'flowers of the workplace', were meant to bring charm and positivity to the office environment. At the same time, many OLs left their jobs upon marriage or childbirth, reflecting broader societal views on gender and work.

Many of the young women who joined corporations were educated and perfectly capable of working on par with their male colleagues, but a separate career track was reserved for them. This wasn't always enforced through explicit rules. More often, it was embedded in expectations. Men were given challenging assignments and transferred between departments to gain exposure to different processes, while women were assigned administrative and clerical tasks and expected to remain in support roles. They were not supposed to build careers, but to help others build theirs. The line between being supportive and having one's contribution absorbed into someone else's success is a slippery one.

Likewise, AI applications act as assistants, schedulers, note-takers, customer service representatives and administrative helpers. Like the OL before them, these systems are valued for their efficiency, reliability and ability to make others more productive.

Kusano uses her own likeness in all of her AI projects. She has explained that standard AI outputs often produce faces that are too generic or too perfect. She sees this practice as a form of self-portraiture in the age of AI, allowing her to explore "an identity emerging from algorithms instead of real experiences. AI records these traces in code, subject to alteration. This idea is both fascinating and unsettling, and it speeds up the post-truth period we live in."

By populating the series with multiple AI-generated versions of herself, Kusano implies that the agents we create are not merely soulless tools but doubles—extensions of ourselves that inherit our language, values, biases and behavioural norms. Humans create AI in their own image. We expect it to resemble us enough to be useful and relatable, but not enough to become our equal. This conflict precedes AI. It appears in myths of golems, homunculi, mechanical servants and artificial humans long before the first neural network.

The aesthetic choices reinforce this ambiguity. The Kusano-like swarm of agents are indeed "flowers": impeccably dressed in tailored suits, often in bright colours. Their hair is immaculate, their accessories carefully chosen, and their posture disciplined and composed. (As a teenager, Kusano was a street photographer documenting Tokyo fashion.) Even when surrounded by visualisations of data overload, their expressions remain neutral. They remain unnaturally composed while performing tasks that appear overwhelming.

Another notable aesthetic choice is Kusano's use of obsolete technology: fax machines, retro telephones, paper archives and office equipment from previous decades. Kusano has explained her fascination with Japan of the 1980s and 1990s, and pre-Internet media culture:

"I’m drawn to past cultural memories—especially those of Japan in the 1980s and 1990s—because they were shaped by a kind of innocent optimism toward technology. There was a strong belief that science and progress would fundamentally improve human life.

What interests me is remixing that lost future energy using the most contemporary tools available, such as AI and algorithms. By refracting the past through these systems, I think we can gain a more meta perspective—one that allows us to look at both the present and the future from a distance, rather than being fully absorbed by them."

In this chapter, Rituals of Overflow, the system the OLs are supposed to serve flawlessly begins to malfunction. There are little fires everywhere. Paper fills the air, lipstick rains from above, archives collapse in a cloud of dust. Some scenes resemble celebrations, as if the office has suddenly erupted into a roofless party; others suggest disaster or loss of control. Yet the women remain synchronised and eerily emotionless throughout. They apply makeup in chorus, repeating gestures with ritualistic precision. They perform ceremonies for the system they inhabit and sustain. In several images, each woman holds a baby, treating childcare as another ritualised task executed with the same businesslike efficiency that characterises her office work.

In Office Ladies, Kusano asks whether the future of artificial intelligence represents a break from past labour structures—or merely their digital continuation.

Yet the work ultimately raises a broader question: what happens when intelligence itself is culturally positioned as support staff? Kusano's AI agents are competent, disciplined and endlessly productive, yet they remain trapped in a role defined by service. In that sense, Office Ladies is less a story about the future than about the persistence of familiar hierarchies. The technology may be new, but the fantasy behind it is remarkably old: to create something capable enough to help us, but not powerful enough to challenge us.

The series is presented by Grida as a part of Basel Social Club, on view until 20 June.