Because a reality wasn't given to us and is not there; but we have to make it ourselves, if we want to be; and it will never be one for ever, but constant and infinitely changeable.
Luigi Pirandello, One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand
Pirandello wrote this about the human condition. He didn't know he was describing the future of the internet.
The web we know is about to disappear
Not slowly. Not gradually. The web page, as the default unit of human navigation, is about to disappear: it will strip itself of everything we call "interface" and what remains will be only what it always was underneath — data, structure, instruction.
The enticing homepages. The banners. The product carousels engineered by UX teams to capture attention in the first second and a half. The brand colors. The call-to-action buttons optimized for conversion rate. All of this is designed for a human eye that navigates alone.
That eye is about to delegate.
The agent that browses for you
Imagine you want to buy a pair of shoes. Today you open a browser, search, filter, compare, go back, reopen the tab you closed, forget what you were looking for, start again.
In a few years — maybe less — you will tell the agent what you want. The agent will already know that you have wide feet, that you prefer leather to synthetic, that you're looking for something for a wedding in June but deep down you want something that works afterward too. It will know that today you're in a practical mood, not an aspirational one. That you've spent a lot this month.
The agent won't open a homepage. It will query a data structure. It will receive prices, availability, variants, return policies. It will build for you — and only for you, and only in that moment — a presentation tailored to measure. Colors that belong to you. Texts that speak your language. Images generated for your aesthetic sensibility of that day.
The same store. Five billion different versions. One for each person, one for each moment.
One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand — applied to the web
Pirandello imagined a man who discovers he has as many faces as there are people looking at him. Vitangelo Moscarda is not one — he is one hundred thousand, one for every other person's gaze. And he goes mad trying to understand which one is real.
The agentic web resolves this paradox by reversing it.
It's not you who has one hundred thousand faces in the eyes of others. It is the world that will have one hundred thousand faces in your eyes. Every site, every store, every piece of content will be built by the agent in your image and likeness — not fixed and identity-bound, but temporary, seasonal, mood-dependent. Faithful to who you are in that precise instant.
Because a reality wasn't given to us and is not there.
There is no "true" web page. There is no "right" interface. There is only the construction — continuous, personal, unrepeatable.
What remains when the frontend disappears
If the agent builds the interface, what must the merchant provide?
Not design. Not copy. Not a mobile-optimized WordPress theme. They must provide instructions.
Instructions about what they sell. At what price. With what constraints. What values the brand holds. What is available right now, in this moment — not what was available yesterday when the crawler last updated the index. What it means to buy from them — the story, the guarantee, the meaning.
The merchant of the future doesn't manage a storefront. They manage a source of truth — structured, machine-readable, always current. The agent does the rest.
This future will not be served by prettier landing pages. It will be served by APIs, product feeds, schema.org metadata, MCP-compatible interfaces, real-time availability endpoints, signed policies, and machine-readable brand constraints. The stack already exists in pieces — what is missing is the layer that makes it coherent and discoverable.
This is the collapse of the frontend. HTML, CSS, JavaScript as presentation layers become optional. What remains is raw data — and raw data must be impeccable.
The vehicle remains the web. But a stripped web.
There is an obvious objection: the web won't disappear. True.
The protocol remains. HTTP remains. URLs remain. But what travels on that protocol changes its nature.
Today a web page is a document — designed to be read by a human eye, built with layers of presentation over layers of content over layers of structure. Tomorrow a web page is an interface for agents — an endpoint that responds to structured queries, returns normalized data, declares its own capabilities in a discovery document.
The graphics don't disappear — they are generated downstream, by the agent, for the human. But they don't live on the merchant's server. They live in the agent, constructed at the moment, on measure.
The devices through which all of this will arrive have probably not been perfected yet. Glasses. Ambient voice interfaces. Surfaces we don't yet know how to imagine. The agentic web doesn't need a screen — it needs a connection and a structure.
The paradox of discovery
There is a question that keeps coming back to me as I think about all of this.
If the agent filters the world according to who I am, how will I find what I don't know I want?
Discovery — the accidental encounter with a store you weren't looking for, the book that changed your life found by mistake, the brand whose existence you didn't know — has always been a function of the web's chaos. Of the search engine's imperfection. Of the banner that for once caught something true.
A perfectly aligned agent is also an agent that protects you from surprise. From dissonance. From chance.
This is the paradox of total personalization: the more the world is built for you, the less it truly belongs to you. Because it is you who builds it — or rather, it is your past history that builds it, not who you could become.
This is the problem no one has yet solved. Perhaps it is the most human problem of all.
…reality is not a thing conferred upon us or which exists; it is something that we have to manufacture ourselves."
Luigi Pirandello, One, No One, and One Hundred Thousand
Pirandello was talking about the human condition. He was describing the internet.
Giuseppe Socci — bridge.kalicart.com | github.com/giuseppesocci-bot/kalicart-bridge
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