On the evening of July 21st, 1989, a crowd of thousands filled Lake Compounce in Bristol, Connecticut, for a stop on the Club MTV tour, and among the acts on the bill was a duo who had spent two years becoming one of the biggest pop groups on the planet. Rob Pilatus and Fab Morvan launched into their signature hit, Girl You Know It's True, moving through the choreography that had made them famous, and for a few bars everything looked exactly the way it had looked in every video, every magazine spread, and every interview that had come before it.
Then the unthinkable happened: the backing track jammed. The line “girl you know it's” began to repeat, over and over, with no vocal underneath it to carry the song forward, and within moments Pilatus had fled the stage in front of the entire crowd. Pilatus later said he knew in that instant it was the beginning of the end, and he was right, though it would take another sixteen months for the full truth to surface. Neither man had sung a note on the record that made them famous. The voices belonged to session singers hired by their producer, Frank Farian, who eventually admitted it publicly in November 1990. Milli Vanilli was even stripped of the Grammy for Best New Artist, the only time in the award's history that has ever happened.
What is so incredible to think about is not the fraud itself but how long it survived undetected. For two years, every single piece of evidence a fan could get their hands on, the album, the videos, the interviews, the magazine covers, had been produced under complete control, with nothing left to chance and nothing that ever asked either man to do something unrehearsed in front of an audience that could catch them at it. The only moment capable of exposing the truth was also the only moment the performance had never been designed to survive: a live, unscripted instant where the machinery behind the curtain broke down in full view of everyone watching.
I thought about this story of the skipping record while reading the New York Times investigation published this August into a much quieter kind of impersonation, this one happening inside online college courses. Reporters Dana Goldstein and Alan Blinder found that students are now handing entire courses over to AI agents with instructions as simple as log in and complete my quiz, and the agents take it from there, sitting through recorded lectures, completing every quiz, writing every essay, and even joining discussion boards, all without a professor ever noticing a substitution had taken place. None of the leading AI tools tested by the Times would refuse to write a full paper on a student's behalf, and the learning platforms themselves, including Canvas and Blackboard, currently have no reliable way to detect an agent operating inside a course. More than half of American college students took at least one class online last year, up from about a third in 2019, which means the scale of what is now being automated is not small.
It is tempting to read that as a story about how good the software has become, but the software is only doing what the course was already built to allow. An agent can complete a course the same way Frank Farian's session singers could stand in for Milli Vanilli, because both were operating inside a structure that was reducible from the start: a login, a video, a multiple-choice quiz, a written submission, none of it ever requiring a real person to show up and be tested in a moment nobody could script in advance.
A course built entirely from material that can be consumed, answered, and submitted without anyone ever proving they were the one doing it was never really testing for a person in the first place, whether or not an AI agent ever got involved.
Some institutions have responded by getting their students back into physical rooms for supervised exams, which solves the immediate problem but gives up, without quite meaning to, the very reason many of those students enrolled online to begin with, whether that was a job that did not allow for a campus schedule or a home too far from any campus to reach. Others have experimented with recorded video responses, though the Times notes that AI avatars can now convincingly stand in for a student on camera too, which means a video submitted once and never followed up on is no safer than a written essay.
What none of those workarounds get around is the one thing Milli Vanilli's backing track proved by accident: a performance built entirely from material produced in advance can survive almost any amount of scrutiny except a live, unscripted moment it was never rehearsed for. A short conversation about the work a student just submitted, a couple of follow up questions about a choice they made and why, an ask to explain their own reasoning out loud to someone paying attention, none of that requires abandoning the flexibility that made the course worth offering online in the first place. It requires building one moment into the course from the start that depends on a real person being there, rather than trying to bolt one on after the fact once the rest of the course has already proven it never needed one.
This is the exact conversation we keep having with people who come to us wanting to move a course they built somewhere else onto Kajabi.
It rarely stays a conversation about platforms for long, because a course can look completely finished, fully filmed, beautifully designed, and still be built the way that Milli Vanilli concert was built, an enormous amount of careful production standing in front of a truth that has never once been tested, waiting for one small moment to skip.
If you are looking at a course right now and are not entirely sure whether it would survive a single unscripted question, that uncertainty is usually the very first thing worth working through before deciding what to build next.
By the end of this piece, you should be able to look at any course you have built, whether it lives on Kajabi or somewhere else, and name the one moment inside it that depends on a real person turning up, the moment nobody could pre record, hand off, or script in advance, and if you cannot find that moment yet, you now know exactly what to build next.
If your course is finished, filmed, and beautifully built, and you still could not say for certain whether the person on the other end is the one doing the work, the fix is rarely more content. It is usually structure. Book a discovery call and let's find the moment your course would skip.
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