It’s funny how you can leave a place, like your hometown, or the city where you went to college, and when you return, so much is as you left it. The bar where you ordered your first drink with a fake I.D. has barely changed. The postman who drops mail at your parents’ house is still driving the same route. Your high school chemistry teacher never left. Not so in the Bay Area, where the future seems to be advancing at 10 times the speed as the rest of America. There are new drones and A.I.-powered delivery services everywhere, electric scooters and semiautonomous cars and tech workers sporting wristbands that monitor every breath, step, REM cycle, bowel movement, and friend request—years before similar technologies hit the local Best Buy in a typical city.

The only thing about San Francisco that changes faster than technology itself is the opinions that techies hold about one another. One day Elon Musk is a brilliant inventor; the next, he’s a pot-smoking jerk who attacks a cave rescuer. Wait another day, when he releases a new Tesla vehicle (or SpaceX rocket), and he’ll be a genius once again. Vipassanā master Jack Dorsey is a monster for letting Donald Trump break the terms of service on Twitter; then suddenly he’s the greatest guy in the world for banning political ads and making fun of Facebook’s new logo. Even former Uber executive Travis Kalanick, who left the company amid a maelstrom of controversy, still has countless fans in the tech world who are rooting for his latest venture (“cloud kitchens”) to succeed. Perhaps the only person who is now consistently persona non grata, no matter whom you ask, is Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg—and not necessarily for the reasons you might think.

For years, Zuckerberg was largely perceived in Silicon Valley as a bold and erudite leader who could outmaneuver anyone, no matter their age or business acumen. Sure, he made some juvenile moves early in his career—from his adolescent prank on Sequoia Capital, when he showed up to a pitch meeting in his pajamas and presented a PowerPoint deck that made fun of his own start-up, to one of his first Facebook business cards, which read, “I’m CEO, Bitch.” But venture capitalists, founders, even a number of tech journalists, still viewed him as a savant—someone who not only built the biggest social network in the world, but had the precognition to secure total control of his company in the process, solidifying his power with a dual-class stock structure that gives Zuckerberg majority voting rights, ensuring he can never be fired (if only Steve Jobs had had such foresight). You had to appreciate the chutzpah.

Not anymore. On my last couple trips up to San Francisco, not one person I spoke to had anything good to say about Facebook, a company that minted hundreds of Bay Area millionaires when it went public in 2012. (Facebook, which once offered one of the most coveted jobs in the United States, has since fallen from being the number one “best place to work,” according to the job-survey site Glassdoor, to seventh place.) The list of reasons for the fall from grace are endless. There were the data breaches and privacy scandals, the Cambridge Analytica fiasco, and the Russian hacking of the 2016 election. Facebook monopolized the digital-advertising market, got media companies hooked on its traffic pipeline, then destroyed careers when it pulled the plug. Along the way, Zuckerberg was slow to acknowledge Facebook’s impact on the world, dismissing any complicity in election meddling (a “pretty crazy idea”) or Facebook’s responsibilities as a media platform (“We are a tech company, not a media company”) or an arbiter of hate speech (“I don’t believe that our platform should take [Holocaust denials] down”). Perhaps most offensive to his well-heeled neighbors, Zuckerberg was ruthless in crushing the competition, acquiring rivals or copying their features with single-minded purpose.