dead giveaways

i can tell when you use AI to write your substack. and so can everyone else.

Sam Altman’s latest interview, where he said, “We see a future where intelligence is a utility, like electricity or water, and people buy it from us on a meter,” had my eyes rolling to the back of my skull. Touch some grass, Altman.

Can I hear some commotion for good old curated taste? Taste, which is built with time and curiosity, from reading physical books at the local library, conversing with your friends over dinner and drinks, watching niche 90’s movies and TV, attempting to learn a new language, splurging on a spontaneous trip to bow to deer in Nara Park, Japan, because you were craving an escape? Most importantly, what happened to sparing a moment to think about how it all makes you feel? Or does Sam think I’m going to ask my chatbot that, too?

Gen-Z seems to be taking offence to this brave new world we’re already in, the same way I am. You may have noticed a spike in physical reading, the massive comeback of journaling, and an affinity for outdoor hobbies like run clubs to meet new people. Those are all tiny but mighty rebellions, and thank God for them.

I watched this viral video of an entire graduating class booing so deafeningly and collectively at the commencement speaker who said, “AI is the next industrial revolution,” that it made her lose her train of thought. She started up again (ugh), saying, “Only a few years ago, AI was not a factor in our lives,” and was met with loud hoots and cheering. That gave me a sliver of hope.

Or this brilliant scene from one of my favorite shows, Hacks, where the lead character calls the advent of AI “technological rape.” The finance bro in the Patagonia vest doesn’t know what hit him when she announces she hates AI because of its forced inevitability, where people aren’t given a choice, because it’s happening whether anyone likes it or not. There’s no unsubscribe button. There’s no option to opt out.

As a Chronically Online Woman, I’m scrolling through internet alleyways past my bedtime when I stumble upon an acquaintance’s blog. It’s filled with dead giveaways. The flowery writing, the m-dashes, the talking in loops. Oh, I think, you forgot to list your co-author.