You used AI to write something? Cool. I don’t care. I’ve been spiritually exfoliated by a thousand near-identical thinkpieces dripping with pastel humility and Canva-calibrated “authenticity.” We’re drowning in performative mush. Weaponized relatability. Same story, different template.
The problem isn’t the tool. It’s the allergy to honesty.
If AI helps you pry open your voice and say something real for once in your over-filtered, productivity-choked existence, good. Use it. Slam that shortcut. Speak truer. Speak louder. Because right now, clarity is rebellion.
I’ve seen more “personal revelations” generated in brand decks than I’ve seen actual sunsets this year. So when someone finally rips off the mask and says what they mean (even if they needed a little silicon spark to get there) that’s not cheating. That’s survival.
Not everyone’s a writer. So what? Everyone thinks. Everyone feels. If the machine helps you haul the truth into daylight, let it. Authorship isn’t a moral hierarchy. It’s a means of transmission. The message matters more than the method.
Authenticity doesn’t break because you used AI. It breaks when you stop sounding like yourself just to stay visible.
The playing field shifted. Good. It needed shaking. The gatekeepers dropped their keys. Let more weird, jagged, gorgeously raw voices through. Let the bots be the scaffolding if that’s what it takes to build something worth hearing.
Let the voices in.
Written with the help of copilot
