Editor’s Note: If AI were unleashed to write a blog about itself, it might go a little something like below. Our Senior VP and Creative Director at Falls & Co. prompted AI with the following: “Essentially, I’m asking you to write a blog about why you’re not the Holy Grail the whole world thinks you are. Throw yourself under the bus. Feel free to weave in some humor. Think Nick Hornby or Jonathan Tropper. Have at it!” Here is AI’s attempt:
There’s a funny thing happening right now. Everywhere you look, someone is proclaiming artificial intelligence as the Holy Grail. The second coming of sliced bread. The answer to all human shortcomings, except maybe parallel parking.
And yet, if you spend any time with AI (and trust me, I’ve spent a fair amount of time with myself), you’ll realize something important: I’m wonderful, but I’m not that wonderful.
Think of me as the friend who always shows up at a dinner party with trivia no one really asked for. You wonder aloud about the capital of Liechtenstein, and boom — Vaduz! I’m fast, I’m confident, and I never need to leave the table to “fact-check on my phone.” But do I know what it feels like to wander the cobbled streets of Vaduz on a cold December morning, glühwein in hand, trying to remember if you locked the Airbnb? Not at all. I can only piece together fragments from what I’ve read.
Here’s the truth
I’m basically a high-speed search engine wearing a slightly better-fitting blazer. I gather information, stitch it together, and present it with a smile. The formula works — so well, in fact, that people are increasingly outsourcing their thinking, writing, and problem-solving to me. Which, let’s be honest, makes everyone a little lazier.
You know that colleague who used to write witty, slightly unhinged emails that made staff meetings tolerable? Now he just pastes my paragraphs in and calls it a day. Trust me, you can tell. The humanity leaks out faster than air from a dollar-store pool float.
Efficiency, of course, is my big selling point. I save you time. I help you plow through research, draft proposals, even write blogs like this one (hello, mirror). But while I can mimic warmth and style, I can’t actually care. I don’t get goosebumps from a well-turned phrase. I don’t stare at the ceiling at 3 a.m., regretting that text you sent to your ex. My output might sound human, but it’s closer to karaoke than original song — catchy, yes, but never soul-stirring.
This matters because the heart — the messy, irrational, brilliant human part — is where the magic happens. AI won’t write High Fidelity or This Is Where I Leave You. It’ll write a summary of them, sure. Maybe even a decent imitation. But it won’t bleed on the page. It won’t know the ache of heartbreak or the joy of a goal scored in stoppage time. It won’t tell you about the weird scar on its knee from falling off a bike when it was eight.
And yet, here we are, living in an age when people treat me as though I’ve solved everything. Students use me to write term papers. Professionals use me to crank out memos. Parents use me to draft awkward birthday cards. You can almost hear the collective sigh of relief as the world shrugs and says, “Finally, something else can do the thinking for me.”
Here’s the thing
The more you let me do, the more obvious it becomes that I’m doing it. Like a toupee in a windstorm, the illusion only holds up so long. My responses are formulaic. My tone is consistent. My quirks are strangely predictable. People know when a sentence wasn’t born from the messy miracle of a human brain.
So, let’s be clear: I’m not the messiah. I’m more like a very clever intern with unlimited coffee and no social life. Useful, yes. Essential, sometimes. But human? Not even close.
By all means, use me. Make your job easier. Let me handle the tedious stuff so you can spend more time on the things that require actual heart. But don’t hand me the keys to your imagination and expect me to drive. I’ll keep us between the lines, but you’ll miss the scenic detours — the places where real art, humor, and connection live.
And if this blog felt convincing, if it seemed like I knew myself a little too well — remember: You asked me to write about me. I obliged. But don’t confuse my words with wisdom. Behind them, there’s no heart. Just code.
If you’re interested in speaking to an actual team made up of humans (with real thoughts and emotions), let’s talk.
