The Incredible Ease of Spotting AI
Perfectly Wrong
Humans appear to have looked into a crystal ball — in the style of a 1960’s Walt Disney picture book, whimsical, bold colors, strong outlines, Mary Blair, Tyrus Wong, Gustaf Tenggren — and foreseen the fall of art. Maybe humanity.
Tech-pessimists, indeed all pessimists, share a common refrain in the face of optimists: I hope you’re right.
I hope you’re right means if I’m right, I’m right — and you should value my rightness. But if you’re right, I will likely not look at how my wrongness might be what’s wrong. For it was my wish to be wrong all along.
Was it?
I wrote an article called “Wow and Whatever (And Why I’m Not Scared of AI).” In an AI-written response, one maybe-reader, offered:
How do I know, immediately, that this is written by AI? Because humans are amazing. And I truly believe that. If you don’t believe humans are amazing, this might feel like one person’s well-thought through rebuttal. Because that’s what negativity does — it opens us up to misperception. Or, more accurately, it blinds us to complexity. When the negativity bias engine gets firing, the mind closes itself to the nuanced magic of life’s fabric.
The text above has no comprehension of my article, which wasn’t actually about “the use of language.” Only a machine, prompted by the closed mind of negativity, could produce this passage. It’s wrongness, perfectly executed. And it’s spot-able, if you’re open.
AI-driven text and imagery all fail the blink test. The blink test is the initial feeling right away that something is amiss. You feel it when you witness plastic surgery. The odd way dyed hair doesn’t quite match the face it frames. A perfect circle never feels human-made. CG in a movie feels CG. An AI created image is plastic surgery for content. The combination of being both perfect and wrong is the crux of AI’s current unmistakable mark. Scrubbed of misspellings, improper syntax and, ultimately, the human mark of mystery and fallibility.
Have you ever seen the documentary Muscle Shoals? It’s a master class in the beauty of swamp land and the talent that comes from fallibility, rejection, love of family, putting the phone down. Simple buildings and special things that come out of humanity. It’s about four poor musicians, nicknamed The Swampers, and a poor producer named Rick Hall who brought them together. They laid tracks down for everyone. Aretha, Paul Simon, Rolling Stones, Bob Seger, Otis Redding, Bob Dylan, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jimmy Cliff, Wilson Pickett, Willie Nelson… that’s the short list. The last line of the movie is Rick Hall’s. He says: “The imperfections give it the human element. Which is what I believe today is what we need more of. That’s how you make magic and great records. Amen.”
Amen.
AI is shifting our understanding of perfection, idealism and beauty. But also forcing us to remember why we create. Render after render, qualified prompt after qualified prompt until… what? Until we can all make a story? A rebuttal? An image? A song? In order to feel… what?
AI redefines average. It’ll never play like the Swampers.
Because F students will always be F students. D and C students can now be B students. But an A will always be rooted in doing something that others can’t. AI has only redefined what everyone can do. It’s changing the middle. Crystal balls aren’t real, they are just glass through which you see the world through your own reflection. If you see the fall of humanity in there, step away from the ball and take a long walk, preferably by a large body of water, an ocean, a swamp, breathe in some fresh air and ask yourself what the next prompt in your life should be.
