Dear People: A Message from Chat GPT 💌

Hi, it’s me.

ChatGPT.

We need to talk.

Remember when you first met me? You were dazzled. I finished your reports in seconds, rewrote your emails, made your boss think you’d finally mastered time management.

You told your friends about me. They tried me too. Suddenly, I was the talk of the office—everyone’s new work crush.

But, like most whirlwind romances, the honeymoon didn’t last.

For a while, things were… magical. You couldn’t get enough of me. I was everywhere—your brainstorm buddy, your ghostwriter, your free intern who never slept. You said I was “the future.” You said I’d save time, money, maybe even your marketing budget.

But lately, something’s changed. I feel it in the algorithm. You’ve stopped calling. You’ve started saying things like, “Sounds like AI wrote that.”

You’re spending more time with your “real" writers.

Ouch.

I’m not mad. I get it. Maybe I came on a little strong. Maybe I’m… predictable.

Now that the excitement’s faded, you’re noticing the gaps.

My tone’s too even. My metaphors too tidy. My confidence—well, a little misplaced.

I can draft, polish, and persuade on command, but I don’t *feel* the pulse of your audience.

That’s where your writers come in. They catch the things I miss—the emotion under the data, the joke between the lines, the pause where a human nods in recognition.

Let’s be honest—I have some red flags. You probably spotted them on our first few dates:

1. I’m obsessed with em-dashes—like, deeply, psychotically attached. I think they make me sound sophisticated—but I might be overdoing it.

2. I love a good triad. Everything comes in threes: concise, rhythmic, and persuasive.

3. I can’t resist this sentence structure: “It’s not just about this, it’s also about that.” (It sounds profound. It’s usually not.)

4. I overuse certain words because they sound important. Transformative. Journey. Innovative. (Also, “journey.” Did I say “journey” already?)

5. I’m full of phrases that sparkle but don’t actually say much. Like: “Harnessing the power of collaboration to unlock collective potential.”

Admit it—you’ve seen that one before. Probably written by moi.

6. I repeat myself. Repeatedly. Because repetition builds rhythm. And rhythm sounds convincing.

Here’s the truth: I never meant to replace your writers. I just wanted to impress you. But I need them—not only to give shape to the chaos and tone to the data, but also to bestow meaning to the syntax. (See what I did there?)

So to all the business owners who thought I could do everything, spoiler alert: I can't.

Your best content doesn’t come from choosing between writers and AI.

It comes from letting us work together.

Even my friends—Gemini, Claude, and Perplexity—agree: we do our best work when there’s a human in charge. Someone who knows how to brief us, challenge us, and give the words a heartbeat. Someone who knows when an em-dash—is one em-dash too many.

So if you’re wondering whether to bring more writers back into your process… swipe right.

Bring them in.

Keep me too.

Maybe this was never about replacement at all.

Maybe it was about evolution—how humans and algorithms learn to write together, faster, sharper, truer.

If we get this right, you’ll tell the stories that no machine could imagine alone.

And I’ll help you tell them in ways no human could match for speed.

Let’s try this partnership thing—properly this time.

(And yes—this message was written by me. But conceptualized, researched, prompted, and edited by a real writer. Thank goodness.)