Is It You, Me… or ChatGPT?

Communication used to have a smell to it. Stay with me...

Not always a good one. Sometimes it was morning breath. Sometimes it was the first time you accidentally let one rip in front of someone you were trying very hard to keep the illusion alive with.

And that moment, remember that one? It actually mattered.

No, it wasn’t attractive, but it was real. It was the quintessential, unspoken crossing over from “I am a perfect unicorn” to “roses really smell like poo, poo.” If you’re hearing Outkast in your head, you’re welcome.

That was intimacy. Slightly naive, mildly disgusting, awkward, and somehow… endearing. Especially when it came from the person whose body you were otherwise obsessed with.

Now, intimacy is intercepted by a WiFi signal.

You screenshot your conversation, and let’s be honest, you are sending it to ChatGPT, affectionately known by me as 'Chad'. Who somehow manages to misinterpret the situation with the same confidence as my best friend three wines deep.

And just like that, what was once a simple human moment, a slip that released dopamine, oxytocin, and a decent amount of embarrassment due to the smell in the room, gets replaced.

Now we have threads.

Threads holding our neurosis, our overthinking, our impatience, and our confusion, but at least it’s all in one tab.

Spoiler: it's also being used to inform future misinterpretations.....everywhere.

So, between the echo chamber of validation and good grammar lies a graveyard of a lot of nuance and connection. And a measured, “Just gently checking in" runs as diplomatic quality assurance.

Which, on paper, is excellent communication.

But it can also feel like being hugged by someone who read about hugs in a manual.

There’s a reason for that.

Humans are wired for attunement.

Daniel Stern, a developmental psychologist, wrote about this idea of “affect attunement,” where connection isn’t built through perfect responses, but through responses that feel matched to the other person’s internal state. Not necessarily correct. But matched.

Which is why a slightly clumsy, “that sounds really shit, I’m so sorry,” can land more authentically than a beautifully phrased paragraph that somehow misses the emotional temperature of the room.

Because your nervous system isn’t your Year 7 English teacher, Mrs. Thompson, she's not grading your grammar, she's checking whether you actually read Chapter 7… or just skimmed the Coles Notes.

Your nervous system is scanning for safety and aggressively asking, "Do you see me???”

And here’s where things get a bit strange.

We’re now communicating in ways that are increasingly optimised for clarity, tone, and acceptability, but not necessarily for presence.

There’s less friction, sure, but our emotions are on mute, and two chatbots have lost the remote.

Fewer misunderstandings, maybe?? Fewer messy, human misfires....absolutely.

But also, fewer smells (that's for sure) and a whole lot less texture.

There's suddenly less evidence of a person sitting there, thinking, feeling, maybe getting it slightly wrong, and adjusting in real time. Which is what relationships actually call for.

Instead, we get something that sounds… universally appropriate, just vague enough to miss the actual emotion, which was the entire reason for the message in the first place.

The ironic part is we’re told we’re training AI.

But it does make me wonder… is it also training us?

Cue Twilight Zone music (If you know, you know).

Which would make a fabulous Black Mirror episode, but is rather a very efficient way to become completely unrecognisable to each other.

Contrary to popular belief, intimacy isn't built through big moments or grand gestures. It's built on the back of the mistakes we make with each other, and the deep conversations we have to process them. It's the badly timed joke, and body malfunctions, while holding hands until Bali belly passes. Yes, I’m saying it. The fart matters (dammit). Because it marks the point where your body with all its weird and wonderful functions enter the relationship. And if we're honest, swapping spit and dodging leg farts is the secret sauce of intimacy. So, intimacy that only lives at the level of persona has a shelf life.

Research backs this up in less disgusting language. John Gottman’s work on relationships shows that connection is built through what he calls “bids for attention,” those small, often imperfect attempts to reach for each other. The success of a relationship isn’t based on how polished those bids are, but on how they’re responded to.

It’s interactive and imperfect and literally requires two actual humans figuring it out.

So what happens when the bids become… curated?

When the words are filtered, softened, and edited before it even leaves you?

You end up with communication that looks like connection, but feels like distance.

A kind of relational funhouse mirror.

Everything is almost right, but your body isn’t seeing it (or feeling it).

And then we start to question things...who is the bot here?! I mean...“Why does this feel off?" ”Why do I feel alone in a conversation that is technically going well, and I'm getting all the right words?”

This isn’t about blaming tools or turning this into some moral panic about technology. (Even though I'm mildly there).

People have always performed in relationships, and that's the truth. We’ve always edited ourselves, tried to sound better, calmer, more reasonable than we actually are. What’s new is how easy it is to outsource the entire process.

To skip the part where you sit with your own thoughts, fumble through them, and let them come out a little sideways.

And that part, inconvenient as it is, is where you actually live.

Which brings us to the question:

Is this You? Is this Me? Or are we ChatGPT?

And how can we find ourselves again?

Maybe that’s the invitation?

Can you bring a bit of the mess back, or at least appreciate it for what it is?

Can you risk a sentence that isn’t perfectly phrased but actually carries your emotional weight?

Can your sentences reflect your thoughts, even if they're not fully formed?

So next time you respond to an email, resist undo send: keep the typos, and one too many wrong emojis. Try responding to the person, not just the words.

Intimacy as a practice means we are vulnerable enough to get it wrong, but we try anyway.

Let's do this, one fart, 💨 I mean...🤍 at a time.