“That looks like AI.”

This is what I said after looking at a selfie I had just taken of myself at the foot of Lake Louise after a speaking event. I was there… I took the picture… of myself… and I could not tell if it was AI or not… which speaks to the majesty and perfection of the lake (not my face). It seems like the BBC has a similar “problem” that it now feels compelled to solve… its latest instalment of the nature documentary, Blue Planet III, looks… too good?

Seriously… this is what we’re doing now?

According to an article in The Guardian, the producers are deliberately including cloudier underwater footage, murky water and other visual imperfections that might previously have been edited out. Why? Because they’re concerned that the extraordinary images they’re capturing might look so perfect that audiences assume they’re AI-generated… think about that. We’ve reached a point where reality has to look less perfect to be believed. Where everything we see… we question its believability before we consider how we reacted to the actual content. I’m embarrassed to tell you how many decades I’ve spent perfecting this craft of writing words… or how many hours of typing out my audio interviews it took for me to recognize and eliminate some of my more common vocal tics I got so annoyed at hearing over and over… those “ums” and “ahhs”… so annoying! For decades, the professionalization of communication was something we all aspired to. Whether you were a writer, photographer, filmmaker, broadcaster, marketer or business leader, there was a standard of excellence that separated the professionals from everybody else. From the performance itself to having access to better cameras, microphones, lighting, editing… and on and on…

And we all knew the difference.

A professionally produced documentary looked nothing like a home movie. A beautifully crafted advertisement was worlds apart from something a small business might produce on its own. Even the way we spoke and wrote carried signals of expertise and professionalism. We spent decades perfecting those signals. Now… anybody with access to AI can create something that looks, sounds and reads like it came from a major production studio. Consider podcasting. I’ve spent countless hours learning how to make conversations sound better. Removing the awkward pauses… editing out those vocal tics… cleaning up the audio… making everything flow naturally. Now I’m wondering whether all that polish makes a conversation sound less natural? The same thing happens with writing. I’ve spent decades developing a particular style. Learning how to be concise… how to structure an argument… how to find the right words. Now I can read something I’ve written and wonder whether someone might assume AI created it. The very qualities that once signalled professional craft can now make the work seem artificial.

We’re changing how we assign value.

A little over a year ago, I wrote about a concept I called Vibe Content. The idea was that we might increasingly judge content not by how it was made, who created it or how much work went into it… but simply by how it makes us feel. Does it resonate? Does it entertain? Does it inform? Does it work for me? Consider something as mundane as a corporate press release. If AI can generate a press release that’s indistinguishable from one written by an experienced communications professional, do we care who wrote it? Do we care whether it took three hours or thirty seconds… probably not… and maybe that’s perfectly reasonable. But if the result is just as good and infinitely easier to produce… does the work itself become less valuable?

What happens when we apply that same thinking to everything else?

A photograph… a documentary… a novel… a song… a piece of journalism? Because the output has never been the entire equation. Part of what makes something extraordinary is the journey that brought it into existence. Why did the creator have that idea? Why did they choose that format? What decisions did they make? What did they struggle with? How much experience did it take to arrive at that moment? When we watch Blue Planet, we’re not simply looking at beautiful underwater footage. We’re witnessing the result of years of exploration, patience, scientific knowledge, technical ingenuity and human curiosity.

The achievement is part of the beauty.

AI seems to be forcing us to reconsider whether that achievement matters to the audience. We might be entering an era where a spectacular image generated in seconds and one captured after years of effort produce the same emotional response. If they make us feel the same thing… are they worth the same thing? It’s complicated because this isn’t simply about protecting human creativity. People using AI can demonstrate remarkable imagination… taste… and skill. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with enjoying something entirely synthetic. I’ve loved animated movies my whole life. I don’t need Woody from Toy Story to be real to care about him (same goes for you, Batman). Today, we’re looking for imperfections as evidence of authenticity (this is wrong). Tomorrow, AI will be perfectly capable of manufacturing those imperfections too (this is wrong too). I suspect we’re living through a strange transitional moment. Right now, we’re obsessed with whether something was made by AI… I believe this fades. But I am wondering if the distinction is either irrelevant or the whole enchilada.

Great creative output should always be as extraordinary as possible.

That investment in craft… technology… research/education… experience is always a reflection of someone who took the time to create something. Maybe what’s weird is that we’re approaching a time when the result may tell us very little about any of those things… and we may no longer feel compelled to find out.

So what is it about the result that will make us care?

 

This (and some other topics) is what we discussed on CJAD 800 AM this week.