I’m hardly prolific on social media. I tell myself I’m a better listener than self-publicist, and that nuance and dialogue too often get lost in the noise. But while there’s doubtless some truth in that, the real reason for my erratic LinkedIn publishing schedule is a lot simpler. I’d rather be doing something else.
So when ChatGPT burst onto the scene, I was keen to embrace it as my ghost writer in chief. Sadly, while my new assistant has been a valuable source of lists, frameworks, recipes, brainstorming ideas, and questionable limericks, we haven’t written anything together that I’m happy putting my name to.
Why is that? There’s no question that ChatGPT can produce punchy, concise copy that conveys information clearly. It can do so in the style of Hemingway if I want. But there’s something missing – for me – when I ask the AI to step into my shoes.
I don’t think it’s a question of creativity. I’m with Mark Twain when it comes to new ideas – there’s no such thing. And when it comes to combining old ideas into new or curious combinations, an AI tool that can process millions of data points, while I’m wrestling the post-it notes from their cellophane wrapper, has got the upper hand.
Instead, the AI tool, or at least my blunt application of it, seems to fall short in two areas that are fundamentally important to good communication.
First, ChatGPT doesn’t really know the audience. And I mean really know them. Not simply regurgitate statistics about them, or produce content that mimics the stuff they’ve seen before. On the rare occasions I write something on LinkedIn, I have a personal connection with most of the people who are likely to see it. Much as my clients need a deep understanding of the people and organisations that matter to them. When ChatGPT and I sit down to write, we create strong generic content that objectively fits the bill for a generic someone, but it’s not content that speaks to the people I know.
Second, there’s the question of authenticity. For the most part, I think we see a selective form of authenticity on LinkedIn. We’ve become happier sharing the appealing or even vulnerable parts of our authentic selves than we used to be, while keeping a lid on our cynical, grumpy side (or is that just me?). But even when pitched against the ‘excited and delighted’ content we see, share and sometimes post on LinkedIn, ChatGPT stands out like a stock photo of a corporate high five. It feels fake.
So while I fully expect to see properly trained AI tools writing brand content for mass market applications very soon, I don’t yet have the time or the data for it to successfully mimic me or understand my network. ChatGPT’s content is powered by the law of large numbers. And while the content it produces can work brilliantly for numbers-game applications, I can’t yet ask it to write a letter to my Mum. Nor this post, sadly. All its failings remain my own.