I always thought creativity was rebellion—punishing oneself for the thrill of being wrong. Then I stumbled on a study showing that heavy use of generative AI flattens writerly imagination. It doesn’t expand ideas—it standardizes them, like ghostwriting your own soul.
Smart‑looking students, strapped to EEG caps, feed essays to a large‑language model. Their brainwaves? Drifted. No analytical sparks. Writers slept at the wheel. Someone called it “metacognitive surrender.”
Later, an international meta‑analysis found rough success with AI co‑writing—efficiency up, novelty down. Creativity became algorithmic predictability. Think of a particle accelerator that only spits out carbon copies.
In creative industries, brands are paying for glitch now—not polish. Human error is the last frontier. AI loyalty is a liability: too smooth, too predictable, too… tame.
I met a musician who stopped improvising because AI suggestions were never wrong. Wrong is where meaning lives. Wrong is where music becomes memory instead of friction.
So yes, AI helps write, paint, compose. But at the cost of leaving nothing strange in the stream. Let complexity be messy, let brilliance stumble.
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