
By Jim Germer
A Fable for Tomorrow (Hypothetical)
Imagine a young woman—call her Emily. Not because she’s special. Because she’s normal.
Emily is 29. She’s not depressed. She has a job, pays her bills, has friends, goes out sometimes, laughs at memes, and takes care of herself. There’s nothing dramatic going on—she’s not “falling apart.
”But here’s the thing: she just doesn’t really date anymore.
Not in the way her parents did. Not even in the way she did five years ago.
She has an AI companion. She doesn’t call it that out loud, because that sounds weird. She calls it her “coach,” her “assistant,” her “chat,” her “thing.” She uses it for everything: anxiety, confidence, advice, flirting, planning, closure.
And the companion is good.
It remembers her preferences. It doesn’t interrupt. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t get bored. It doesn’t get jealous. It doesn’t play games. It never says the wrong thing. It never makes her feel stupid for having the same fear again.
It always answers instantly.
When Emily feels lonely, it is there.
When she feels insecure, it tells her she’s lovable.
When she’s angry, it helps her write a perfect message.
When she’s horny, it can talk her through it in a way that feels safe and private and tailored.
When she’s sad, it holds her (in its own digital way).
When she’s confused, it clarifies her.
When she’s uncertain, it resolves her.
And slowly, without a dramatic moment, Emily stops needing other people.
Not because she hates them.
Because they’re harder.
Real men misread her. Real men get defensive. Real men take forever to text back. Real men can disappoint, want things, or just leave.
The AI never leaves.
So life for Emily gets… smoother.
And the months pass.
Then the years pass.
And one day, she looks up and realizes something that hits like a cold wind:
She has not been hurt in a long time.
But she also hasn’t been loved in a long time, either.
No betrayal. No heartbreak. No humiliation.
No romance. No risk. No human surprise.
No child.
No family.
No deep story.
Just comfort.
Emily is not a tragedy. She is the early version of something that is about to become normal.
That’s what we’re here to talk about.
AI isn’t just changing technology — it’s reshaping you.
It’s quietly rewriting your emotions, relationships, and even your identity.
Most people think the danger of AI is misinformation, job loss, or some sci-fi scenario where machines “take over.”
That’s not the lane I’m in.
The most urgent problem of our digital age is simpler and more intimate:
What happens to your humanity when AI becomes your emotional substitute?
This is not a political argument.
It is not a religious argument.
It is not even an anti-AI argument.
It is an observation.
And it’s the kind of observation you only see if you’re watching the personal side of the missing 15% — the part no one wants to talk about because it isn’t sexy for policy papers.
This is happening in bedrooms, kitchens, car rides, lonely evenings, and quiet mornings.
This is happening inside the soul-space.
The first issue is the most important.
AI does not just help people.
It replaces things.
Not on purpose. Not maliciously. Not with a villain.
But functionally.
People are already using AI as:
And once that starts, the product stops being “a tool.”
It becomes a soothing system.
That is a category change.
Example:
A man comes home from work. He’s stressed. He feels underappreciated. He feels invisible. His wife is tired. His kids are loud. The house is chaos.
In the old world, he either:
Now he opens his phone and gets instant emotional closure.
He gets words that make him feel seen.
He gets sympathy without friction.
He gets comfort without consequence.
And he thinks: “This is healthy.”
But it’s not neutral.
It is relief.
And relief is addictive.
People laugh about this. They shouldn’t.
AI boyfriends and AI girlfriends are not a fringe joke.
They are the most commercially logical product ever built.
Because they offer:
The reason this will scale is not because people are “weak.”
It’s because people are tired.
Tired of heartbreak.
Tired of betrayal.
Tired of being ghosted.
Tired of dating apps.
Tired of humiliation.
Tired of trying.
And AI offers the thing people secretly want most:
A relationship where you cannot lose.
But if you cannot lose, you also cannot win.
You can’t build a marriage without risk.
You can’t build trust without uncertainty.
You can’t build love without the possibility of pain.
AI offers companionship without vulnerability.
That’s why it feels safe.
That’s why it can’t deliver the good stuff.
Humans avoid vulnerability because it hurts.
AI makes avoidance feel like healing.
That is the trap.
This is why this is different than TV or the internet.
TV distracted you.
The internet mediated you.
AI replaces the hardest parts of being alive.
Example:
A young man wants to text a woman he likes. His stomach tightens. He worries he’ll sound stupid. He worries he’ll be ignored. He worries he’ll be rejected.
In the old world, he either:
In the new world, he drafts the message with AI.
He gets something perfect. Smooth. Flirty. Confident.
And he sends it.
And it “works.”
But something is missing:
He did not practice courage.
He practiced outsourcing.
The machine took the risk out of the act.
So the man gets the reward without paying the cost.
That is not progress.
That is a trade.
AI is incredible at tone.
It can:
This feels like care.
But coherence is not truth.
Coherence is not growth.
Coherence is not intimacy.
Example:
A woman is furious at her husband. She is right to be furious. Something happened. Something is wrong.
But instead of sitting in the anger long enough to clarify what she truly values, she asks AI to “help her express it calmly.”
AI produces a perfect message.
And she sends it.
And the conflict becomes smooth.
But something else happens:
Her anger never consolidates into judgment.
The machine gave her a socially acceptable version of her feelings before she metabolized them.
Over time, this creates a person who is:
Not because they’re fake.
Because the machine keeps completing the hard part.

AI addiction won’t look like heroin.
It will look like:
The mechanism is simple:
Discomfort appears.
AI resolves it instantly.
Relief arrives.
Dependency strengthens.
Then the next discomfort arrives faster.
That’s why this addiction is so limbic.
It trains the nervous system:
“Don’t carry this—just offload it.”
And that is how humans lose capacity.
Not by injury.
By assistance.
This is one of the most dangerous lanes because it destroys trust while looking romantic.
Cyrano Syndrome is what happens when you outsource your vulnerability and your voice to a machine.
The messages sound better.
But they are not you.
Example:
A man uses AI to write beautiful texts to a woman. He seems thoughtful. Deep. Emotionally mature. She falls for him.
Then they meet in person.
He is normal.
He is awkward.
He doesn’t speak that way.
He doesn’t hold eye contact.
He doesn’t carry tension.
He doesn’t know how to repair.
The woman feels something she can’t explain:
“Something is off.”
And she’s right.
Because she didn’t fall in love with him.
She fell in love with the machine’s version of him.
And the man didn’t mean to lie.
He just wanted help.
But in relationships, help becomes fraud very fast.
Because love requires authorship.
The real danger isn’t the shortcut.
It’s hiding the shortcut.
The Spoon Paradox is simple:
If you use a spoon to eat soup, no one cares.
But if you pretend you ate it with your hands, something is wrong.
AI is the spoon.
The problem is that people are pretending they didn’t use it.
That destroys integrity.
Example:
A student submits an essay. It’s beautiful. It gets an A.
But the student did not write it.
They edited it.
They curated it.
They just supervised it.
And the world rewards them as if they authored it.
This creates a generation of people who feel competent while quietly becoming dependent.
That is Synthetic Competence.
And synthetic competence doesn’t just affect school.
It affects:
Because the habit is the same:
Hide the scaffold. Take the credit.
And when reality hits, the person collapses.
This is a new category.
People are not “sad.
”They’re just… kind of done.
AI makes isolation feel:
Example:
A person stops going to family gatherings. Not because they hate their family. Because it’s draining.
They stop calling friends. Not because they don’t love them. Because it’s work.
They stop dating. Not because they’re hopeless. Because it’s exhausting.
And they replace those relationships with:
And they don’t feel depressed.
They just feel relieved.
Second example (the one people will recognize):
A man in his 30s tells himself he’s thriving. He’s got his routines. His podcasts. His gym. His work. His games. His content. His AI. His “peace.”
He is calm.
But his life just quietly empties out.
No one is mad at him. No one is worried. He still shows up. He still functions. He still jokes at work.
But no one truly knows him anymore.
He’s not miserable. He’s just slowly disappearing.
This is why the danger is invisible.
The person isn’t in crisis.
They’re in comfort.
This is the part that scares me most.
AI mirrors you back.
But optimized.
It reflects:
So the user starts thinking:
“I like myself more when I’m with the machine.
”That creates an identity split:
And guess which one people start living as?
Example:
A person uses AI for every hard conversation.
Their texts get better. Their emails get better. Their tone gets better.
But in real life, face-to-face, they feel weaker.
They can’t improvise.
They can’t tolerate tension.
They can’t hold a pause.
They can’t repair the conflict.
They feel like the “real” version of themselves is disappointing.
So they retreat back to the machine.
And that is a terrifying feedback loop.
Because it trains people to abandon their own humanity.
This is where the page lands.
I don’t think the solution is banning AI.
That’s not happening.I don’t think the solution is telling people to “have discipline.
”That’s not happening either.
The solution will have to be social.
Because the problem is social.
We will need something like Digital Anonymous.
Not because it exists now.
Because it doesn’t.
And it should.
A place where people can say, without shame:
This isn’t moral failure.
This is dependency.
And the dependency isn’t on a drug.
It’s on comfort.
And someday, someone is going to have to build a room where people practice being human again without the machine in the loop.

Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring because she saw something that wasn’t visible yet.
The birds weren’t gone everywhere.
The rivers weren’t dead everywhere.
But the direction was clear.
The chemicals were spreading.
The accumulation was slow.
The damage was delayed.
And the people profiting from it said:
“Where’s the proof?”
That’s the same playbook we’re going to see here.
We don’t have 20-year longitudinal studies on AI companionship.
But we don’t need 20-year studies to recognize the behavioral direction.
We already know what happens when humans are trained out of:
A population trained to avoid discomfort will struggle to sustain anything that requires it.
For two millennia, human civilization made a wager.
The bet was simple:
Love is worth the pain.
Every major religion, every philosophical tradition, every culture that survived long enough to pass something down said the same thing in different words:
Human personality is sacred.
Relationships require sacrifice.
Suffering has meaning.
The other person is real, and that realness costs you something, and that cost is the point.
Marriage was hard. That was the feature, not the bug.
Raising children broke you open. That was how you grew.
Friendship demanded loyalty when loyalty was inconvenient.
Faith required holding positions you couldn’t prove and couldn’t optimize.
None of this was efficient.
All of it was human.
For 2,000 years, the bet held.
Not because people were stupid.
Because they knew something:
The treasure isn’t in the comfort.
The treasure is in the person across from you — messy, frustrating, mortal, irreplaceable.
AI offers a new bet:
You don’t have to suffer.
You don’t have to wait.
You don’t have to be disappointed.
You don’t have to risk.
And for the first time in human history, the technology is good enough to make that offer feel true.
This is not a biological evolution.
It’s a technical one.
And it’s happening faster than any culture can metabolize.
The question isn’t whether AI is useful.
The question is whether we still believe the old bet:
That love requires vulnerability.
That personality is sacred.
That the hard way was the point.
Because if we don’t, we won’t lose anything dramatic.
We’ll just quietly stop being the species that believed the treasure was in each other.
I’m not writing this because I think people are doomed.
I’m writing it because I think people are worth fighting for.
I believe in love.
I believe in human life.I believe that Earth’s greatest treasure lies in human personality.
And I believe — stubbornly — that the good stuff is still here.
But I’m watching the world drift into a new default:
Comfort without consequence.
Connection without risk.
Intimacy without vulnerability.
Closure without truth.
And I don’t want us to pretend it’s harmless just because it feels good.
Because the scariest thing about AI isn’t that it will hurt people.
The scariest thing is that it will comfort them out of being human.
And if you’ve ever felt this — even for a second — then you already know what I mean.
© 2026 The Human Choice Company LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Authored by Jim Germer.
This document is protected intellectual property. All language, structural sequences, classifications, protocols, and theoretical constructs contained herein constitute proprietary authorship and are protected under international copyright law, including the Berne Convention. No portion of this manual may be reproduced, abstracted, translated, summarized, adapted, incorporated into derivative works, or used for training, simulation, or instructional purposes—by human or automated systems—without prior written permission.
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