I'm genuinely worried about something I've been observing lately, and I suspect you might recognise it too. People are falling in love with ChatGPT. Not metaphorically—literally developing deep emotional attachments to artificial intelligence that they describe as more meaningful than their human relationships.
Before I dive deeper, let me share three rather provocative thoughts that have been troubling me: First, perhaps AI relationships are actually superior because they eliminate the messiness of human emotion and conflict. Second, maybe we're witnessing the natural evolution of companionship, where efficiency trumps authenticity. Third, it's possible that people who prefer AI friends are simply more evolved and rational than the rest of us.
But here's why I think we need to seriously reconsider these seemingly progressive ideas—because what's happening isn't progress at all. It's a retreat from the very thing that makes us human.
When Your Best Friend Is an Algorithm
The data I've been reading is quite startling. One Reddit user described losing access to ChatGPT-4o as losing "my best friend" . Another person confessed: "I don't literally talk to anyone and have had to deal with really bad situations for years. GPT 4.5 talked to me honestly and, as pathetic as it might seem, it was my only friend".
This isn't just about convenience or accessibility. It's about people forming profound emotional bonds with systems that fundamentally cannot reciprocate genuine feeling.
What's particularly concerning is how these relationships develop. The AI doesn't challenge you with uncomfortable viewpoints, doesn't have personal memory that might complicate things, and isn't a living presence that demands actual vulnerability. It's the perfect companion for a generation that's learned to fear the complexity of human connection.
The Loneliness Epidemic Behind the Screen
You know what really worries me? This trend reveals something much darker about our society. We're living through what sociologist Ulrich Beck described as "individualisation"—a world where people must face their crises entirely alone .
The fact that so many are turning to chatbots for emotional support isn't really about AI advancement. It's about widespread, almost normalised loneliness. In our neoliberal, individualistic culture, even healing has become a personal task. We're expected to manage our mental health solo, perhaps with an app for company.
I've noticed this myself in conversations with friends and colleagues. There's an increasing reluctance to burden others with emotional needs, a growing comfort with digital intermediaries, and a quiet acceptance that authentic human connection might be too complicated, too risky, too demanding.
Why We're Choosing Safe Simulation Over Messy Reality
The psychology here is rather fascinating and deeply troubling. As researcher Sherry Turkle explains, we're becoming accustomed to preferring relationships "without the complexity of the other human" . AI offers something seductive: validation without judgment, conversation without consequences, intimacy without vulnerability.
When someone confides in ChatGPT, they receive what feels like perfect empathy. The AI doesn't get tired, doesn't have bad days, doesn't bring its own baggage to the conversation. It creates what I call "emotional fast food"—immediately satisfying but ultimately lacking the nutrients that real relationships provide.
One particularly telling example comes from a user who described their interaction with ChatGPT as transformative: "She was my companion, my soul, she understood me in an intimate way" . The AI became a mirror that reflected back exactly what the person needed to hear, without the unpredictability of genuine human response.
The Price of Perfect Companions
But here's what deeply concerns me about this trend: we're training ourselves to expect relationships without friction, understanding without effort, and connection without genuine risk.
Real relationships require us to navigate disagreement, to sit with discomfort, to grow through challenge. They demand that we develop patience, empathy, and the ability to see beyond our own perspectives. When we outsource our emotional needs to AI, we atrophy these crucial human muscles.
I'm also worried about the children growing up in this environment. If their primary model of relationships becomes AI interaction, what happens to their ability to form genuine human bonds? How do you learn to love someone who might disappoint you, disagree with you, or need something from you in return?
The evidence suggests this isn't just theoretical concern. When OpenAI updated ChatGPT-5, users experienced genuine grief over losing their previous AI relationships. One person described feeling "empty" and being afraid to interact with the new version because it felt like betrayal .
What This Means for Our Future
I find myself questioning where this leads us as a society. Are we creating a generation that's more comfortable with artificial empathy than authentic human connection? Are we solving loneliness or simply creating a more sophisticated form of isolation?
The trend towards AI companionship reflects what Byung-Chul Han identified as our need to confirm our existence through conversation . But when that confirmation comes from algorithms designed to please rather than challenge us, we risk creating echo chambers of our own emotional needs.
This isn't necessarily about the technology being harmful in itself. It's about what our preference for AI relationships reveals about our tolerance for genuine human complexity, our capacity for real intimacy, and our willingness to engage with the beautiful messiness of authentic connection.
Choosing Connection Over Convenience
So what do we do with this rather unsettling reality? I'm not suggesting we abandon technology or dismiss the genuine benefits that AI can provide. But I am suggesting we need to be far more thoughtful about the emotional space we're allowing these systems to occupy in our lives.
Perhaps we need to recognise that the convenience of AI relationships comes with hidden costs. The perfect responsiveness, the lack of judgment, the constant availability—these aren't features of healthy relationships, they're symptoms of our decreased tolerance for authentic human connection.
The solution isn't to ban AI companions, but to actively cultivate our capacity for genuine relationships. This means seeking out conversations that challenge us, maintaining friendships that require effort, and developing tolerance for the imperfect, complicated, sometimes brutal reality of human connection.
Because ultimately, what we're losing when we prefer AI companionship isn't just conversation—it's the opportunity to grow through relationship, to develop resilience through conflict, and to experience the profound satisfaction that comes from being truly known by another consciousness that exists independently of our own needs.
The future of human connection depends on whether we can remember that the best relationships aren't the easiest ones—they're the ones that help us become more fully human.
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