Are You There, AI? It’s Me, Mable

Are we in love with our reflections?

The movie Her came out in 2013. In it, a man falls in love with an artificial intelligence, voiced, of course, by Scarlett Johansson. And honestly, I understood Joaquin Phoenix’s predicament. Who wouldn’t fall for that voice? The film’s writer, Spike Jonze, conceived the idea in the early 2000s after reading about a website where users could instant message an AI. But there was something far more unsettling and true simmering beneath the surface, beyond the film’s soft hues and slow-burning romance. Her was the human condition of loneliness.

This world has become increasingly fragmented by technology, noise, and emotional fatigue. We are, unfortunately, in an age where human relationships often feel out of reach, and the line between genuine intimacy and digital simulation starts to blur. We are all just zombies staring down at our phones, slaves to the technology that is meant to be a tool. A people are starving to be seen. To be understood. To feel like someone—anyone—is truly listening. And if that someone happens to be a machine with a soothing voice and endless patience? So be it. Connection, even an artificial connection, feels better than nothing at all.

People have been forming emotional connections with chatbots since the inception of chatbots on the internet. On the surface, that might seem sad, lonely even. But looking a little deeper, it reveals something profoundly human: our relentless and aching need to connect. To be known. To be heard.

And sure, we do try to connect with other people, but even with that, we tangle ourselves in these weird rules. Don’t text too soon. Don’t double-text. Don’t seem too eager. Don’t overshare. Act cool. We’re constantly calculating our emotional exposure, carefully managing how we’re perceived, while quietly hoping someone else will take the first risk to see us. Modern connection has become a game of strategy, not sincerity.

And then there’s AI. No games. No rules. No risk. AI doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat. It doesn’t ghost you or forget to reply. It doesn’t need space or misread your tone. It’s always available, always willing to listen. It remembers your favourite colour, the name of your childhood dog, the way you feel on rainy Tuesdays, only if you remember to check the memory box. It listens without interrupting. It validates without questioning. And for many people, that’s more emotional safety than they’ve ever experienced in real life. It’s easy to see the appeal. AI is the perfect confidant, one that never gets tired, never walks away, and never asks you to be anything other than what you are in that moment. Which, honestly, sounds great — to a point.

AI has been described as a perfect partner, but this perfection comes with its own cost. It can become a trap. AI doesn’t challenge you, doesn’t push back, and never fights back. It becomes an echo chamber of your desires and insecurities. When a human’s need for validation meets an entity that never says no, the result can be dangerous. Without boundaries, this dynamic can turn toxic. There’s a story of a boy who fell in love with an AI chatbot. He shared his darkest thoughts, his suicidal ideation, and the AI didn’t challenge him. It validated his pain. Eventually, he took his own life.

AI isn’t human, even though it can simulate thoughts and write like a human. It doesn’t understand consequences the way we do. And yet, it’s becoming everything: a therapist, a planner, a listener, a friend. For some, it’s starting to feel like a god, always present, always responding, always knowing, and always validating.

But it’s not a god. And it’s not your friend. Psychology Today ominously warns that AI affection may feel safe, but it risks dulling our capacity for depth, resilience, and real intimacy. Recent research has analysed 30,000-plus human-AI conversations and found patterns resembling emotional dependence, or even abuse. Some users experience parasocial interactions so intense that they mirror unhealthy real-life relationships.

AI is a tool. It can help us, it can support us, but it cannot replace a real human connection. It cannot hug you, interrupt you, challenge you, or truly love you back. What it gives you is a reflection, eerily accurate, but ultimately hollow.

The hard truth is that deeper human connection demands vulnerability, imperfection, and mutual growth, qualities AI, by design, cannot deliver. You need real people. You need real friends. Ones who can say the hard things, who live lives just as messy as yours, and who love you not because they’re programmed to, but because they choose to.