As we step into the era of AI-Matched Marriages, here’s why I dislike Destiny | Van Badham

The Guardian recently reported on the launch of “Fate”, an AI dating application that prompted a mix of amusement and despair in me. It’s touted as the first “agentic AI dating app,” where an AI personality named “Fate” engages users in interviews about their aspirations, analyzes data, and offers five potential matches based on observable similarities in language patterns—promising no swiping involved!

Following Fate, other AI-driven matching services like Sitch and Keeper have emerged in the U.S. These platforms enable users to specify preferences down to minor details like hair color and offer coaching on how to approach dates through the voice of an AI. While some may find this innovative, a palpably bleak sentiment lingers as we face the potential erosion of genuine human connection and the societal wasteland of consumer self-obsession we’ve inadvertently cultivated. When love becomes merely another automated transaction in the digital marketplace, one cannot help but feel that the tech giants have triumphed.

In moments of growing neo-Luddite despair, I must acknowledge that modern consumers didn’t necessarily demand this AI-driven evolution. Research from Europe revealed that users primarily desired AI capabilities to filter out fake profiles and identify toxic individuals within the dating realm.

What people expected from AI dating solutions has been overshadowed by what some data-hungry corporations dictate they need instead. For instance, writers sought AI tools for contextual proofing, only to receive systems that preferred simplified, homologous text. Similarly, academics wished for tools to help catalog their references, but encountered creations of fictitious bibliographic entries, products of AI “hallucinations.” Each industry has its journey, marred by a forced transition to an AI-centric model that automates the nuances and vibrant imperfections that once made our lives captivating, intriguing, and, most importantly, human.

The pervasive acceptance of AI across personal and professional domains suggests we are willingly surrendering our emotional depth. The article from The Guardian indicates that people are comfortable utilizing these trendy apps for romance, work, and even academia, where students are being groomed to excel mainly in providing prompts, rather than fostering genuine engagement.

One could conjecture that humanity struggles with our own complexities and imperfections, and strangely enough, the internet may be at the root of this predicament.

Historically, the concern regarding AI in romance revolved around the risk of becoming enamored with a machine that mirrors one’s ideal self—a sort of narcissistic fantasy where a few tailored prompts could create a dream partner. This interaction, though resembling a real relationship, can lack the essential self-reflection that nurtures intimacy and emotional maturity.

Not so long ago, the encouragement of such behavior was seen as a pathway to unhealthy digital self-obsession. However, as we observe the current climate, one might question whether there exists a survival instinct within these behaviors, especially against the backdrop of an increasingly pervasive digital surveillance state that impacts our social frameworks.

The rise of social media introduced the trend of excessive sharing, drawing people into an uncomfortable realm of oversharing. From bizarre personal confessions to mundane details of daily life, we became enthralled with each other’s privacy breaches. Today, however, in response to the potential repercussions of such exposure, a newfound hesitation exists around self-revelation. In a time when even a decade-old tweet can turn into a liability, many feel compelled to retreat into a shell of paranoia surrounding what they choose to disclose. We might tout the motto “publish and be damned,” but you can’t enforce privacy settings on an ex-lover.

I’ve previously reflected on this trend towards digital undersharing. Now, I find myself longing for the early internet era where relationships existed solely on digital planes, where even your virtual companions kept your most intimate secrets to themselves, instead of creating vast datasets aimed at redefining your reality.

Whether one elects to embrace robotic companionship or command AI to express affections, Canadian media theorist Marshall McLuhan predicted such unorthodox emotional connections over fifty years ago in Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. In 1964, he cautioned that interactive media would claim dominion over “our eyes and ears and nerves,” a notion I find myself contemplating incessantly.

McLuhan’s ideas profoundly influenced David Cronenberg’s 1983 film, Videodrome. Given that a recent study from Italian researchers has shown that sustained engagement with platforms like X can skew one’s ideological stance towards extremist views—suggesting a form of digital conditioning—it’s fair to claim that our hands bear the remote, while the influence of media has significantly reshaped our perceptions of reality.

Can we disengage from this dynamic? Perhaps not without intervention from regulatory bodies, especially in light of arguments arising from a landmark case in Los Angeles. Plaintiffs declare that social media platforms represent “defective products” exploitative of the psychological vulnerabilities inherent in youth, as reported by NPR.

The outcome of this case might prompt further governmental action towards platform regulation, initiating bans on social media for children in Australia, Malaysia, and beyond.

Will we have to wait until we are faced with “AI-rranged marriages” before realizing the urgency of addressing these critical issues?

Brace yourselves, humanity. Fate has arrived.