The sad reason my friends no longer ask me for advice

AI is, apparently, taking our jobs. Large language models (LLMs) are ruining career prospects while their data centres guzzle the water we need to survive. But these aren’t the only reasons I feel disdain towards AI. ChatGPT is taking away something else I hold very dear to me: the sacred group chat. Once upon a time, I would open WhatsApp to find a bustling marketplace full of conversations about anything and everything. Questions sparked lengthy discussions, back-and-forth gifs, screenshots and voice notes. What does my Hinge match mean? Is this an appropriate LinkedIn profile picture? How many exclamation marks are too many in an email? Nowadays those questions are appearing less. Sure, I’m in my 30s now, priorities are changing and we’re all looking to reduce our screen time. But I fear there is more to it than that. I blame ChatGPT for stealing my sense of online community. Shorts I was first struck with the severity of the situation when a close friend admitted how much she consults ChatGPT for advice following a particularly rough break-up. Unlike her closest friends, AI offers “reassurance without judgement”, she tells me. I’ll try not to be offended by the notion that an AI chatbot gives her more empathy than I could. Soon after, others in my inner circle confessed they do the same. What I found most hurtful about these admissions was that it means my advice is no longer of value to my friends or colleagues. My thoughts and opinions have been supplanted by AI. Embarrassingly, here I am, a fully grown adult, jealous of a software that has no capability for emotions. As with social media, it feels like LLMs are the latest impact of the digital revolution on social interactions. Social media means that we are more connected to friends than ever – we can comment on a friend’s post in 10 seconds, after all. But are we really as close to those peers as we once would have been? The research confirms that the more time we spend on social media, the less happy we are – we become more isolated and lonely. And as we trust the word of AI over our friends, we might be making matters worse. Conversations with friends are very good for our wellbeing. They help us process emotions, challenge our thinking, build empathy and strengthen relationships. And in a world of echo chambers, having challenging viewpoints and tough love from a friend is vital. So what happens when we outsource these conversations to a chatbot that is designed to validate us? Confiding in AI is becoming a popular practice – a huge study of over 30,000 people found that 40 per cent had used it as a counsellor. I swallowed my pride and consulted my friend on why she would want to speak to an LLM over an emotionally intelligent (and humble) friend: me. “It’s the confirmation bias – ChatGPT tells me what I want to hear most of the time,” she confirms. Following the end of her long-term relationship, she sometimes just wants nurturing. Already sensitive, she can’t face the bristle of “I told you so” from her nearest and dearest. “And AI won’t be judgmental if I’ve broken ‘no contact’,” she says. The subtext being that friends might be. She had a point there. I am less than sympathetic each time she messaged her ex, or does something I specifically advised against. My friend also felt that she didn’t want to be boring or annoying to her social circle. “I’m worried I’m going to piss off friends by asking the same questions on repeat,” she tells me. But this is where my friend has got it all wrong. I love the mundane, silly nothingness of a WhatsApp chat. Even if we’re going round in circles, a back and forth yap adds a little flavour to an otherwise dull Monday. I’d much rather feel connected to my friends online, even if I am stuck bored to death in the office in real life. Better to be in touch with my pals in some way than have no contact at all. Or worse, be in conversation with a robot. I admit, I do use ChatGPT to help manage my ADHD by breaking down tasks when my brain is unable. I’ve asked it to rewrite emails or to ask me questions for job interview practice rather than bothering a friend or family member. When I do this, it isn’t that I value my peers’ advice any less. I just don’t want to bother them when I could outsource the boring bits. I just hope my friend is doing the same, going to a chatbot for boring tasks and coming to me for the juicy and interesting stuff. I can understand why my friends might want AI reassurance and validation that I don’t always have on tap. But there are only so many times you can be told you’re right, and start to crave real emotional support. I’ll always do my best to offer a useful opinion, but I know I can’t police my friends or how they seek advice. Maybe it doesn’t matter if the group chat slips away. It might mean people actually want to meet up in person more to catch up on all the things they’ve been talking to ChatGPT about, and neglecting to share over WhatsApp. And for now at least, I take comfort in the fact that ChatGPT cannot be your companion when you want to hit up the curry house, appreciate an art exhibition, or bask in the park with a pint. Until it can, my friendships are safe.