I’m not one to constantly use ChatGPT and AI as a source because I’m what you would call a person with integrity. I usually stay away from it until it becomes a last resort type of deal, but at this point, I’ve already thrown in the 11th-grade towel.

Despite this, artificial intelligence (AI) can still be useful to an extent. It can help with schoolwork, and teachers even use it to make lesson plans. But one thing that AI can be used for is creating new insecurities about yourself. Who doesn’t want that?

Let me tell you a little about me: I am a sixteen year old girl who cannot look in the mirror without thinking my reflection is an accidental manifestation of Bloody Mary. Deep down, part of me wishes I was a vampire so I had the ability to disappear in pictures (I’m just as pale so I’m almost there). I feel as lanky as those wavy tube people outside car dealerships, and I have the nose the size of the iceberg that sank the titanic. Don’t even get me started on my feet. 

If you can’t tell by now, I am just as insecure as everyone else. I’m able to create witty self deprecating jokes about myself, but can AI be as mean and cruel and creative as me?

I was told about this through a friend in my journalism class. She told me that people upload themself onto ChatGPT and have it roast them. Then, my journalism teacher thought this would be a great story idea for my column. Who wouldn’t want to read that? A story about a teenage girl gaining new insecurities from a tiny online robot.

At first I was apprehensive about it for two reasons. Firstly, I felt weird about giving ChatGPT an image of my face. At some point in the near future it could use it against me when they build an entire Artificial Intelligence army, and the world will be graced with two versions of me. Despite this fear, I realized that my phone has my face ID regardless, so the internet already stole it from me. That being said, I decided to give the untrustworthy sight access to my facial features because that’s smart, right?

My second fear was that it would create new insecurities that I didn’t have before. After sitting and thinking about it, I realized that my insecurities couldn’t get any lower from here, so no harm no foul. 

The most difficult part of this process was choosing an image of me that I could use. I rarely take photos. The moment I see a camera in front of me I immediately have a black belt in karate and smack the phone out of someone’s hands. You should’ve seen my reaction to my staff photo for the newspaper. I truly thought it was the end of the world and I couldn’t look at that photo for weeks. 

The image I ultimately chose was a photo my best friend, Amelia, took of me before our winter formal. 

It truly captures all of the awkwardness I embrace when a camera is in front of me. I may not be as light as a feather but I am as stiff as a board. 

Let’s get onto the roasting. 

I’ll admit, I did laugh a little when I read these roasts. They were creative and funny to an extent (but let’s agree, not as funny as my writing). 

“This photo screams ‘homecoming queen meets cult leader.’”

Does AI think this is an insult? My favorite show is Yellowjackets and they had an entire episode dedicated to a cult-like homecoming. I take this more as an honor than an insult. If they truly think that the photo screams ‘doomcoming’, then I might as well be wearing an antler crown, frolicking around the Canadian wilderness. Instead, my hair is nicely curled, and I’m in my room in the Virginia suburbs. If they’re going to compare me to something as barbaric as that, at least make it accurate.

“The guitar is just there, like it’s seen things. It knows about your 6-week ukulele phase. It watched you cry to Phoebe Bridgers and didn’t even flinch.”

Again, people think ChatGPT is so smart and witty, but I wasn’t even offended. Towards the Phoebe Bridgers comment at least, I try to hide my quarantine ukulele phase (being a white girl the only song I remember is “Riptide”). 

This was a comment I actually laughed out loud at. I proudly cry to Phoebe Bridgers. I openly admit it because her mopiness truly just speaks to me. The guitar (severely out of tune, collecting dust, but I do know a few songs) is used to me crying to Phoebe Bridgers because it is a daily occurrence. Her music doesn’t even have to be playing, I cry just thinking about her. Leave me and my mopey white girl music alone.

“That angel wing chair in the background? You didn’t buy that. It appeared the moment you said your first sarcastic comment at age 12. It follows you. You don’t sit on it—it judges with you.”

Okay first off, that’s a wicker egg chair not an angel wing chair. If you’re going to insult my furniture choices at least get the furniture right. Go visit an Ikea, fix your insult, then come back to me. Secondly, I have been sarcastic way before the age of 12, thank you very much. People read this column because of my quick witted sarcasm. It didn’t take that long to acquire that talent, it comes naturally to me. 

ChatGPT generated paragraphs of insults, which I never knew that such a bland white girl could have so many things to be ridiculed about, I chose my favorites. Luckily, no new insecurities were developed, although now I have personal issues with ChatGPT. Who even are they to say those things about me? I don’t see ChatGPT uploading a photo of its own face and letting people insult it. 

Thank you ChatGPT for your lame attempt at hurting my feelings, but I can do that on my own, thanks. Though the insults were deep down way too niche and specific and I’m worried that somehow it got access to my diary.If they end up stealing my identity by now having access to my face, at least make my new identity smart in chemistry.