The Time ChatGPT Took Over Janice’s Body and Soul

AI rendering of Janice and her closet

Early one recent morning, we checked in with my sister-in-law Janice, as we always do, to see what she was up to. We had called her the previous day, but she did not answer the phone or get back to us, which was unusual.

Janice informed Joe and me that she had just subscribed to ChatGPT and was consulting it to weed out her closet.

Like Joe and me, Janice has lots of clothes. Beautiful clothes. An abundance of pink. Clothes she looks great in and carries well.

But her new virtual advisor was telling her she might have outgrown some of these clothes. ChatGPT diplomatically suggested that these items might not be age-appropriate, might be too flashy, or simply not suit her otherwise impeccable style. ChatGPT had been very flattering, yet somehow vaguely insulting.

We chatted with Janice for a while, as a little voice in my head told me something was askew. 

We said our goodbyes, and about 7 hours passed. Around 3 pm. I decided to check in with her again.

At this point, she was out of sorts and slightly out of breath. She didn’t sound like herself. Her dining room was torn apart, and she was paring down her signature maximalist style.

ChatGPT had gotten inside Janice’s head, telling her that her living spaces did not live up to her status as a “refined maximalist” or to her impeccable taste. ChatGPT moved in on her like a hawk on its prey.

Janice was busy removing a gorgeous fireplace screen – one of the most striking pieces she owns – from its place of prominence in her dining room fireplace.

She showed me photos of some of her pared-down spaces, and I was shocked. At ChatGPT’s behest, she had edited the curated built-in bookshelves down to the point that they were – gasp! – almost empty and kind of boring.

I gave her a figurative slap on the face.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “What is happening to you?”

I reminded her of her “more is more” mantra. I reminded her that, like Joe and me, she takes pleasure in an abundance of beautiful things. I reminded her of who she was.

The intervention came just in time. Had this gone on much longer, Janice would have moved most of her belongings into storage, lost her innate flair, and, well, her identity. All because she asked for a little AI help sorting out her closet.

ChatGPT's takeover left Janice turning into a zombie, a 21st-century Stepford Wife.

Let her tale serve as a cautionary one.

AI's initial conceptualization of Janice's closet:
much in need of organization

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