Authenticity in the Age of AI

Welcome to 2026.

These days, labels like "made by a human" and "AI-free" are becoming commonplace across the web. Not so long ago, slapping such stickers front and centre across any channel would surely induce a flinch:

What do you mean it's "human-made"? Of course it is. You are a human, no? We mere mortals are everywhere. We make things. Who else would I assume to be writing a blog? The Terminator?

Who would have thought that human authenticity would become increasingly scarce, steadily cornered by its antithesis, and, consequently, gain a newfound value that was somehow always there? Who would have guessed that trust marks like the above would become a sales magnet for some and a duty for others?

It's no surprise that this authenticity movement crystallised online. Poor old internet has been a victim of creeping effluent for ages: misconceptions, outdated research, social media facades, rage bait, conspiracy theories, and fake news. On top of that, there are now cyberquakes causing tsunamis of "AI slop" that have utterly annihilated the organic-artificial ratio. The internet has essentially become a depository of dreams, hallucinations, and nightmares, and we're surfing it dead conscious. There's no wake-up-and-reset joker. Things stick.

Perhaps there should be a warning for anyone who enters the gates of the World Wide Web, at least for now. Something along the lines of …

Remember:
The internet contains a bit of everything, but mostly nonsense. Prudence — common sense isn't so common.

You would think droves of countermeasures would have risen by now, but the nature of AI-generated content largely remains undisclosed. Soon enough, even the sharpest eyes won't be able to sift through it. We're becoming squinters. An MMO user no longer guarantees a lonely soul reaching out. A travel blog doesn't necessarily present first-hand dispatches. A casual comment recommending a life-changing book cannot be — casually — taken to heart.

Gullible no more. We want to know what we're feeding our brain. We want to know whether our attention is savouring sweat and tears or lazy, unregulated plagiarism that's silently kneading our critical thinking.

The question then becomes: How do we sanitise the internet? Shall it be wiped clean every few weeks? Do we boycott the juggernauts? Is an exodus in order? Maybe, but the pragmatics point elsewhere.

Under these boisterous skies, a cybernaut can really only control one thing: what they consume. We can choose to seek out our fellow humans and their slow, beautifully flawed work. We can reject a two-minute burger that's 2 per cent organic. It may create user friction, but isn't that a good thing in this day and age? It's not like Mr Convenience still dons an immaculate shirt.

But for this to work, a polarity must exist; the effort has to come from both ends of the screen. The hopeful ones forecast AI transparency becoming a standard practice. If you make authentic work that reverberates with your quirks and makes you proud, it might behove you to ready an AI usage note. If you need inspiration, you can draw from mine.

… Let's have faith in one another, shall we?