Aren’t you sick of the endless amount of AI-generated slop flooding your feed?
Yeah, me too.
I am a stubborn person, and I’m proud of my taste. Sometimes my biggest motivation is anger. Specifically, anger towards something being done poorly.
For a long time, I had the desire to start writing creatively. I didn’t actually begin until I became genuinely frustrated with the sheer volume of AI-generated content online. Being surrounded by so much mediocre, machine-made work finally pushed me to start writing. I did it almost out of spite and, most importantly, to write the way I believe things should be done.
Now that AI can produce text with just a few prompts, the true differentiator has become our aesthetic sense. That hard‑to‑define quality that separates the ordinary from the truly meaningful. I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. Are we failing to truly appreciate good taste and its importance?
I’ve always believed that having good taste isn’t about rejecting what you think is inferior. Instead, it’s about nurturing curiosity and generosity, dedicating your time to developing a genuine appreciation for what you find meaningful rather than hatred for what you deem mediocre.
There are no shortcuts to developing taste. The only path requires consuming vast amounts of content with true attention and engagement. This is why genuine taste remains rare. It demands the patience to immerse yourself in enough material to develop that innate ability to distinguish “good” from merely adequate.
It’s simply impossible to become a great writer without being a voracious reader. That almost pathological addiction to consumption is what makes excellence in any field more achievable. The depth of your input directly influences the quality of your output.
Many writers worry that AI will replace them, but that fear misses the point of what makes writing valuable. No one is going to truly connect with a novel written by a machine, no matter how advanced it gets. Even the best AI still comes up with lines like: “Thursday — that liminal day that tastes of almost‑Friday”, which are technically fine, but completely missing the human experience that gives writing its soul.
What’s interesting about creating great writing with AI is that the essential skills haven’t really changed. The ability to spot clichés, the instinct to recognize quality, and the strategic thinking to make an impact. These are the same things that have always defined a good writer. The tools may evolve, but the core skills stay the same.
In the age of AI, asking the right questions becomes even more crucial. The ability to prompt effectively is now as important as the ability to write well. But behind both skills lies the same foundation: discernment refined through experience, attention, and love for the craft.
Are we investing as much energy into developing our taste as we are into mastering the tools that create?
If you see the problem I see and it angers you, my request is this: return to the things that genuinely moved you and left a mark.
And by all means, consume AI‑generated content with pleasure and in measure. Because in a world where anything can be generated, the only real advantage left is knowing what’s worth paying attention to.