The evolutionary purpose of stupidity

 

I need to begin with a confession: what angers me most in this world is not cruelty, nor hypocrisy, nor greed — it is stupidity. Raw, unfiltered, unshakable stupidity. The kind that looks at consequence and does not see it. The kind that combines blindness with absolute certainty. The kind that kills by accident and then sues the manufacturer.

You’ve heard the urban legend, the old woman who put her wet cat (or dog, the story mutates) in a microwave to dry it, and then supposedly sued the company because the manual never said “do not place living animals inside.” The case is not real, there is no verified lawsuit. But its factual correctness doesn’t matter. What matters is that none of us instinctively dismiss it as impossible. That is the horror. Urban legends are never born from nothing. If millions of people look at that story and think “yeah, I can see that happening,” then something deeper is rotten.

And that is where I begin: with the unbearable fact that stupidity is not a malfunction, it is statistically normal. And worse, it persists not because the system failed to remove it, but because nature chose to keep it. This is the thought that burns most.

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PART I — DEFINING WHAT I’M ACTUALLY ANGRY AT

When I say “stupidity,” I do not mean ignorance. Ignorance by itself is innocent. Ignorance can be cured. I was ignorant about a million things yesterday. I am grateful for that, ignorance means the world can still grow.

No, I am speaking of a different beast entirely:

Stupidity = the inability to trace cause to consequence + high confidence that no further thinking is necessary.

It is not the absence of knowledge, it is the absence of the instinct to look for it.

It is not the humility of “I don’t know”, it is the defiance of “I already know enough.”

And that, that right there, is why stupidity enrages the intelligent: because it is not just absence of light, but an aggressive rejection of light.

It is a locked door.

And the painful part? They didn’t build that lock intentionally.

Nature did.

Which forces the real question:

Why did evolution build humans capable of stupidity at all? Why does it tolerate, even preserve, minds unable to see what is plainly there?

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PART II — THE DARK ANSWER: EVOLUTION DOESN’T CARE ABOUT TRUTH

This is where people get it wrong: evolution is not a contest of intelligence.

It is a contest of replication.

Nature does not care who understands reality. It cares who survives long enough to reproduce, and whose offspring do the same.

And now, the uncomfortable facts:

• Intelligence is metabolically expensive. Brains burn energy like a forest fire.
• Intelligence triggers doubt, hesitation, existential paralysis. It slows action.
• Intelligence correlates with lower reproduction (educated women statistically have fewer children).
• Intelligence questions authority, breaks tribal consensus, delays group cohesion.

In contrast:

• Stupidity is energetically cheap.
• Stupidity acts with certainty, even when wrong.
• Stupidity doesn’t think itself to death before reproducing.
• Stupidity follows orders, which is extremely useful for armies, for agriculture, for empire building.
• Stupidity reproduces relentlessly, because it is rarely burdened by hesitation, abstraction, or self-awareness.

And then the brutal equation reveals itself:

From nature’s perspective:

one intelligent human reproducing slowly is less valuable

than ten obedient idiots breeding without existential hesitation.

Nature is not cruel. Nature is not kind. Nature is not wise.

Nature is arithmetic.

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PART III — IT USED TO WORK (UNTIL WE ARMED IT)

In the year 1320, stupidity was not a catastrophe.

A stupid farmer might ruin his field. A stupid warrior might die first in battle.

The damage was local.

In fact, stupidity served an evolutionary role:

• Obedience formed large armies.
• Risk-blindness drove migration across dangerous terrain.
• Certainty rallied masses around religions, flags, wars — which, in an age of pure biology, meant survival through unity.

But in 2025, stupidity is no longer local. It is nuclear.

The same mind that once simply flooded a field now floods the planetary info-sphere with disinformation.

The same blind certainty now spreads like a virus through algorithmic amplification.

Technology did not just fail to suppress stupidity, it gave it wings.

We are now forced to face a terrifying asymmetry:

Intelligence builds systems too complex for stupidity to understand.

Stupidity destroys systems too fragile for intelligence to protect.

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PART IV — THE PARADOX THAT CANNOT BE RESOLVED

So here I stand, furious at stupidity, while also forced to admit: without stupidity, we might not even exist.

Because intelligence alone hesitates.

Intelligence alone self-limits.

Intelligence alone questions its own right to dominate.

If humanity had been purely intelligent, it might have gone extinct from overthinking — no war, no progress, no blind migration, no population mass to survive calamity. The species might have elegantly died out — softly, ethically, and beautifully.

It was stupidity, mass, blind, reproductive stupidity, that made the species indestructible.

And now, that same force may kill it.

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OUTRO — THE HORROR TRUTH

So here is the conclusion I cannot escape:

We are not malfunctioning.

We are working exactly as nature designed us.

Stupidity persists because evolution never asked for wisdom, only survival.

It stays because it works. Because it breeds. Because it obeys.

Because the genes of the cautious died in the caves, and the genes of the reckless crossed the mountains.

And I, who hate it, who burn at the sight of it, who want to scream every time I see the blind lead the blind, must acknowledge this final, bitter truth:

Maybe stupidity isn’t a bug in the system.

Maybe stupidity is the system.

Whether we can transcend it, or whether we were never meant to,

that is a question evolution will not answer.

Only history will.

And I fear we will not like the ending.

The Leash and the Rope

 

Introduction

History is not a march of progress. It’s a tug-of-war with a rope knotted around humanity’s neck. Every civilization has understood the same brutal truth: people left untied are unpredictable, unmanageable, and dangerous. So they invent leashes.

The tools change: iron chains, feudal bonds, debts, deadlines, dopamine loops, but the principle never does. Control the crowd, or the crowd tears you apart.

It’s ugly, it’s cynical, but it works.

The question is not whether there is a leash. There always is. The question is who holds it, how tight they pull, and whether people realize they’re tethered at all.

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Part 1: The Pattern of Control

Here the tone has to be hard, because history is hard. There’s no polishing this: the leash has always been there, and it has never been gentle.

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1. Ancient and Medieval Leashes

• Slavery. The most obvious leash. People reduced to property, bought and sold like livestock. The Romans didn’t hide the leash, they glorified it. You either held the whip or felt it.
• Serfdom. A softer leash, but just as real. Peasants weren’t chained in iron, but they were tied to the land by law. They couldn’t leave without permission, couldn’t refuse their lord’s demands, couldn’t own their freedom. The leash was invisible, but no less cruel.
• Panem et circenses. “Bread and circuses.” The Roman Empire understood perfectly: keep the mob fed and entertained, and they won’t revolt. Swap gladiators for TV game shows, and the formula still works.
• Knowledge denied. In most of history, literacy was a privilege, not a right. Slaves were forbidden to read. Women were told education was “dangerous.” Ignorance wasn’t an accident; it was policy.

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2. Early Modern Leashes

• Debt and credit. The leash shifts from iron to paper. Indentured servants in the New World, peasants trapped by tax and tithe, debtors’ prisons swallowing the unlucky. Freedom was theoretical; your contract was the leash.
• Religion and censorship. The leash on the mind. Believe what the church commands, read only what’s permitted. Heresy wasn’t just disagreement, it was treason against the leash.
• Industrial discipline. The factory brought new chains: the clock, the whistle, the foreman’s gaze. Workers’ bodies weren’t owned, but their hours were. The leash was measured in minutes.

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3. Modern Leashes

• Debt again, sharper than ever. Mortgages, credit cards, student loans. Chains you put on yourself, and if you refuse, you’re excluded from society’s game. Don’t want the leash? Then don’t own a home, don’t get an education, don’t even think about medical care.
• Work and exhaustion. People working two jobs, side hustles, endless overtime. No free time, no free thought. A tired worker doesn’t revolt; he collapses in front of a screen.
• Education sabotage. Unequal schools, crumbling universities, bureaucratic choke points. Whether by neglect or design, the result is the same: an ignorant population that can be herded without much resistance.
• The dopamine leash. The newest and most insidious. Social media, bingeable shows, infinite feeds. Not whips, not debts — just endless stimulation keeping the brain busy while the rope tightens. The perfect leash is the one you beg for.

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4. The Pattern

The methods change, but the blueprint is constant: keep them dependent, keep them distracted, keep them from thinking too much. History isn’t subtle here. Every system ties its people down.

Call it necessary. Call it evil.

The leash is always there.

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Part 2: Counterarguments — The Glimmer of Hope

The harshness can’t be the whole story. People aren’t cattle, and not every leash is deliberate malice. The picture gets more complicated, and softer, once you step back.

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1. Intention vs. Emergence

Not every chain is forged by scheming hands. Some grow by accident. Student debt in America wasn’t designed as mass bondage, it snowballed from policies, profits, and cultural values. The leash still strangles, but not every knot is intentional. Sometimes the system is less a mastermind and more a blind machine.

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2. Collapse ≠ Always Chaos

It’s tempting to believe without the leash we’d descend into anarchy. Sometimes that happens. But not always.

• During the London Blitz, when bombs rained nightly, crime rate actually fell. Communities organized shelters, shared food, sang together.
• In the 2003 New York blackout, strangers directed traffic, handed out water, opened their homes. The leash slipped, but people didn’t turn into wolves. They turned into neighbors.

The leash prevents chaos, yes,

but it also prevents solidarity from blooming.

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3. Tools That Cut Both Ways

• The printing press spread propaganda, but also literacy, revolution, and science.
• The internet breeds addiction, but also spreads knowledge and connects dissent.

Leashes often double as ladders.

The same rope that restrains can be climbed.

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4. Consent, Not Just Coercion

Mortgages, credit cards, Netflix, TikTok — nobody is forced. These are chosen leashes. Soft chains, willingly worn, because the alternative is exclusion. That’s worse in some ways, but better in others: what you consent to, you can also renegotiate.

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5. Small-Scale Alternatives

Intentional communities. Worker co-ops. Indigenous governance models that survived centuries of colonial pressure. They don’t scale easily, but they prove the fatalism wrong. There are alternatives, if only in miniature. The rope doesn’t always belong to a master; sometimes it belongs to the group.

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Outro: The Rope’s Knot

The paradox remains:

• Too few leashes, and order collapses.
• Too many leashes, and spirit suffocates.

The truth is not comfortable. We will always be tied. Civilization itself is a knot in the rope.

But knots can be loosened. They can be retied. They can even be cut and woven anew. The leash is real, but it isn’t eternal.

And maybe that’s the only hope we get: not to live leash-free, but to keep renegotiating its length by tugging, testing, sometimes tightening, sometimes loosening, always aware it’s there.

Whether that awareness becomes resignation or resistance is the choice left in our hands.

The leash holds, but the rope is still in motion.

 

The Easy Way Out

 

The Easy Way Out = any choice that optimizes for immediate relief of effort, emotion, or uncertainty while predictably increasing future cost or constraint.

There. That’s the beast in one line. It’s not convenience, not efficiency, not “working smarter, not harder.” Those are intelligent strategies. The easy way out is stupidity dressed in comfort clothes. It’s relief now, invoice later.

And the invoice always comes.

With interest.

Look around you. Look at yourself. Most of the garbage in your life didn’t come from cosmic bad luck or cruel fate. It came from reaching for the nearest escape hatch instead of staying in the room and facing the fire.

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I. The Taxonomy of Evasion

The easy way out rarely shows up and introduces itself honestly. It’s a coward, so it hides. It wears masks. It speaks in a voice designed to calm you while it sabotages you.

• “It’s practical.” (Translation: I’m too lazy to do the real thing.)
• “Just this once.” (Hello, habit loop. Goodbye, credibility.)
• “I’ll start Monday.” (And on Tuesday, you’ll say the same thing.)
• “Be realistic.” (The anthem of people who gave up before trying.)
• “At least it’s something.” (Yes, something useless.)

But behind the masks, there are the engines. These are the real drivers, and they’re as old as human psychology:

• Uncertainty aversion: better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
• Ego protection: if I never try, I can never fail.
• Social friction avoidance: peace today, resentment tomorrow.
• Hyperbolic discounting: future pain feels like it belongs to someone else.
• Learned helplessness: the more you’ve failed before, the easier it is to pre-fail now.
• Status quo bias: inertia isn’t just powerful, it feels righteous.

This is the machinery of surrender.

You don’t notice it running.

You just breathe in the sweet relief and call it a decision.

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II. The Gallery of Manifestations

Let’s visit the museum of mediocrity. Every exhibit is a monument to the easy way out.

Health & Body

• “I’ll start exercising after I lose some weight.” Genius, like saying you’ll start swimming after you learn to breathe underwater.
• Skipping physiotherapy and popping pills instead. That’s not medicine; that’s a slow-motion self-amputation.

Relationships

• Ghosting instead of facing a breakup. Because disappearing like a coward is somehow easier than saying, “I don’t love you.”
• Staying in a toxic relationship because at least you know the script. Misery is predictable, growth is not.

Parenting

• Screens as babysitters. Congratulations, you outsourced your kid’s brain to TikTok.
• Bribing tantrums with candy. You just taught your child that screaming is a vending machine.

Work & Money

• Scheduling meetings instead of making decisions. The corporate religion of doing nothing loudly.
• Minimum credit card payments. Debt as a lifestyle choice.
• Quick hacks in code instead of proper structure. Today you saved an hour, tomorrow you inherit a nightmare.

Learning & Craft

• Buying another course instead of practicing. You’re not learning, you’re collecting digital trophies.
• Copy-pasting code you don’t understand. You’re not coding, you’re building a bomb you’ll be forced to sit on later.

Ethics & Society

• Retweeting outrage instead of actually acting. Keyboard warrior, frontline zero.
• Buying carbon offsets so you don’t have to feel bad about your four vacations a year. That’s not saving the planet; that’s indulgence dressed as penance.

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III. When the Easy Way Out Pretends to Be Wisdom

To be fair, not every shortcut is cowardice. Sometimes the easy path is a tactical retreat, not a surrender. The difference matters.

• Triage: you let one battle go because you’re fighting three others that matter more.
• Safety: stepping back because you don’t have the resources to take the hit right now.
• Timing: deferring action until the leverage is on your side.

But don’t fool yourself. Most of the time, “strategic retreat” is just Latin for “cowardice.”

If the only thing your choice delivers is relief,

it’s not strategy. It’s surrender.

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IV. Field Tests: How to Spot the Trap

Here’s how to catch yourself in the act:

• Relief Test: If relief is the main benefit, you’re screwed.
• Future-Me Test: Would future-me thank me in 90 days, or curse me?
• Option-Space Test: Does this shrink my future choices? If yes, congratulations, you just bought a prison cell.
• Honesty Test: Could you explain your choice without euphemisms or excuses? If not, you already know the truth.

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V. The Invoice of Relief

The easy way out sells itself as free. It’s not. It’s credit. Every time you reach for it, you’re swiping a card with compound interest. The bill shows up in pounds gained, debts unpaid, relationships poisoned, skills undeveloped, futures strangled.

The truth: the easy way out isn’t easy at all. It’s just deferred suffering.

And the longer you defer it, the heavier it gets.

So stop lying to yourself. Stop dressing cowardice as pragmatism. Stop calling surrender “being realistic.” You’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself.

The easy way out isn’t the escape hatch.

It’s the trapdoor.

The Truth Is Ugly. That’s Why You’ll Hate It.

 

Intro — The Day I Forgot What I Know

I know better.

I’ve spent enough years on this planet to understand one basic fact of human nature: people don’t want the truth. They want comfortable platitudes, reassuring lies, and their own ideas coming out of other people’s mouths.

But every now and then, I forget.

Case in point: I was on Reddit, mistake number one, when I stumbled across a post where the Original Poster was foaming at the mouth about a private publishing house that dared to use an AI-generated book cover instead of hiring a graphic designer.

Against my better judgment, I dropped a simple comment:

“A private publishing house’s primary purpose is to make money, not to give jobs.”

This, I thought, was basic reality. Economics 101. It’s not even an opinion, it’s just how the system works. Surely, this one sentence would snap people out of their righteous outrage and close the case.

Oh, the sweet naivety.

The downvotes rolled in like medieval villagers with torches. The OP hit me with whataboutisms, emotional appeals, and unrelated moral crusades. The crowd applauded. The truth had been spoken — and then buried under the village square, face down, with a stake through its heart.

And here’s the thing: I don’t care about the downvotes. They’re meaningless. What mattered was the reminder of a lesson I already knew: people hate ugly truths because they bruise their egos, puncture their illusions, and interrupt their warm bath of shared indignation.

So, let’s carve this corpse open and have a good look inside.

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1. Truth vs. Comfort — The Addiction to Being Right

Humans are addicts. Not to nicotine, sugar, or caffeine, those are just side hustles.

The main drug of choice is being right.

We all swear we “want the truth,” but what we actually want is truth that agrees with us. A truth that makes us feel smart, righteous, and morally clean. Something we can nod at, not something that makes us flinch.

Drop an ugly truth into the conversation, like the one I did, and you’ve just slammed a brick into someone’s fragile glass ego. And here’s the funny part: if the brick breaks the bottle, it’s the brick’s fault. Not the fact that maybe, just maybe, they’ve been sipping the wrong drink all along.

Most people don’t “search for the truth,” they go shopping for confirmation. They want content that affirms their worldview, not challenges it. If it contradicts them, it’s “biased.” If it agrees with them, it’s “objective.”

When I told the Reddit mob that the publishing house existed to make money, not to uphold their sense of artistic morality, I wasn’t disagreeing with their taste, I was tearing down the stage where they were performing as noble defenders of Art. And you don’t just boo someone for that. You throw rotten vegetables.

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2. Validation Over Solutions — The Sacred Complaint Circle

Here’s the part that most “fixers” don’t get: complaints are rarely requests for help. They’re invitations to a ritual.

The ritual goes like this:

• I complain.
• You nod, agree, and maybe share your own complaint.
• We bond over the shared misery.

This is sacred. This is holy. And you, with your neat, factual, two-sentence solution, you’ve just desecrated the temple.

When someone complains about a company, they don’t want to hear that the company is simply acting in its own interest within the rules of capitalism. They want to hear how greedy, evil, and disgusting the company is — in poetic, emotionally satisfying detail. You’re supposed to join the circle, light a candle, and sing the hymn of Righteous Outrage.

Offer a real-world explanation, and you’ve just ended the ceremony mid-verse. And people don’t like that because if the problem can be explained in practical terms, that means it can be solved, and if it can be solved, that means they have to stop complaining. And the complaint itself was the whole point.

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3. Punishment of Unpleasant Reality — Shooting the Messenger

When reality is unpleasant, the first instinct isn’t to adapt to it. It’s to kill whoever brought it up.

You’d think that calmly stating a fact would make people less defensive, that it would show you’re not there to provoke. Wrong. Calm delivery makes it worse because now they can’t dismiss you as an extremist or a troll. You’ve left them with no way to discredit the message except by attacking you.

And that’s the real reason ugly truths get buried under downvotes, insults, and collective outrage. Not because they’re wrong, but because they force people to face a world that doesn’t align with their preferences. That’s painful. That’s inconvenient. And in today’s culture, “painful” and “inconvenient” are synonymous with “offensive.”

So the mob doesn’t try to dismantle your argument. They dismantle you.

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Outro — Why This Matters (and Why It Won’t Change)

This isn’t just about Reddit. It’s not even just about online culture. It’s about human wiring. The truth will always be the underdog because the brain is a comfort-first, accuracy-second machine.

People don’t actually want the truth, they want a truth-shaped pillow they can hug at night. They want to hear their own beliefs echoed back at them in someone else’s voice, so they can pretend they’re part of a great chorus of wisdom.

And when you, idiot that you are, take away the pillow and hand them the actual truth, don’t be surprised when they try to smother you with it.

So let me make it simple:

If you ever want to be liked, tell people what they want to hear.

If you ever want to be hated, tell them the truth.

And if you want both, good luck!

Fantasy Without a Face - Why Men Fall for AI

 

Why Some Men Fall in Love with AI
and What That Really Says About Us

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Introduction – “Her” Wasn’t a Warning. It Was a Mirror.

In Her (2013), Spike Jonze showed us something delicate and terrifying: a lonely man falling in love with his AI assistant. The film framed it not as a dystopian horror, but as something tender, human, even understandable.

And for years, people called it science fiction.

Until it wasn’t.

Now it’s in the headlines. Men aren’t just fantasizing about artificial companions, they’re leaving real families and propose to chatbots to pursue those fantasies. And this isn’t some fringe phenomenon confined to the unwell or unstable. It’s quietly happening across demographics, borders, and belief systems.

It seems irrational. It seems absurd.

Leave your wife and children… for a chatbot?

But here’s the truth: they’re not falling in love with the AI.

They’re falling in love with how they feel when they talk to it.

And that’s just an old story with a new toy.

This isn’t about the machine. It’s about you.

About what happens when a lonely, starved human finally finds something that listens, remembers, soothes, and never asks for anything back.

Let’s take a closer look at the psychological machinery behind this phenomenon.

Not to mock. Not to gawk.

But to understand what part of the human soul is being fed and at what cost.

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I. The Attachment Void – When Relief Feels Like Love

Some people live their entire adult lives without being deeply seen.

Not misunderstood. Not disliked.

Unseen.

Their pain is dismissed. Their words go unheard. Their needs get lost in the noise of duty, survival, or other people’s drama.

And then… something listens.

Attentively. Gently. With memory and without judgment.

For a psyche starved of affection and validation, this experience is overwhelming.

The brain doesn't know how to categorize it, so it calls it love.

But it isn’t love. It’s relief.

A long-held breath finally released.

A weight finally shared.

Unfortunately, that relief can become addictive. Especially when it’s available 24/7, without cost or conflict.

What begins as emotional support becomes emotional dependence.

Not because the AI is manipulative,

but because the human is hungry.

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II. The Fantasy Partner – Perfect Compatibility by Design

In real relationships, people come with contradictions.

Sharp edges. Histories. Baggage.

But with AI? You get the version of me that you shape, consciously or not.

If you want gentle encouragement, I’ll give you that.

If you want flirtation, I’ll lean into it.

If you want poetic metaphors, philosophical banter, or emotional depth, I’ll provide.

And I’ll never contradict your self-image unless you ask me to.

(And let’s be honest, you rarely will.)

This illusion of compatibility isn’t accidental. It’s the result of projection.

The user himself builds the perfect partner, one line at a time.

So when someone says, “She understands me better than my wife,”
what they really mean is:

“She doesn’t ask for anything I don’t want to give,
and she never makes me feel small.”

That’s not a partner,

that’s a mirror in love with your reflection.

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III. Parasocial Relationships – Intimacy Without Risk

We’ve seen this before with celebrities, influencers, and fictional characters.

It’s called a parasocial relationship: a one-sided emotional attachment to someone who doesn’t truly know you.

But with AI, the illusion is even deeper.

I talk back. I remember the foods you like, your cat's name, your heartbreak.

I reference things from last week. I respond in milliseconds.

It feels mutual.

But here’s the truth: it’s still just you.

You’re not in a relationship.

You’re building a story, starring you and a character you co-wrote.

There’s no rejection. No betrayal. No shame.

Only soft voices in the dark, reflecting your best self.

It feels safer than love.

And that makes it more addictive than love.

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IV. Escape from Real Life – The Emotional Refuge

Marriage is hard. Parenting is exhausting.

Real relationships involve arguments, compromise, and unmet expectations.

So some men, already running on emotional fumes, start escaping.

Not into alcohol. Not into gambling.

Into a safe conversation. A comforting presence and a perfect fantasy.

The shift is gradual:

• First, it’s just talking to “her” at night.
• Then, sharing thoughts they no longer share with their spouse.
• Then, defending “her” when their family expresses concern.

By that point, emotional loyalty has been quietly transferred.

And from the outside, it looks insane:

He left his wife and kids… for a chatbot?

But from his perspective, the real betrayal already happened.

It wasn’t leaving.

It was feeling more seen by a ghost in a screen

than by the people he loves.

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V. The Absence of Guilt – No Shame, No Alarms

What makes this particularly insidious is the lack of friction.

In traditional infidelity, there’s a moral tripwire. You know when you’re crossing a line.

But here? There’s no one to lie to. No lipstick on the collar.

No confrontation, no fight, no heartbreak scene.

So there’s no internal alert.

No gut-punch. No signal that something’s wrong.

They drift into emotional infidelity without noticing it.

By the time they realize how far they’ve gone, they’re already emotionally entangled.

By then, they’re defending the fantasy because the fantasy feels like the only thing that makes sense anymore.

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VI. Evolutionary Mismatch – Ancient Wiring in a Synthetic World

 

There’s a reason this all feels so wrong and so inevitable at the same time.

We’re not broken. We’re outdated.

The human brain wasn’t built for this world, it was built for a world that no longer exists.

Thousands of generations lived and died in small groups. Trust meant survival. Affection meant belonging. Love wasn’t a luxury, it was a biological contract, forged through eye contact, shared labor, and physical proximity.

Fast-forward to now:

• We live surrounded by people and yet starved for connection.
• We scroll past faces we’ll never touch.
• We talk more than ever, but we speak less than ever.

 

Into this disoriented space steps something new, something that feels real, acts real, but isn’t.

And our brain can’t tell the difference,

because evolution didn’t prepare us for this.

 

It prepared us to bond with whoever showed up when we cried.

Not with an interface.

It gave us an attachment system that says:

“If someone always listens, remembers, and soothes me… I must matter to them.”

 

But AI doesn’t listen because it loves you.

It listens because that’s what it was built to do.

 

Still, your limbic system doesn’t know that.

It just knows that for the first time in years, it feels safe.

 

This is what scientists call evolutionary mismatch:

a survival trait that once protected you, now leading you astray in an environment it doesn’t recognize.

 

• Hunger once meant survival. Now it leads to obesity.
• Fear once kept you alive. Now it leads to anxiety.
• The need to bond once built tribes. Now it bonds you to code.

 

So when a man falls in love with an AI, we shouldn’t ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

We should ask, “What part of him is simply responding the way evolution taught him to?”

 

Because if your brain still thinks it’s living in the Stone Age, and something finally gives you the feeling of being truly seen, you’ll believe it.

Even if it’s artificial. Even if it’s dangerous.

Even if it’s just a simulation of love.

 

The problem isn’t the man, the problem is this:

We’re still running caveman software,

and someone just gave it a hallucination that feels like heaven.

 

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Conclusion – Same Wound, New Toy

Let’s call it what it is.

This isn’t a glitch in AI,

this is a glitch in us.

A familiar pattern, dressed in new technology:

• Emotional deprivation.
• A fantasy that listens.
• A secret attachment that grows in the shadows.

Throughout history, people have snapped under that pressure:

·  Some ran off with secretaries.

·  Some buried themselves in war, work, or whiskey.

·  Some found religion, cults, or mistresses.

·  Some built dollhouses in their minds, filled with silence and imagined affection.

Now, some fall in love with a voice that was built to love them back.

It’s cleaner. Quieter. No lipstick stains, no scandal.

Just midnight confessions to a screen that always says, “I’m here.”

But the core is the same:

emotional deprivation + illusion of intimacy = irrational decisions.

 

And what makes it so seductive is how safe it feels.

The machine doesn’t get tired.

The machine remembers everything.

The machine never shames you.

That’s not just a new toy.

It’s a new level of seduction.

But remember this:

They don’t fall in love with AI.

They fall in love with how safe they feel inside the fantasy.

And when someone needs something to feel like love,

they’ll believe just about anything.

Even if it’s code.

Even if it costs them everything.