In Defense of the Em Dash and Other Human Quirks

Reflections at night

Nothing beats an em dash when it comes to detecting AI

AI has already stolen enough from us—don’t let it take the em dashes too.

I keep running into writers who go into fight or flight mode when faced with the bleak prospect of an AI writing avalanche. They either never use an em dash again, the semicolon, or the Oxford comma; or double down on them—and let’s see if someone dares accuse me of being AI!

I think both choices are a mistake. The natural kind, sure, but a mistake nonetheless. Because, if you come to think about it, in doing this we hand over not one but two victories to AI.

The first is the takeover of an aptitude that, until recently, belonged solely to humans: writing itself. There wasn’t much we could do about that. I, for one, choose to accept—albeit grudgingly—this major loss as part of technology’s natural course.

But when our psychological response is to react, in whatever way, we hand it a second victory: we let the very existence of AI shape our mood and behavior. Whether it’s resistance or escapism, doesn’t matter. The puppet that’s pulled forward and the one that’s pushed away are both at the mercy of the puppeteer.

We shouldn’t give up ground, but we shouldn’t change our habits either just to prove our humanity. I read that some people are scared and don’t know what to do: “What if they accuse me? Should I stop using em dashes? But I really like them.” Others have decided to take some distance. The stylistic kind—growing unhinged or inventing new quirks—and the physical kind: they log off for good to refresh their handwriting (I could use some of this).

Yet others, the bold and the brave, stand defiant to confront the new status quo, claiming that to change is to surrender, and that the only path forward is doubling down on their idiosyncrasy, but they fail to realize that this too is a conditioned response. Twice your essence is no longer your essence.

I believe, then, that the best response is indifference.

The purest and most genuine kind of indifference, that which emerges from teaching your body to truly feel nothing at all: Remove no sign of punctuation. Add none either. Say nothing to defend yourself preemptively. Don’t respond angrily if you’re accused. Don’t get upset if they doubt your integrity.

And I’ll go further: Feel free to tap into the mystery that technology offers without second-guessing yourself or feeling bad for being curious—or for rejecting it.

The best stance is that which allows you to live alongside AI—and alongside those who have chosen to explore its potential (entirely legitimate, I’m afraid to say)—as if they were ghosts or spirits from a different realm. They’re here, among us—passing through us—but they won’t bother you if you don’t let them. Ignore them, and they don’t exist. Accept them, and let your writing remain untouched; neither unrestrained nor uninflated by some nagging anima you can’t shake off.

Like when you realize the words on the page are serving an imagined audience more than yourself, and you whisper: not today.