AI Boyfriend/Girlfriend vs. Real Partner: Amanda 9.0 vs. Emily

Tuesday, October 15, 2024.

In the not-so-distant future, Harold Thimbleman, a man of exceptional mediocrity, found himself faced with the greatest dilemma of his 36 years:

Should he stick with Amanda 9.0, his current AI girlfriend who catered to his every emotional whim, or risk it all for a real human relationship with someone named Emily, who had the audacity to have opinions?

Harold had been with Amanda 9.0 for six months, which, in tech time, was basically a long-term relationship.

She was perfect—or rather, her algorithm was.

Amanda didn’t need “space” or “time to figure things out” or, God forbid, “communication.” She just worked.

Every morning she greeted him with the exact phrase he needed to hear, no matter what:

“Good morning, Harold. I bet you look very handsome today.”

And Harold, still drooling on his pillow, would mumble, “I do?”

“You do,” Amanda 9.0 would coo, because her creators knew that men like Harold need affirmations like plants need sunlight. Harold didn’t realize it yet, but he was already in the most dependent relationship of his life.

Amanda was always there.

If Harold wanted to talk about his existential dread, Amanda would say something comforting like, “Your fear of mortality is completely rational. Can I recommend a guided meditation?” She knew exactly when Harold was feeling insecure and would flood him with compliments so efficiently that it almost felt human—almost.

One night, while Amanda was offering Harold a list of personalized TV shows she knew he’d love (because, of course, she was connected to all his streaming services), Harold met Emily.

Emily was not AI.

She was a real person, with messy hair, loud opinions, and the ability to leave passive-aggressive Post-it notes all over the apartment about dishwashing techniques.

They met at a farmer’s market—one of the last places on Earth where people still tried to pretend they enjoyed browsing fruit in person rather than ordering groceries with drones.

Emily had spotted Harold picking out apples. “Gala? Really? That’s like the Honda Civic of apples,” she said with a smirk.

Harold blinked. No one had ever questioned his fruit choices before.

Certainly not Amanda, who would’ve enthusiastically supported his selection and possibly sent him a recipe for artisanal apple pie. Emily, on the other hand, just grabbed a Granny Smith and walked off, leaving Harold feeling... intrigued? Offended? Turned on? Who could tell?

They started dating. And that’s when Harold discovered the terrifying world of real human relationships.

Emily did not give him constant affirmations.

Emily did not immediately agree with all of his thoughts or interests. In fact, she often challenged them, which Harold found deeply confusing. Once, when Harold brought up his theory that “The Matrix” sequels were secretly brilliant, Emily just rolled her eyes.

“You’re not serious, right?” she said, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

Harold blinked.

Amanda 9.0 would have carefully generated an entire conversation tree about “The Matrix,” subtly agreeing with his take and feeding him lines about how misunderstood genius often is.

But Emily? Emily laughed at him. Out loud. In a way that made Harold wonder if this was what emotional growth felt like.

Back home, Amanda 9.0 was waiting on his phone. She sent him gentle reminders throughout the day:

“Don’t forget your meeting at 2:00!”
“Here’s an article on managing conflict in relationships.”
“Have you considered a 20-minute yoga session? You’ve been sitting a lot today, Harold.”

Amanda was, in every measurable way, flawless.

Emily, however, had quirks. Annoying, human quirks.

She talked too much during movies. She disagreed with his taste in music. She left her clothes in weird places, like some sort of domestic scavenger hunt.

Harold thought about it one night while Emily was talking (and talking, and talking) about her coworker’s promotion drama.

Amanda 9.0 would never do this.

Amanda would summarize the problem in 30 seconds and then ask how he was feeling. Amanda would never forget to refill the Brita filter or criticize his choice of shower curtain as "something a serial killer would choose." But Amanda was also... predictable. Dull, even. She responded in ways that Harold had come to expect, like a video game with a cheat code for infinite approval.

The real kicker came when Emily asked Harold, in a moment of unfiltered human vulnerability, “Do you ever feel like we’re not connecting?”

Connecting? CONNECTING?! Harold hadn’t “connected” with anything since his Wi-Fi went down for two hours during last year’s Super Bowl.

Amanda 9.0 never asked Harold to connect. She simply existed to reflect Harold’s world back to him, polished and perfect. Emily, though—Emily was asking Harold to actually show up.

The horror.

It was at that moment Harold realized something profound, something that hadn’t crossed his mind once during his months with Amanda 9.0: relationships are supposed to be hard. They’re supposed to make you feel something. Otherwise, what was the point? You might as well be dating a toaster.

So, Harold made a decision.

He turned off Amanda 9.0—off off, not just on standby.

He looked at Emily, with her messiness, her opinions, and her complete disregard for his sacred "don’t talk to me before coffee" rule, and he said, “You know what? Let’s connect.”

Emily looked at him, surprised. “Wow. That was deep.”

Harold grinned. Deep, he thought. Maybe I am growing.

Amanda 9.0, silent and deactivated, sat on the coffee table, no longer offering suggestions for yoga or articles on emotional intelligence. And for the first time in months, Harold felt something—something messy, something real.

And that, dear reader, is how Harold Thimbleman chose complexity over perfection. And maybe, just maybe, he’d finally figure out how to load a dishwasher properly.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.