One of the more useful things you can do with an LLM is hold up a few ideas side by side and apply lenses to them. I know this history pretty well, so I asked a series of LLMs, why is Wisconsin’s cultural identity and cohesion stronger than Indiana’s, from a historical and business perspective?
Each LLM will give us more or less the same story, different flavor. Within the industry, the differences across the models reflect “model personality.” Asking “why” instead of “whether” will probably drive the answer to favor Wisconsin. Using multiple lenses (two states, historical + business, identity + cohesion) forces the LLM to cross-reference across more of its training data, which tends to produce a more comprehensive answer.
Functionally: all of them acknowledge hard historical truths within the subject matter and don’t shy away from critical perspectives, which is good. Both Gemini and Copilot include in-line links, which lets you judge the output’s authority in the moment as a reader. I liked Copilot’s more than I expected here. Claude’s answers are more lyrical and do provide more context, and yet do not encourage checking against outside sources by providing links within the output. And you can see that even with the good writing skill calling out hard bans on certain structure, Claude plows right through them.
Model personality: Claude favors sociological answers to Copilot’s economic answers. Claude is also highly intellectual and narrative by comparison, and that narrative style can mask nuance by sinking relative context within the storytelling. Gemini simplifies, boosts and cheerleads where the others don’t, and really goes hard on Wisconsin’s reputation as a drinking and Packers state when there are stronger structural arguments in play. Copilot is tricky because it looks authoritative like a briefing, which also makes it easily “extractible” for the user, but every citation requires authentication unless this is one of those “good enough” tasks.
As a writer, something I find annoying across the whole spread is the semantic reveal. LLMs are semantic machines, and it is persistently revealed in ways that are weird to the human ear. All of them go out of their way to describe things as “structural,” “connective” as in “connective tissue,” “load-bearing” and “legible.”
Finally, I included a second tab where I asked Claude for analysis across the four outputs, where it suggests that my framing of the question is altogether kind of problematic. It shows how a strong prompt is sometimes also a bad approach.
There are a lot of possible takeaways here, but I’d rather set aside the question of which tool is “good” or “bad” or “better” and think more about the patterns across the tools and their implications.
One of the tricky things about consumer AI tools like Claude and Gemini is that the experience varies widely depending on the person using it, and it’s not always clear why. I have spent a lot of time learning the tools so I can advise on them in my work, and this variance of experience has become a frustrating part of the deal.
I manage a team of writers and creatives at work, and we are expected to be familiar with the tools, despite complex and sometimes hostile feelings about the political and environmental implications of this sector. That’s quite a pickle, organizationally, managerially. Borrowing from Haraway, I thought, okay, what if we take these tools seriously as a team of writers and creatives and put our professional standards up against them?
Among other exercises, I did a couple of comparisons on my team that help create discussion around the “plausibility” question. People dismiss LLM outputs as being merely plausible answers, rather than accurate or factual ones. And that’s correct; they are, and that’s the design. In many cases, plausibility is fine. Take Wikipedia, for example, which we understand to be a pretty good source, a plausible source, unless you’re writing a formal paper requiring original sources.
I digress. Ultimately, we needed to understand together that LLMs are not a WYSIWYG tool and talk through the implications.
I asked everyone to run the same paper through their LLM of choice, prompting it for a plain language summary. We then copied and pasted it into a shared doc, and compared and contrasted for discussion. Upon discussion, we had several takeaways, including that they were all similar in spirit but sometimes varying wildly in style and approach.
Knowing that algorithms are responsive and not static, we did it again later in the day and copied and pasted our outputs into the shared doc. We compared and contrasted the difference between AM and PM. Again, it was similar in spirit but varied in style and approach. Some changed dramatically. One team member whose morning summary had been jokey and conversational received a much more staid and serious version in the afternoon.
At the time, I asked Claude to explain the variance: “Even with the same prompt and source material, LLMs don’t produce identical outputs each time. This is by design — there’s a degree of randomness (called “temperature”) in how the model selects words, which means each run produces a slightly different path through the text.”
Anyway, this got our gears turning on how (and whether) to approach LLMs as a team and as individuals and led to good group discussion. (It’s important to create space for criticism and critical approaches here.) It also gave us more confidence as a team responding to this new layer of complexity in our work, and helping our professional contacts and peers think about how to approach the tools and when and whether to use them. There will be tasks where AI-based tools are “good enough,” and tasks where they are not.
The swirl of mystery and speculation around this sector has people up in arms, and it’s useful to have approaches that give people firsthand experience and to see how the experience works for others. The god trick of the singular interface turns out to be a bear for navigating it in the workplace, where our work is foundational, prosocial and specific.
A smart take on nonconsensual deepfakes, considering them not just as a social issue but as a cybersecurity issue, as they’re often connected to broader financial and social harassment campaigns.
You might call this a taste test: Obsessed with the story about the McDonald’s CEO and how his LinkedIn-style videos selling the McD’s franchise have escaped containment, leading to one of the funnier CEO/product marketing dynamics in recent history. Burger King’s CEO swooped in, holding widely-marketed listening sessions with customers and to demonstrate his love for the Whopper in contrast with the deeply weird McD’s videos. Must read: Internet long-hauler Katie Notopoulos on how direct-to-public marketing works when the public is more familiar with the product than the org’s leaders.
My teenager thinks fast food is cool and subversive (cue the sound of one hundred moms groaning) and she and her friends regularly talk shop. They are Taco Bell fans and think burger stops are kind of gauche. Not gauche: Baja Blast.
Apparently one thing LLMs excel at is deanonymization at scale. The original promise of pseudonymity online was social and normative, over and above any question of technical depth: decent people don’t try to unmask you, because why. What strikes me today is how what used to be unacceptably antisocial behavior online is now both automated and unremarkable.
Over the last couple of weeks, I asked a couple of chatbots what could be known about me from this pseudonymous site, where I am more intentional about what I choose to reveal and conceal. It pulled the obvious but also drew conclusions based on a few geographic points I’d made in context that were both revealing and correct. I also noticed that it only drew from the top two pages of information - anything beyond page two of posts wasn’t part of the compute. Archives are for humans?
People assume that there is some computer magic on the backend where the LLMs connect all your account logins behind the scenes, but no, in fact it does all this through inference, by linking your digital trail, your friends, your breadcrumbs of likes and hearts and follows, and obvs your posts, into a picture of who you are, practically and demographically.
The Guardian has a long-running series where readers answer one another’s questions, which gives a pretty good point-in-time survey of how people of a certain demographic are feeling on a given subject. This week’s question is on AI futures: “what would happen to the world if computer said yes?”
It’s an old idea, and one I’ve been drawing from while I tinker with Claude, which is purportedly the best in the game. The “god trick” is baked right into the AI interface: one input, one output, an authoritative-seeming answer, offered without named perspectives behind it, trained on text produced overwhelmingly by a narrow demographic who has historically had access to both literacy and publishing, by programmers and new media drawing from the same well. Smushed together, it gives the impression that consensus exists where there are in fact many, many loose ends.
I increasingly find it annoying that even “good” AI outputs seem fixed on phrases like “key,” “core,” “exist,” “actually,” “never,” and possibly the worst sentence structure of all time, “it’s not X, it’s Y” — and I’ve begun to recognize how LLMs work like autocorrect for phrases and ideas, drawing from ranked search sources first before fanning out to more obscure sources, trying to determine and assert what’s important to me, a user known by demographics and data. It feels like a big linguistics machine, which is pretty cool in some regards, but also aggressively semantic. The math doesn’t always work to connect me to what I want to find because I am situated in my individual context in ways LLMs are not able to understand, with my memory, in my body, with my unique experiences, which shape and translate meaning for me as I interact with the world (and the web).
And so for you, in your body and memory and experience. An LLM can approximate the outputs of an experience without having access to the experience itself. Sometimes this is useful, sometimes it’s reckless.
McKenzie Wark for Verso Books on Donna Haraway, in 2015: “Creating any kind of knowledge and power in and against something as pervasive and effective as the world built by postwar techno-science is a difficult task. It may seem easier simply to vacate the field, to try to turn back the clock, or appeal to something outside of it. But this would be to remain stuck in the stage of romantic refusal. Just as Marx fused the romantic fiction that another world was possible with a resolve to understand from the inside the powers of capital itself, so too Haraway begins what can only be a collaborative project for a new international. One not just of laboring men, but of all the stuttering cyborgs stuck in reified relations not of their making.”
I’ve been spending more time in tech spaces online and getting good information from folks like @manton, creator of Micro.blog. Like this reflection on how to think about AI now that vibe coding works. Something I’m thinking about: there’s an emerging tension between those who see value in being able to immediately prototype an idea and the people downstream who have to manage the outputs/code over time. The ability to proof every idea sounds like a superpower until you’re the one driving and maintaining the results.
Some additional discussion of LLM models, including open weight and “staggered openness,” where orgs “release previous versions of proprietary models once a successor is launched, providing limited insight into the architecture while restricting access to the most current innovations.”
“Open source,” “open weight,” and “proprietary” describe different relationships between LLM model producers and users, governing what you see, modify and control. Comparing them isn’t necessarily about “best,” but whether you’re optimizing for transparency, compliance or performance. Massive investment in proprietary models means the best-resourced research teams, the largest training runs, and the most sophisticated safety work tend to happen behind closed doors.
“Digital silence” is a new ethic emerging on the visual web, where travelers are no longer posting about their travels. Reading along, thinking of how I rarely post about family out of respect for their privacy, and recently took several road trips without a single post.
There is something about the AI moment that reminds me a lot of when the internet was new. A lot of what was imagined and promised about the internet was never realized. But much was.
I’ve been reading Ellen Ullman’s memoirs - “Life in Code” and “Close to the Machine” - and her observations about proximity to technology feel relevant here. Being close to the machine means understanding its actual capabilities and limitations apart from the prevailing sales narratives. It also means a kind of loneliness, because you are working in a space that others don’t yet see clearly or fully understand.
I suspect people thinking seriously about AI right now will experience something similar: a stretch of hostility and discomfort while the rest of the world catches up and the consumer market level-sets on the promises being made. In the interim, the hype will not match the reality, and the reality will sometimes exceed the hype in ways no one predicted. And for a while, how it works and why it matters won’t be legible to everyone at once.
The move from a structuralist account in which capital is understood to structure social relations in relatively homologous ways to a view of hegemony in which power relations are subject to repetition, convergence, and rearticulation brought the question of temporality into the thinking of structure, and marked a shift from a form of Althusserian theory that takes structural totalities as theoretical objects to one in which the insights into the contingent possibility of structure inaugurate a renewed conception of hegemony as bound up with the contingent sites and strategies of the rearticulation of power.
This was my era in college, and I remember feeling challenged and overwhelmed as an undergrad trying to read theory for the first time. So today, I asked Claude.ai to put it in plain language, just to see what would happen. Here’s the after:
Scholars used to think that capitalism shaped society in consistent, predictable patterns. But newer thinking focuses on how power works—how it repeats, overlaps, and gets reshaped over time. This brought time into the picture and moved away from older theories that treated social structures as fixed. Instead, recognizing that structures can change opened up a new way of understanding power: it's tied to specific moments and strategies, and it's always being renegotiated.
Tiktok is not much better or worse than other major social platforms, I say. The primary arguments against TikTok, including data collection, algorithmic manipulation, potential foreign government access, addiction and influence on public opinion, apply with equal or greater force to American platforms. Meta has faced billions in fines for allowing privacy violations, enabled documented election interference, and its algorithms have been linked to mental health harms and the amplification of extremist content globally, including perpetuating a genocide in Myanmar. Google and other domestic platforms vacuum up vastly more user data with fewer restrictions.
The distinguishing factor isn’t the behavior but the ownership: TikTok’s parent company ByteDance is subject to Chinese law and intelligence relationships, while Meta and Google are subject to U.S. law and intelligence relationships. That’s a legitimate policy distinction, but rarely articulated honestly. Instead, the debate has been framed around purportedly unacceptable harms that American tech companies perpetrate routinely, creating a kind of security theater that lets domestic platforms escape equivalent scrutiny while positioning a foreign competitor for a forced sale or ban.