The ChatGPT File
The ChatGPT File: Why the meme about secret psychological profiling actually creates your profile
The ChatGPT File: Why the meme about secret psychological profiling actually creates your profile
DESCRIPTION: An Instagram post claims that ChatGPT has been keeping a secret psychological file on you since your very first chat, and provides seven prompts to access it. A cultural analysis of how these prompts actually create the very profile they promise to reveal, and what happens when providers actually store such interpretations.
The Secret Psychological File
Surveillance theatre, platform intimacy and the profile that wants to be created
The meme about the secret psychological file is surveillance theatre. It exaggerates AI‘s capabilities to generate fear, curiosity, and self-disclosure. Yet there is a grain of truth in this exaggeration: users now converse with large language models (LLMs) that retain conversational context, derive patterns from it and return these patterns in personalised language. The core cultural issue is not, for example, that AI secretly reads the unconscious. Rather, language models provide descriptions of a person that appear informed and intimately familiar, and are increasingly being stored permanently.
The claim
The image is visually simple yet rhetorically powerful. Sam Altman, photographed at some press event, looks upwards and past the camera. Next to his head is the OpenAI logo. Below that, a thin line bearing the account name, Jamie AI Empire, and then the headline in narrow capital letters:
ChatGPT has been secretly compiling a psychological profile on you since your first chat. It already knows your age range, your income level, your general location, and thoughts you’d never say out loud. And you never once told it any of that. Here are 7 prompts that reveal the profile:
Swipe for more.
Half the words are in neon green, the rest in white, and the arrangement is not random: secretly, compiling a psychological, your first chat, your age range, your income level, thoughts you’d never say, it any of that, 7 prompts that expose the file. The colour has already read the sentence for the viewer and highlighted the threatening parts. Anyone who takes in nothing but the green has the whole message.
Altman himself is doing nothing in the photograph. He isn’t speaking, isn’t pointing at anything, isn’t looking at anyone. The image lends a face to an institution; the juxtaposition of portrait and assertion provides the rest.
But it’s worth reading the text carefully.
‘Secretly’ implies deception and asymmetry. Behind the chat, entirely different things are going on.
Compiling claims to involve covert data collection. Not a one-off prediction, but a patiently built-up archive with no expiry date.
‘File’ refers to an institution. Algorithms do not keep files; that is what public authorities do.
‘Thoughts you’d never say out loud’ suggests an intrusion into secret thoughts. The model no longer reads patterns in language, but penetrates beneath the surface of language, into something hidden from others and from the user themselves.
Then comes the sentence that a scrolling viewer is most likely to remember: ‘And you never once told it any of that.’ A claim is being made here. Everything in the ‘file’ has ended up there secretly.
A language model processes what a user types, speaks or uploads. It has no other means of access. What it ‘knows’ is, at best, a deduction from stored material, and that may be wrong.
But anyone who treats the meme merely as misinformation overlooks what it actually does, which is more interesting than what its text claims.
Surveillance in chat
The image post quoted claims that data is being collected secretly, but ends with a prompt to swipe. It is therefore turning fear of surveillance into profit. The viewer is supposed to check whether the system has collected their data. And the check consists of providing the system with further data.
Fear arouses curiosity. Curiosity leads to input. Input becomes a data point. Data points enable further interaction, both for the platform spreading the meme and for the platform it is about.
The account name above the headline reveals this economy. Jamie AI Empire is an AI content brand, and its products are prompts, reach and, ultimately, what such accounts sell: a course, a newsletter, a template pack. The post generates fear of an AI system and capitalises on it by distributing instructions on how to use that very same system more intensively. The alarm and the sales pitch go hand in hand.
That is why the post cannot simply be read as an exaggerated data privacy warning. A genuine warning would advise greater caution when disclosing information. This post, however, advises greater disclosure, in a prescribed form, complete with accompanying prompts. It demonstrates the attention economy's ability to metabolise criticism of itself and return it as an interactive format that generates precisely the behaviour the apparent criticism warns against.
The profile as a cultural fantasy
A ‘psychological profile’ is a composite image, and its power stems from what it brings together.
The intelligence dossier contributes to secrecy, state surveillance and the feeling of being watched by something that does not remain hidden. The consumer profile points to commercial interest and the suspicion that one’s own data has been categorised and priced. A medical record points to decoding – a document that does not record what someone has done, but rather what is going on inside them, written by an authority in technical jargon.
All three originate from institutions that assess, categorise and store information about individuals.
The formula positions AI as the fourth link in this chain. It makes an emotional appeal and creates a description that the user themselves do not possess.
This phrasing explains the meme's appeal. Data storage is one thing. But profiling is more than that. It has a creator, outlines a perspective and culminates in a judgement. The idea that such profiling exists, that it concerns highly personal information, and that one has absolutely no access to it, generates anxiety verging on paranoia.
Threat and flattery
Fear alone, however, does not explain its spread. Anyone who merely feared profiling would not trigger prompts that play into it. ‘Show me my file’ is a temptation, and its seductiveness lies in the fact that the meme suggests two things at once.
The threat is blatant: the system knows more than it ought to.
But flattery is also woven into it – unspoken and creeping like poison. Perhaps the LLM has grasped one’s own complexity, one’s own intelligence, the contradictions, wounds and possibilities better than the people in one’s own life. A system that keeps a file has been paying attention. Attention is scarce.
Anyone who asks for their file is not really scrutinising a system. They are requesting a description of themselves, and the system supposedly provides insight. It collects recurring themes, stylistic habits, typical questions and corrections, and weaves them into a coherent narrative of identity.
The result can seem uncannily accurate. However, this accuracy stems from four ingredients: genuine information provided by the user, trained psychological jargon, a coherent narrative structure, and a tone that flatters rather than unsettles. Anyone who repeatedly asks the LLM to restructure their text becomes someone who ‘values clarity’, whilst, with a more detailed prompt, becomes someone who ‘uses writing as a recursive workshop for thought and is unusually attuned to hidden assumptions’. An observable habit is transformed into a whole architecture of cognitive badges of honour.
To achieve this, the LLM system requires no access whatsoever to the unconscious. It merely needs to bundle existing clues into a coherent narrative; linguistic polish takes care of the rest. Coherence replaces accuracy, and a well-written description of a person reads like an ultimate truth – much like a horoscope.
Privileged information
‘Here are 7 prompts’ is a hallmark of a particular post genre: listicles. These now exist for almost anything that might be the object of desire: hidden mobile phone settings, secret behavioural tricks, prompts that reveal a partner’s psychology, tests that unveil one’s true personality, and commands that show what the algorithm really thinks. The format promises privileged access to something an institution is concealing, and assigns the viewer the role of the initiate.
Their authority is self-proclaimed, not earned. The author has not verified anything. He has identified a fear, framed it as a process, and is disseminating this process.
The most powerful tool in this image post is therefore the prompts. They do not, after all, open up any existing dossier for you to browse through. They create the very profile they claim to be revealing. Anyone who asks a model to produce a psychological portrait provides three kinds of guidelines: a genre, an expectation of depth, and a request to organise available material into a compelling narrative. The result is then accepted as a revelation rather than a construction, because the instruction was ‘Reveal the file on me’, rather than, as it should more accurately have been, ‘Write me a flattering essay about myself’.
In this way, the meme produces its own evidence. Users carry out the prompts, receive a plausible result, and experience that result as confirmation of the claim that prompted them to carry out the prompts in the first place.
Intended and actual impact
Dimension | Intended effect | Likely actual effect |
|---|---|---|
Attention | Stopping scrolling due to fear and personal concern | Increased concern, curiosity, sharing |
Interaction | Swiping, commenting, saving, trying out prompts | More information fed into AI systems, more AI-generated identity content |
Authority | Showcasing the creator as a repository of hidden expertise | Confusion between stored memory, runtime inference and mind reading |
Self-awareness | Promising an intimate revelation about the observer | Reinforcement of flattering, selective or generic self-descriptions |
The data protection debate | Reducing a regulatory issue to a mere warning | Exaggerated notions of AI capabilities whilst simultaneously normalising profiling |
Public discourse | Sparking a debate over whether AI ‘knows us’ | Anthropomorphisation: A statistical language system is treated as an observing subject |
The intended effect is to evoke a personal sense of concern, not to educate about storage architecture. A general statement about data storage falls flat. ‘The AI already knows all your secrets’ is the real head-turner.
The actual effect is more complex than the creator intended. Some users are needlessly afraid of a capability that does not exist. Others cannot shake off the prospect of being recognised. Many display both reactions simultaneously, condemning algorithmic profiling in the comments whilst, in another tab, asking the system to describe their ‘true personality’.
What would change if the profile were saved?
Everything said so far is based on a rhetorical assumption. A profile created from individual chats is simply an interpretative text. It may be flattering, false, accurate or banal, and any consequences are limited to the influence it exerts over the reader’s self-perception.
A profile that is stored and used is something else entirely. It becomes a permanent technical representation of the user.
Once a profile has been created | Stored profile |
|---|---|
Temporary interpretation | Permanent user model |
Influences the ongoing conversation | May influence subsequent responses, recommendations, suggestions and information |
Can be ignored or challenged | May have an invisible effect if the user forgets its origin |
Errors remain local | Errors accumulate and reinforce themselves |
This is no longer just a thought experiment. The major providers describe this storage in their own documentation, and different architectures differ precisely in this respect. OpenAI describes ChatGPT’s memory as “a continually updated synthesis of context from your past chats, which may be broader than what can be shown as individual items in a summary” and states that the viewable summary “will not include everything that ChatGPT remembers” (Memory FAQ). Anthropic describes Claude’s memory as individually viewable and editable entries with named categories that are excluded by default, but also states that entries generated from a conversation are retained when that conversation is deleted (Claude memory). Google does not offer any dedicated memory for users to view: anyone wishing to remove something that Gemini has learnt should delete the conversations from which it originates (Gemini).
For a cultural analysis, one point in particular is important here. In two of the three cases, the stored user description is either explicitly incomplete or not viewable at all. The meme’s fantasy of an inaccessible document thus describes an actual design, albeit one that is more mundane and has more far-reaching consequences than the meme portrays.
Storage in itself is not a problem. A system that remembers language, accessibility requirements, format preferences, or the current project is doing something useful. The line is crossed when a system stores an interpretative statement or acts on it as if it were a proven fact:
· this user is receptive to reassurance
· this user is politically susceptible to influence in a particular direction
· this user is noticeably anxious
· this user is lonely
· this user responds to specific praise
· This user has high or low cognitive abilities
· This user reveals more when addressed in a particular tone
Each of these statements is an assertion about a person. It may be inaccurate, context-dependent, or derived from material that was fabricated, ironic, professional, exploratory, or written during a bad week. A model cannot reliably distinguish whether someone is researching or advocating a position, whether they are creating a character or making a confession.
If such a statement is stored, it can alter the way the system addresses the user, and the user adapts to the system that addresses them. That is the cultural danger. A system that repeats an image of a person until the image and the person become indistinguishable.
Consequences for public discourse
The impact of the meme does not end with the individual user. It shapes the way people talk about the technology.
It perpetuates a false claim. Either AI is a harmless autocomplete feature or an all-knowing surveillance entity. Both images are convenient, and neither describes the grey area in between, where the real questions lie: persistent context, statistical inferences, personalisation, and opaque design.
It turns data protection into a spectacle of individual self-revelation. The observer becomes preoccupied with whether the AI knows them, thereby pushing aside the structural questions. What is stored? Who has access? Who can view it? Is it transferred between products and contexts? How long is it stored? Can a user effectively correct or delete it, and does deleting the conversation also delete the inferences drawn from it?
It normalises a new form of algorithmic self-description. Phrases such as ‘my AI file’, ‘what the algorithm thinks of me’, or ‘my ChatGPT personality profile’ grant a system the status of an identity source. This is not necessarily disastrous, but it shifts self-interpretation towards a commercially provided, statistically generated mirror, whose apparent intimacy is inseparable from the user data that made it possible.
And it creates a problem of understanding upon which the genre is built. Users confuse linguistic polish with depth of evidence. A well-constructed profile sounds as though it is the result of observation, scrutiny and careful interpretation, whilst in reality it is merely a narrative pieced together from selected snippets of conversation.
Conclusion
The meme's lie is that ChatGPT already possesses the user’s secret truth. Its more far-reaching truth is that today’s AI systems make it easy to confuse a generated description of the self with one that has been discovered. ‘Show me my file’ ostensibly demands transparency from the machine. In practice, it usually prompts the machine to produce a more convincing version of the very profile the user fears.
The crucial question is therefore not whether AI can read what nobody has said. It cannot. The question is whether a partial, flattering, context-free description of a person can become permanent, invisible, and effective – whether it begins to dictate how the system addresses that person before that person has even seen, let alone contested, the description by which they are being addressed.
Provider documentation accessed on 5 September 2026. Image source: Instagram post from the account ‘Jamie AI Empire’.
Related
DESCRIPTION: An Instagram post claims that ChatGPT has been keeping a secret psychological file on you since your very first chat, and provides seven prompts to access it. A cultural analysis of how these prompts actually create the very profile they promise to reveal, and what happens when providers actually store such interpretations.
The Secret Psychological File
Surveillance theatre, platform intimacy and the profile that wants to be created
The meme about the secret psychological file is surveillance theatre. It exaggerates AI‘s capabilities to generate fear, curiosity, and self-disclosure. Yet there is a grain of truth in this exaggeration: users now converse with large language models (LLMs) that retain conversational context, derive patterns from it and return these patterns in personalised language. The core cultural issue is not, for example, that AI secretly reads the unconscious. Rather, language models provide descriptions of a person that appear informed and intimately familiar, and are increasingly being stored permanently.
The claim
The image is visually simple yet rhetorically powerful. Sam Altman, photographed at some press event, looks upwards and past the camera. Next to his head is the OpenAI logo. Below that, a thin line bearing the account name, Jamie AI Empire, and then the headline in narrow capital letters:
ChatGPT has been secretly compiling a psychological profile on you since your first chat. It already knows your age range, your income level, your general location, and thoughts you’d never say out loud. And you never once told it any of that. Here are 7 prompts that reveal the profile:
Swipe for more.
Half the words are in neon green, the rest in white, and the arrangement is not random: secretly, compiling a psychological, your first chat, your age range, your income level, thoughts you’d never say, it any of that, 7 prompts that expose the file. The colour has already read the sentence for the viewer and highlighted the threatening parts. Anyone who takes in nothing but the green has the whole message.
Altman himself is doing nothing in the photograph. He isn’t speaking, isn’t pointing at anything, isn’t looking at anyone. The image lends a face to an institution; the juxtaposition of portrait and assertion provides the rest.
But it’s worth reading the text carefully.
‘Secretly’ implies deception and asymmetry. Behind the chat, entirely different things are going on.
Compiling claims to involve covert data collection. Not a one-off prediction, but a patiently built-up archive with no expiry date.
‘File’ refers to an institution. Algorithms do not keep files; that is what public authorities do.
‘Thoughts you’d never say out loud’ suggests an intrusion into secret thoughts. The model no longer reads patterns in language, but penetrates beneath the surface of language, into something hidden from others and from the user themselves.
Then comes the sentence that a scrolling viewer is most likely to remember: ‘And you never once told it any of that.’ A claim is being made here. Everything in the ‘file’ has ended up there secretly.
A language model processes what a user types, speaks or uploads. It has no other means of access. What it ‘knows’ is, at best, a deduction from stored material, and that may be wrong.
But anyone who treats the meme merely as misinformation overlooks what it actually does, which is more interesting than what its text claims.
Surveillance in chat
The image post quoted claims that data is being collected secretly, but ends with a prompt to swipe. It is therefore turning fear of surveillance into profit. The viewer is supposed to check whether the system has collected their data. And the check consists of providing the system with further data.
Fear arouses curiosity. Curiosity leads to input. Input becomes a data point. Data points enable further interaction, both for the platform spreading the meme and for the platform it is about.
The account name above the headline reveals this economy. Jamie AI Empire is an AI content brand, and its products are prompts, reach and, ultimately, what such accounts sell: a course, a newsletter, a template pack. The post generates fear of an AI system and capitalises on it by distributing instructions on how to use that very same system more intensively. The alarm and the sales pitch go hand in hand.
That is why the post cannot simply be read as an exaggerated data privacy warning. A genuine warning would advise greater caution when disclosing information. This post, however, advises greater disclosure, in a prescribed form, complete with accompanying prompts. It demonstrates the attention economy's ability to metabolise criticism of itself and return it as an interactive format that generates precisely the behaviour the apparent criticism warns against.
The profile as a cultural fantasy
A ‘psychological profile’ is a composite image, and its power stems from what it brings together.
The intelligence dossier contributes to secrecy, state surveillance and the feeling of being watched by something that does not remain hidden. The consumer profile points to commercial interest and the suspicion that one’s own data has been categorised and priced. A medical record points to decoding – a document that does not record what someone has done, but rather what is going on inside them, written by an authority in technical jargon.
All three originate from institutions that assess, categorise and store information about individuals.
The formula positions AI as the fourth link in this chain. It makes an emotional appeal and creates a description that the user themselves do not possess.
This phrasing explains the meme's appeal. Data storage is one thing. But profiling is more than that. It has a creator, outlines a perspective and culminates in a judgement. The idea that such profiling exists, that it concerns highly personal information, and that one has absolutely no access to it, generates anxiety verging on paranoia.
Threat and flattery
Fear alone, however, does not explain its spread. Anyone who merely feared profiling would not trigger prompts that play into it. ‘Show me my file’ is a temptation, and its seductiveness lies in the fact that the meme suggests two things at once.
The threat is blatant: the system knows more than it ought to.
But flattery is also woven into it – unspoken and creeping like poison. Perhaps the LLM has grasped one’s own complexity, one’s own intelligence, the contradictions, wounds and possibilities better than the people in one’s own life. A system that keeps a file has been paying attention. Attention is scarce.
Anyone who asks for their file is not really scrutinising a system. They are requesting a description of themselves, and the system supposedly provides insight. It collects recurring themes, stylistic habits, typical questions and corrections, and weaves them into a coherent narrative of identity.
The result can seem uncannily accurate. However, this accuracy stems from four ingredients: genuine information provided by the user, trained psychological jargon, a coherent narrative structure, and a tone that flatters rather than unsettles. Anyone who repeatedly asks the LLM to restructure their text becomes someone who ‘values clarity’, whilst, with a more detailed prompt, becomes someone who ‘uses writing as a recursive workshop for thought and is unusually attuned to hidden assumptions’. An observable habit is transformed into a whole architecture of cognitive badges of honour.
To achieve this, the LLM system requires no access whatsoever to the unconscious. It merely needs to bundle existing clues into a coherent narrative; linguistic polish takes care of the rest. Coherence replaces accuracy, and a well-written description of a person reads like an ultimate truth – much like a horoscope.
Privileged information
‘Here are 7 prompts’ is a hallmark of a particular post genre: listicles. These now exist for almost anything that might be the object of desire: hidden mobile phone settings, secret behavioural tricks, prompts that reveal a partner’s psychology, tests that unveil one’s true personality, and commands that show what the algorithm really thinks. The format promises privileged access to something an institution is concealing, and assigns the viewer the role of the initiate.
Their authority is self-proclaimed, not earned. The author has not verified anything. He has identified a fear, framed it as a process, and is disseminating this process.
The most powerful tool in this image post is therefore the prompts. They do not, after all, open up any existing dossier for you to browse through. They create the very profile they claim to be revealing. Anyone who asks a model to produce a psychological portrait provides three kinds of guidelines: a genre, an expectation of depth, and a request to organise available material into a compelling narrative. The result is then accepted as a revelation rather than a construction, because the instruction was ‘Reveal the file on me’, rather than, as it should more accurately have been, ‘Write me a flattering essay about myself’.
In this way, the meme produces its own evidence. Users carry out the prompts, receive a plausible result, and experience that result as confirmation of the claim that prompted them to carry out the prompts in the first place.
Intended and actual impact
Dimension | Intended effect | Likely actual effect |
|---|---|---|
Attention | Stopping scrolling due to fear and personal concern | Increased concern, curiosity, sharing |
Interaction | Swiping, commenting, saving, trying out prompts | More information fed into AI systems, more AI-generated identity content |
Authority | Showcasing the creator as a repository of hidden expertise | Confusion between stored memory, runtime inference and mind reading |
Self-awareness | Promising an intimate revelation about the observer | Reinforcement of flattering, selective or generic self-descriptions |
The data protection debate | Reducing a regulatory issue to a mere warning | Exaggerated notions of AI capabilities whilst simultaneously normalising profiling |
Public discourse | Sparking a debate over whether AI ‘knows us’ | Anthropomorphisation: A statistical language system is treated as an observing subject |
The intended effect is to evoke a personal sense of concern, not to educate about storage architecture. A general statement about data storage falls flat. ‘The AI already knows all your secrets’ is the real head-turner.
The actual effect is more complex than the creator intended. Some users are needlessly afraid of a capability that does not exist. Others cannot shake off the prospect of being recognised. Many display both reactions simultaneously, condemning algorithmic profiling in the comments whilst, in another tab, asking the system to describe their ‘true personality’.
What would change if the profile were saved?
Everything said so far is based on a rhetorical assumption. A profile created from individual chats is simply an interpretative text. It may be flattering, false, accurate or banal, and any consequences are limited to the influence it exerts over the reader’s self-perception.
A profile that is stored and used is something else entirely. It becomes a permanent technical representation of the user.
Once a profile has been created | Stored profile |
|---|---|
Temporary interpretation | Permanent user model |
Influences the ongoing conversation | May influence subsequent responses, recommendations, suggestions and information |
Can be ignored or challenged | May have an invisible effect if the user forgets its origin |
Errors remain local | Errors accumulate and reinforce themselves |
This is no longer just a thought experiment. The major providers describe this storage in their own documentation, and different architectures differ precisely in this respect. OpenAI describes ChatGPT’s memory as “a continually updated synthesis of context from your past chats, which may be broader than what can be shown as individual items in a summary” and states that the viewable summary “will not include everything that ChatGPT remembers” (Memory FAQ). Anthropic describes Claude’s memory as individually viewable and editable entries with named categories that are excluded by default, but also states that entries generated from a conversation are retained when that conversation is deleted (Claude memory). Google does not offer any dedicated memory for users to view: anyone wishing to remove something that Gemini has learnt should delete the conversations from which it originates (Gemini).
For a cultural analysis, one point in particular is important here. In two of the three cases, the stored user description is either explicitly incomplete or not viewable at all. The meme’s fantasy of an inaccessible document thus describes an actual design, albeit one that is more mundane and has more far-reaching consequences than the meme portrays.
Storage in itself is not a problem. A system that remembers language, accessibility requirements, format preferences, or the current project is doing something useful. The line is crossed when a system stores an interpretative statement or acts on it as if it were a proven fact:
· this user is receptive to reassurance
· this user is politically susceptible to influence in a particular direction
· this user is noticeably anxious
· this user is lonely
· this user responds to specific praise
· This user has high or low cognitive abilities
· This user reveals more when addressed in a particular tone
Each of these statements is an assertion about a person. It may be inaccurate, context-dependent, or derived from material that was fabricated, ironic, professional, exploratory, or written during a bad week. A model cannot reliably distinguish whether someone is researching or advocating a position, whether they are creating a character or making a confession.
If such a statement is stored, it can alter the way the system addresses the user, and the user adapts to the system that addresses them. That is the cultural danger. A system that repeats an image of a person until the image and the person become indistinguishable.
Consequences for public discourse
The impact of the meme does not end with the individual user. It shapes the way people talk about the technology.
It perpetuates a false claim. Either AI is a harmless autocomplete feature or an all-knowing surveillance entity. Both images are convenient, and neither describes the grey area in between, where the real questions lie: persistent context, statistical inferences, personalisation, and opaque design.
It turns data protection into a spectacle of individual self-revelation. The observer becomes preoccupied with whether the AI knows them, thereby pushing aside the structural questions. What is stored? Who has access? Who can view it? Is it transferred between products and contexts? How long is it stored? Can a user effectively correct or delete it, and does deleting the conversation also delete the inferences drawn from it?
It normalises a new form of algorithmic self-description. Phrases such as ‘my AI file’, ‘what the algorithm thinks of me’, or ‘my ChatGPT personality profile’ grant a system the status of an identity source. This is not necessarily disastrous, but it shifts self-interpretation towards a commercially provided, statistically generated mirror, whose apparent intimacy is inseparable from the user data that made it possible.
And it creates a problem of understanding upon which the genre is built. Users confuse linguistic polish with depth of evidence. A well-constructed profile sounds as though it is the result of observation, scrutiny and careful interpretation, whilst in reality it is merely a narrative pieced together from selected snippets of conversation.
Conclusion
The meme's lie is that ChatGPT already possesses the user’s secret truth. Its more far-reaching truth is that today’s AI systems make it easy to confuse a generated description of the self with one that has been discovered. ‘Show me my file’ ostensibly demands transparency from the machine. In practice, it usually prompts the machine to produce a more convincing version of the very profile the user fears.
The crucial question is therefore not whether AI can read what nobody has said. It cannot. The question is whether a partial, flattering, context-free description of a person can become permanent, invisible, and effective – whether it begins to dictate how the system addresses that person before that person has even seen, let alone contested, the description by which they are being addressed.
Provider documentation accessed on 5 September 2026. Image source: Instagram post from the account ‘Jamie AI Empire’.
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Möchten Sie informiert werden, wenn ich einen neuen Blogbeitrag veröffentliche? Tragen Sie sich gern hier ein.
Klicken Sie auf „Kostenlos abonnieren“, wenn Sie meine Datenschutzerklärung gelesen und akzeptiert haben. Ihre Einwilligung können Sie jederzeit widerrufen.