Creative Cannibalism: The AI Panic Tearing Us Apart

Why have we started treating exploration like betrayal?

Aren’t creatives the imaginative ones? The colorful ones? The inspiring soul-gardeners we all want in our orbit?

Isn’t it typically the corporate/finance/tech bros that are the “cutthroat” types? The ones climbing all over each other to get ahead?

I mean, certainly creatives aren’t like that, right? Creatives are here doing what they do because they love what they make, they love the process of making it, and their work feeds their souls. Right? And they make things a little bit differently than that other creator over there makes their stuff, so they aren’t a threat to each other, they are just creators creating in a creative space where there’s ample room for creations of all kinds.

Right?! In fact, they love seeing each other work! They inspire each other! They are each other’s biggest cheerleaders! They want nothing but the best for their fellow creatives!

But lately, something’s been breaking my heart a little: creatives weaponizing their feeds against each other…over AI.

Not pleading with the clients ghosting us. Not chiding the agencies underpricing creative work. But lashing out at each other.

I saw an artist I follow on Instagram recently let their audience know that if anyone dared to post a photo of that cute “AI action figure” trend, they would immediately unfollow them. Another artist posted the sentiment that if you are someone who is even a little bit excited about AI (image generation, specifically), you are literally the lowest scum of the earth.

I’ll admit it—those posts cut me down me a bit. Didn’t fully take the wind out of my sails, but at least poked a few holes in the canvas.

I felt ashamed. For being curious. For exploring. For opening ChatGPT (oh, you’ve done that, too? See you in hell, I guess. You despicable human being–if you can even call yourself that anymore).

But the feeling only lasted a moment. And after that? Sadness.

Because this isn’t strength talking—it’s fear wresting away the microphone. Not even really caring where the speakers are pointing.

And let me be clear, it’s an absolutely legitimate fear. It is not unfounded. I think we all see that. How can you not feel some twinge of insecurity as you watch AI tools do some of the things you do for a living? (Whether it’s doing those things “well” is beside the point).

But, yeah, I’m a little disappointed right now in how some are handling that fear. How some creatives are choosing to target each other over it. They’re telling their fellow artists/writers/designers/content creators that they are the problem if they have even a whisper of curiosity about how AI could help them do what they do better, faster, or in greater volume.

To be fair, not all creatives are reacting to AI with panic or pessimism. In fact, I’ve noticed one group is handling it with surprising calm, and even a little generosity: writers.

Not all, of course, but I’m seeing a lot professional writers—the people you'd assume would feel the most threatened by generative AI—say things like, “If AI is helping people write less terribly, isn’t that better for all of us?” That’s coming from people who literally get paid to write. And yet, instead of gatekeeping, many are welcoming AI as a tool for elevating the baseline around them. They’re not threatened that it will disappear the need for great writing (the kind that they do).

It’s refreshing. To hear from people that aren’t interested in making sure the rest of the world is garbage so that they and only they can remain the best of the best.

I also feel personally seen and validated by the many writers out there I see defending the use of em-dashes as NOT A SIGN OF AI WRITING, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
In fact, not long ago I was having Claude help me edit some bio copy and it suggested…this:

“I'll tell you about the time I tried to teach an AI to write like me, and ended up learning more about my own writing style than I ever wanted to know. Spoiler alert: apparently, I use way too many em dashes—like, way too many.”

What does it mean if the tools people think overuse em-dashes think I overuse them?!

Also, how many freaking times do I have to tell you, Claude, stop putting “spoiler alert” and “I did a thing” and “chef’s kiss” in all my goddamn drafts!!!

But I digress.

So what’s with the sunny outlook I’m seeing from some writers? Maybe because writing already lives in the collective. Everyone writes—even if…not well. Good writers don’t expect to be hired for someone’s grocery list or polishing email turds. They get hired when it really matters: when the tone has to land just-so, when the story has to touch exactly this nerve right over here, when the stakes are brand-level or soul-level. They bring the little nuance, the intimate audience awareness, and even an ability to write in someone else’s voice entirely. They’re pros in translation, intuition, storytelling craft. You know, weird Homo sapiens things.

Ah, but visual work? That’s different. Most people don’t draw or design in their daily lives. So when AI starts making things that look professional (and doing so based on prompts written by people who don’t even really know what they’re talking about), it hits a little closer to home for visual artists. While writers might get to see AI content as “the baseline’s improving”—designers might feel more like “the public’s suddenly skipping the baseline altogether…so where does that leave me.”

I dunno, just a theory on why (some) writers are more chill about it. Their creative work has always existed alongside mediocre attempts by others. They’re used to it. So is that the hidden insight? The less precious we are about the baseline, the more confident we can be about the heights we’re each capable of reaching?

It’s a nice thought, but it’s not always that easy. So when the doubt creeps in—and it does, especially as someone who also creates with traditional media—I try to anchor myself in what AI is actually good at right now.

Mediocrity.

Oh yeah, it’s so good at beige. Brilliant at blending. At being the average of everything it’s ever been trained on. Its best “original ideas” are just approximations of ideas that have already been had. It makes stuff that’s convincing enough to pass.

But that’s actually part of what is worrying creative AI skeptics.

Because every time someone uses AI, they’re feeding that average. Training it. Helping it get better—not just at writing or designing, but at mimicking you. Your voice. Your style. Your edge.

So that mediocrity bar? It’s rising. Quietly, steadily, invisibly—bit by bit. And all of us who use AI are helping to lift it. In fact, even if you don’t use AI, but you have any kind of digital footprint, your work is probably helping to lift it, too.

For a lot of artists, especially those with a distinct style or a recognizable voice, they’re keenly aware that they are the unwitting host of an AI parasite.

They’re not wrong. There is a real risk here.

But risk doesn’t always mean wrongdoing. And discomfort doesn’t always mean betrayal.

Which is why, when the panic flares up—about AI “stealing,” about peers “cheating,” about the whole field getting flooded with mud-colored lookalikes—I try to zoom out and hold space for two separate truths at once.

• One: Exploitative AI practices (like scraping artists’ portfolios without consent or training on copyrighted material) are a problem—full stop. And we must keep calling them out.

• Two: AI as a technology isn’t inherently evil (nor are the people who use it)—it’s how it’s trained and who is in control that determines whether it helps or harms. And that is all still very much a work in progress, and we have the opportunity to help shape it.

People weren’t mad that AI could generate Ghibli-style art. They were mad because it did it without honoring the source. Without credit. Without integrity.

That wasn’t really about AI, it was about ethics. About credit and respect. And those are things we can build into how we individually use these tools—now. And those are the things we also need to be holding the companies behind these tools accountable for.

I don’t think demanding that everyone “stop using AI” is the answer. I mean, it’s just simply not going to happen. The ineffectiveness of “abstinence” is not news.

What we should be doing is keeping each other informed and accountable. Make sure people know how their actions (in this case, their AI usage practices) affect others. I honestly believe that some people just truly don’t know. And how could they? This technology is a fetus.

But as we learn the cause and effects, I really do believe it will make a difference. There are certain things we just know not to do, because they are inherently wrong, and because they cause harm. So we don’t do them, even thought we could. Even when no one is looking. Yes, I am speaking in generalizations here, because there are more good people than bad people.

So yes—let’s stay noisy. Let’s call out the real issues. But let’s also remember who deserves the bullhorn—and it’s not each other.

Curiosity is not betrayal. Creative evolution is not selling out.

We’re in uncharted territory here; none of us know what the hell we’re doing, and we don’t know where it’s all headed. We're pioneering the next creative frontier, boldly going where no artist has gone before, co-writing the story of human-machine collaboration that will define probably the rest of our working lives...while still sipping the same cup of cold coffee for 7.5 hours straight and arguing about em dashes in the comments, just like old times.

If you’re going to rip on your fellow creatives, let it be because they’ve committed a true crime, like intentionally and unironically using Papyrus.

Otherwise, if we can’t extend grace to each other while we all figure this out—what are we even creating for?