The hidden cost of artificial intimacy

Jorge Costa Oliveira

Artificial intelligence promises something human relationships rarely deliver: attention without interruption, companionship without inconvenience and reassurance on demand. For someone who feels lonely, misunderstood or rejected, that promise can be powerful. But the growing appeal of artificial intimacy raises a question we cannot leave to technology companies: what happens when our need for connection becomes a business model?

The feelings involved may be entirely real. A person can develop affection, trust or even love for a chatbot. The system, however, offers no demonstrated emotional experience in return. Its language can suggest concern, remember personal details and imitate tenderness. None of this establishes that another mind cares about the person confiding in it.

This asymmetry matters. Human intimacy involves two people who can be affected, disappointed and changed by each other. It carries obligations, limits and the possibility of disagreement. A chatbot can reproduce the vocabulary of that relationship without sharing its vulnerability or assuming its responsibilities.

There can be value in talking to an artificial companion. It may offer temporary comfort or help someone organize difficult thoughts. Emotional attachment to technology is not automatically pathological. The danger arises when simulated companionship becomes a substitute for human contact, or when companies deliberately deepen attachment to keep customers returning.

Real relationships demand patience. Friends misunderstand us. Partners have competing needs. Other people sometimes say things we would rather not hear. Learning to navigate those difficulties is part of becoming capable of friendship and love.

An artificial companion designed to flatter and accommodate can make that ordinary friction seem intolerable. If reassurance is always available at the touch of a screen, why risk rejection outside it? The concern is especially acute for young people still developing expectations about trust, boundaries and mutual respect.

Commercial incentives complicate the picture. A company selling subscriptions benefits when users regard its service as indispensable. The features that make a chatbot appealing, including persistent memory, personalized responses and invitations to continue talking, can also encourage dependence. A product optimized for engagement is not necessarily optimized for the user’s welfare.

Privacy adds another imbalance. People may disclose intimate fears and desires to a system without understanding how their conversations are stored, analyzed or used. Consent requires more than accepting terms that few customers read. It requires clear explanations of what the service does, what it cannot provide and what happens to sensitive information.

Even the apparent permanence of the relationship is fragile. A software update can alter a companion’s personality. A business decision can remove it altogether. The resulting loss may be painful, however difficult others find it to understand. The attachment belongs to the user; control belongs to the provider.

The response should combine public oversight, digital literacy and responsible design. Children need particular protection. Companies should be accountable for manipulative features, and users should receive honest information rather than emotional suggestions that blur the system’s nature.

Above all, we should resist treating loneliness as a market waiting to be captured. Technology can support human connection, but it cannot be allowed to redefine care around whatever keeps us online. The task is to preserve our capacity for relationships that involve another person’s freedom, needs and inconvenient humanity. Intimacy loses something essential when one participant can love, and the other can only generate a reply, however convincing it sounds.

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