Lately, I’ve noticed a trend—one born not from curiosity but from quiet superiority. A disdain for the em dash, of all things. In some circles, it’s become an indicator of “AI-generated writing,” a supposed sign that what you’re reading wasn’t created by a “real” human mind. As if a mark of punctuation could betray authenticity.
But the hatred isn’t about syntax—it’s about a mindset. It’s the subtle sneer of those who think linearly, who walk through thought the way a train moves on tracks: one idea, one destination, no detours. These are the writers who believe the only legitimate essay is one born in isolation, from a single voice, uninterrupted by technology or tangent.
And beneath that sneer? The assumption that their way of thinking is not only better—but more real.
Let me be clear: I don’t just tolerate AI. I want it. I co-write with it. I talk to it, reflect with it, riff with it. It doesn't replace my thinking—it expands it. And yes, sometimes the em dash appears. It appears because my thoughts leap—because my brain doesn’t always wait its turn to speak.
If my writing looks like it came from collaboration, it’s because it did.
To scorn the em dash is to scorn interruption, association, surprise. It’s to mistake coherence for truth. But my truth lives in jumps. I think in loops and side doors. I arrive at insight not by walking a straight line but by dancing through intersections—of thoughts, of feelings, of inputs, human and otherwise.
And sometimes—especially now—I need a co-thinker. Not because I’m broken. Because I’m building.
What we’re seeing isn’t just stylistic critique. It’s an old story. A story about whose minds get to be called “original.” A story about who’s allowed to have help, and who’s shamed for needing—or choosing—it.
So yes, I use AI. I use it like a brush, a partner, a spark. And if an em dash shows up along the way, so be it. That’s not a bug—it’s the rhythm of a mind in motion.
From now on, if I write a piece and don’t see at least one em dash, I’m adding three.
Not to prove anything.
But to leave a mark.
My mark.