It was Friday evening, and I’d just met up with d after drinks with a coworker whom I’d had the pleasure of getting to know better. While working in the same department, our task assignments barely overlap, but ever since discovering we were in the same age group, it’d felt long overdue for a catch-up. I was impressed by her integration of AI to track complex project timelines, all by specifying needs through text and a simple database design.
Did you know Q has a token limit?
I had no clue there was even a cap, assuming we—operations, non-engineer mortals—were placed on some cheap subscription model that had no bearing on the precious resources allocated to the engineers¹.
After Dinner
d and I decided to take an evening stroll through the newly opened mall, since it connected directly to the next subway entrance.
Malls are such sterile places.
I understood what he meant, recalling how often we used to take night walks in the early days of our relationship. We’d walk from one square park to another long green strip, cross a bridge, and eventually arrive on the other side two hours later with only the moonlight left to guide us.
On those walks, there was no destination or time limit. We’d follow the pedestrian path, the rustle of the trees, and wherever the conversation led us, until we stumbled upon a food stand that opened into the late wee hours. Even when we needed to burn off some steam, the silence never felt deafening: the faint hum of the city and nature seamlessly filled the gaps.
In the Mall
Heading up the escalator, the contrast was stark. We were swept into a room of waxed, wavy tiles, glaring ceiling lights, glossy store fixtures, and boarded-up walls announcing incoming installations. Tired of the lackluster storefronts, we made our way straight to the top floor, advertised as the garden.
The atrium was decked out with steel plant holders that showcased the entire IKEA collection of artificial blooms and greenery. Hanging from fake glass ceilings, meant to mimic a greenhouse, were massive baskets of lush-looking ivy, succulents, and pothos in a uniform shade of forest green. Lower-hanging philodendrons had rosy pink bouquets tucked into them, as if they would ever thrive in the same pot.
d and I pretended to be in a park in , sitting on a steel bench and people-watching those taking IG photos behind a prolific floral bush, quietly debating the purpose of the superficial decor.
We’ve entered the virtual world, haven’t we?
Nothing was real, not even the animation in the projected fountain. The pond of koi fish was AI-generated, and I was tempted to step on the raised ground before d stopped me.
Aren’t these normally interactive, like the ones in those scammy light art museums?
We were fully convinced that living in an AI reality was truly bleak when we reached the food court.
Back Below Ground Floor
Notice the menus that used the first version of AI? The texture of the filling repeats itself, like a poorly done blemish brush.
d carefully traced the outlines that were telltale signs of fakes. Easily identifiable AI-generated menus often had the exact same background across every dish. For example, a warmly lit home window with a plaid tablecloth duplicated in each grid, where the shadows on the food were completely unaffected by the background lighting. Other times, it was the overly glistening grease or the disproportionate ingredients on the plate. With AI photos so deceiving to the naked eye, it’s ironically the uncanny perfection that reeks of inauthenticity.
Shouldn’t vendors have photos of the actual dish they’re selling, instead of using AI to regenerate entirely new ones?
AI in food imagery should only be used for text overlays or simple retouching. Coming from someone who once aspired to be a food photographer, I questioned how much of the craft is even needed in a commercial sense now.
Purebread too? I’m disappointed.
d pointed at a standing poster displaying a suspiciously flawless sourdough sandwich.
Footnotes
- Soon, we’ll all be surviving on a food-stamp economy, given just enough tokens to perform, where wanting anything more is viewed as an indicator of inefficiency or incompetence in the company.