How to Sound Human Again: Reclaim Your Voice in a ChatGPT World

The future of writing isn't about which tools you use, but whether you've left any fingerprints on the words.

I was halfway through an episode of David Perell's "How I Write" podcast—the one where he outlines his "Ultimate Guide to Writing with AI"—when I had to pause. Something was clicking into place. Perell described his process of using AI to expand his thinking while preserving his distinct perspective. It sounded eerily similar to what I'd been cobbling together in my own work, this intricate dance between human insight and machine assistance.

Later, I listened to Perell interview Tyler Cowen on the same podcast about practical applications of AI in writing. Between these two thinkers—both of whom I deeply respect—I found validation for what had been nagging at me: the line between using AI and being used by it is razor-thin, and most of us are crossing it without noticing.

The next day, I got an email from a company I wanted to work with. It was perfect in every way—impeccably formatted, grammatically flawless, and thoroughly researched. It was also dead on arrival.

You know the feeling. The words arrange themselves into sentences that make logical sense, yet something crucial is missing. The stakes. The specificity. The subtle friction of a human mind working through a problem. In short, the soul.

This is our reality now. We swim in an ocean of content written by no one.

In blind tests, people could only guess AI-written text correctly about 53% of the time—essentially no better than chance. The machines have gotten good at mimicry. But they haven't gotten good at meaning.

As Perell puts it, "We are on the precipice of a new paradigm of writing." This isn't something to be terrified about. But it is something we need to navigate with intention rather than drift through unconsciously.

Why Most AI Content Sounds Dead

AI writes like it has nothing to lose. Because it doesn't.

Human writing carries the weight of reputation, the fear of being wrong, the joy of being right, and the scars of past failures. These invisible currents shape every sentence we construct. AI mimics the patterns but misses the pressure points—those moments where you can feel the writer leaning in, dropping their voice, or clearing their throat.

The problem isn't grammatical correctness. If anything, AI is too grammatically correct, too metrically balanced, too safe. That’s because AI is trained to be in the middle of the distribution.

Look closer and you'll spot the tells: repetitive sentence structures, excessive hedging ("it might be the case that..."), and an over-reliance on formal transitions. Perhaps most damning is the jargon overload. AI, trained on countless corporate whitepapers and marketing blogs, readily regurgitates buzzword bingo: "Our innovative paradigm shift will leverage synergies to drive impactful outcomes." Technically fluent, emotionally vacant.

The Risk of Outsourcing Your Voice

Here’s my take: when you outsource your voice, you outsource your thinking.

Voice isn't decorative; it's structural. It's not the paint on the building; it's the foundation. Your voice reflects how you organize reality, what you notice first, what you skip entirely, and how you weigh competing values.

This matters even more for agencies and consultancies. Your clients don't hire you for your ability to sound like everyone else. They hire you for your particular, irreplaceable way of seeing their problems.

Marketing executives warn that AI produces exactly what effective branding fights against: homogenization. As Jen Iliff, a marketing CEO, noted, this runs contrary to the core of branding, which demands differentiation and authenticity. In the B2B world especially, where many companies already speak in similar industry jargon, a homogenized voice causes you to blend into the wallpaper.

What happens when voice gets diluted? Internally, marketers feel they've "lost their individual voice," and externally the brand's voice itself gets compromised. This isn't just some fluffy concern—it translates to poorer results. People can sense when content is just filler. They might not always know it's AI-generated, but they know when it's boring.

The greatest business risk of 2025 isn't being replaced by AI—it's voluntarily surrendering the very thing AI cannot replicate: your unique point of view.

How to Find and Protect Your Voice

Finding your voice isn't mystical. It's mechanical. It requires honest answers to simple questions:

1. What do you actually believe that others in your industry don't?

2. Which client questions make you sit up straighter?

3. What makes you angry about how others approach your craft?

4. Where do you naturally use metaphors or examples that others don't?

The answers form the substrate of your voice. But protecting it requires discipline:

• Write your first drafts by hand occasionally

• Read your work aloud before publishing

• Reject first-round content that could have been written by anyone

• Deliberately include the details only you would notice

Ann Handley, a leading marketing author, puts it plainly: "Especially today, when everyone with a social media account is a defacto marketer, and AI writing tools are improving at rapid speed, the ability to communicate with your own unique, unaffected voice is the key skill that makes great writers stand out." In an era when everyone has access to the same AI tools, your voice is what makes your writing stand out.

Seth Godin offers a useful distinction: "Your audience doesn't want your authentic voice. They want your consistent voice." By consistent, he means a voice that "rhymes" – it's recognizably you each time, delivering on the promise of your brand's character. "Not sameness, not repetition," he clarifies, "but work that sounds like you."

Perell echoes this sentiment when he says that in the age of AI, "Your writing is going to have to get better and better." He adds that "the more that a piece of writing comes from personal experience, the less likely it is to be overtaken by AI." This is where you have the edge—the lived experiences that only you can relate.

Most importantly: develop a ruthless editor within yourself who asks, "Would I say this at a bar to someone I respect?" If the answer is no, rewrite until it's yes.

How I Use AI (Without Losing My Voice)

I'm not against tools. I'm against abdication.

My process has evolved through deliberate experimentation with multiple AI models, each serving a distinct purpose in my workflow:

For research: Perplexity Pro has largely replaced Google in my daily work. It excels at finding relevant sources, providing citations, and delivering quick, comprehensive answers to factual questions. The speed and citation capabilities alone make it invaluable.

For ideation and structure: ChatGPT (o1, 4o, and 4.5) helps me brainstorm topics, develop outlines, explore different angles, and hash out the skeletal framework of my content. This is where I test the structural integrity of my thinking.

For drafting with humanity: Claude (especially 3.7 Sonnet) produces text that feels less mechanical and more creative. Its voice training capabilities allow me to customize outputs that align with my natural tone.

Listening to David Perell describe his process was like hearing someone articulate what I'd been feeling my way toward. He approaches AI as an amplifier of thought rather than a replacement for it. Like him, I'm interested in AI as a tool to help me think, not to think for me. This distinction is everything.

The magic happens in how I weave myself throughout this process. I've created specific projects within these platforms that contain detailed instructions about my voice, preferences, background, and objectives. This creates a consistent foundation across all my work—whether for The Creative Strategist, Prodigy, or client projects.

But here's the crucial part: I don't just review the final output. I intervene continuously during creation:

1. After the AI produces a workable draft, I use dictation to overlay my personal experiences, expertise, and unique viewpoint onto the structure.

2. When I encounter sections that don't align with my thinking, I select them specifically and dictate my perspective, asking the AI to rewrite just that segment.

3. I deliberately reserve certain elements as exclusively mine:

   • The introduction

   • The conclusion

   • Personal stories and examples

   • The central argument

   • Transitions between sections

These are where voice lives most vividly. These are where I stake my claim on the reader's attention. AI organizes what I know, but it doesn't determine what matters about what I know. That judgment—the essence of voice—remains mine alone.

What seems like an elaborate process actually saves tremendous time while preserving the authenticity that readers value. The key is remaining the active architect rather than a passive consumer of what emerges.

Your Voice Is Your Edge

We're entering a time where sounding human isn't just aesthetically pleasing—it's strategically essential.

This tension between human expression and automation isn't new. When the printing press was invented in the 15th century, scribes' guilds destroyed presses out of fear this machine would eradicate their livelihood and flood the world with low-quality, inauthentic text. When synthesizers entered music in the 1960s, critics derided electronic tones as "barking hell-hounds" from a dehumanized world.

Yet, in each case, creators who leaned into their unique voice not only persisted but thrived. The printing press didn't destroy the human voice in writing—it amplified it. Synthesizers didn't replace musicians—artists incorporated them to create entirely new genres.

Voice is the new competitive advantage. Not because it's pretty, but because it's proof. Proof that there's a mind at work. Proof that someone is willing to stand behind these words. Proof that if things go wrong, there will be a human being on the other end of the line—not just an apologetic algorithm.

The future belongs to those who refuse to outsource their humanity. The words are still yours to claim. The question is whether you'll bother to claim them.