🎙️ Weekly Insight #50-Authenticity Can’t Be Auto-Generated

What AI writing reveals about voice and why sounding like everyone else isn’t the same as sounding like yourself

“When you bring a photo of thick, flowing hair to the salon… and they politely suggest working with what you’ve actually got.”

I recently came across an article by Adnan Masood that made me laugh and wince at the same time — because I’ve written some of those phrases myself. Masood, a technologist and AI researcher, laid out the telltale signs of AI-generated writing with sharp clarity.

“It is important to note that…”·
"In today’s fast-paced world…”
“Furthermore…”
“Moreover…”
“Delve into…”



It reminded me of moments — in my own work and in others’ — when clarity gets replaced by formula. AI writing often reads smoothly and clearly, but it reveals just how easy it is to slip into sounding technically correct but smoothly impersonal.

When Writing Sounds Like a Machine

Masood’s piece lays out the key traits of AI-generated writing:

Uniform rhythm (every sentence same length, same structure)
Buzzword-heavy transitions and vague, lofty phrasing
Predictable, formulaic structure (thesis, three body points, conclusion)
Lack of lived experience or emotional tone


If you’ve ever listened to someone speak in monotone, read off a script or PowerPoint, or use the same sentence format five times in a row — you’ve heard the vocal equivalent. And if you’ve ever done it yourself (I have), you know it’s not because you don’t care. It’s because you’re trying to sound competent, clear, and polished. The problem is: sounding polished isn’t the same as sounding real.

What Voice — Real Voice — Actually Sounds Like

I teach people to become aware of their own vocal habits: their breath, their intention, their pacing, their tone. Most of what we think of as “good voice” is not only about resonance or volume — it’s about how clearly a person shows up in what they’re saying.

The same is true in writing. When I read a sentence that breaks the rhythm, that uses a contraction in the middle of an otherwise formal paragraph, or that just says something plainly and directly — I lean in. Because someone’s there.

As synthetic voice and writing tools become more common, knowing your own voice becomes more important. If something sounds off or not like you, it helps to know why. Cadence, rhythm, sentence phrasing, directness — these aren’t just surface features — they’re part of what makes a voice recognizable.

The habits that give voice its character aren’t innate. They’re built, practiced, and refined over time. Most of us can speak naturally when relaxed, but pressure often distorts clarity. When we’re tired, stressed, or afraid to sound wrong, we fall back on safe phrases. AI writing does the same — it smooths over complexity, avoids friction, and substitutes clarity with structure. But friction is often where the truth lives.

My Anti-AI Writing Commitments

Reading that article gave me language for something I’d already been doing. These are now my standing rules for writing anything I want to feel human:

I avoid filler transitions and buzzwords.
I vary sentence rhythm and length — the way a good phrase has breath and shape.
I resist the tidy three-point structure unless the idea demands it.
I keep tone consistent and honest.



These aren’t just stylistic choices. They’re vocal ones. If a sentence doesn’t feel like something I’d say aloud — or sing with meaning — I question it.

AI as Mirror, Not Mouthpiece

The list hit close to home — I’ve written those phrases myself, especially when I’m trying to sound polished. And the truth is, AI is very good at writing. It can offer rhythm, structure, and fluency in seconds. But making it sound like you? That’s not really its job — and maybe it shouldn’t be.

It would be like me walking into a hair salon with a picture of someone with a thick, full head of hair. We all know how that conversation’s going to go. The stylist might smile politely, but they’re also thinking, “Okay… but let’s work with what you’ve actually got.”

The same thing happens in voice work. Someone might want to sound like a famous speaker or singer — but what matters is uncovering what’s already present in their own instrument. AI can offer a template. But it’s still up to you to sculpt it into something that actually reflects your voice — and that takes repetition, discernment, and the ability to hear yourself clearly.

I’ve found that AI, when used well, can be a mirror — not a mouthpiece. I don’t let it write for me. But I do sometimes use it as a reaction surface. I’ll speak aloud, then look at what it gives me back. Not to accept its phrasing, but to notice what feels off — and what helps me clarify.

The editing process is the writing process. I don’t publish my first breath. But I’ve learned not to overedit it either. When you’ve spent years training your ear — whether as a singer, a writer, or a critical reader — the urge to perfect every phrase can be strong. But that version of “perfect” is elusive. Sometimes, the real skill is knowing when to step away. Give it space. Come back later with clearer ears. I’ve found that when I do that — whether preparing a piece of writing or refining a vocal line — I hear it more honestly. That’s something I learned from my mentor Margaret Harshaw: short, focused work followed by deliberate rest. You don’t power through. You pause. You listen. You return. It’s the same idea behind the Pomodoro technique: focused effort, then a reset. And in that rhythm, something real emerges.

Some have described AI as a kind of intern: someone you hand tasks to, expecting quick drafts and rough ideas that you’ll later refine. That’s not entirely wrong, but it misses something. An intern is learning — and yes, I’m teaching — but that happens in any good collaboration. One learns from the other. There’s a hierarchy. But my relationship with AI often feels more like a collaboration — not equal, not reciprocal, but interactive. It gives me something to push against. It reflects patterns I might not see. Sometimes it offers a clean draft that sounds technically fine — but not like me. That’s where I notice the difference. I’m not looking for a stand-in. I’m looking for a foil. A second set of ears that doesn’t know what I meant, but can still help me hear it more clearly.

Real Takes Time

The polish part — AI does easily. That’s its job. You give it something, and it smooths it out. But the “real” part — the part that sounds like you — takes more.

It’s the part where I reread. Scour. Rework. Not just because I want to avoid error, but because I want my writing to feel like something I’d actually say. If I put my name on it, it has to reflect me — just like when I sang student matinees at the Metropiltan Opera or in a recent church recital. It is always my work, and I wanted it to reflect the best I can do.

I think I learned that from my parents, who ran a restaurant. Every meal was their signature. They took it seriously. And I remember feeling something similar in France, watching people clean the streets in the morning, or helping you pick out the right stylo de plume, or pour a proper espresso. It was about personal integrity — about doing something with care because it mattered.

Writing is no different. We tend to think of speech as instinctive and writing as constructed — but both reflect what we’ve practiced. Writing guides how I speak. Speaking sharpens how I write. That discipline flows in both directions. And as Epictetus put it nearly 2,000 years ago:, skill takes training. That’s as true for writing and speaking as it is for any craft — because both carry our voice, and both deserve our care.
“Do you suppose that you can do the things that you do without having learned them? One must know that to play the harp requires skill: shall it be supposed that a man can learn to speak or write well or live rightly without training?” — Epictetus, Discourses 2.9 (trans. George Long, 1877)

Why This Matters Now

We’re surrounded by content that sounds just fine — and feels like nothing. That’s the tradeoff. Whether it’s a LinkedIn post or a keynote or a one-on-one conversation, we’re all looking for the same thing: to feel that someone is actually speaking to us.

So when I read something that’s a little jagged, or unexpectedly funny, or emotionally grounded — even if it’s rough around the edges — I exhale.

What AI reveals — again and again — is how easy it is to sound smooth without ever becoming clear. That’s not a flaw in the tool. It’s a call to pay more attention. To notice when something doesn’t sound like you. And to keep practicing until it does.

Voice — in writing, in speech, in life — isn’t something we copy and paste. It’s something we train for, return to, and keep refining until it actually feels like us.

AI might help you get words on the page. But only you can recognize which ones sound like you.

#DevelopYourAuthenticVoice#VoiceAwareness#VocalPresence#BreathAndVoice#VoiceTraining#AlzheimersResearch#BreathingAndBrain#FarinelliExercise#MargaretHarshaw

And if you're unfamiliar with the legacy of Margaret Harshaw, you can read more about her career and influence here: 🎶 Margaret Harshaw – Wikipedia



#DevelopYourAuthenticVoice#VoiceAwareness#VocalPresence#BreathAndVoice#VoiceTraining#AlzheimersResearch#VagusNerve#NervousSystemHealth#AmyloidBeta#BreathingAndBrain#FarinelliExercise#MargaretHarshaw#BreathWithDrSteele #DrSteeleBreath

Elias Mokole

Keynote Speaker, BA & Beyond 2025 | Voice Presence & Change |

Founder, Developing Your Authentic Voice Newsletter

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