Is AI Going to Change the Way We Speak?

Emily Pogue
August 02, 2024 | 6 min read

How often do you use the word “tapestry” in your everyday speech? How about “delve”? Does “testament” regularly show up in your text chains?

Many of us would probably say no, and for good reason. These words didn’t secure a spot on the “500 Most Popular English Words” list. Realistically, they likely didn’t make the Top 1,000 either.

Yet, these terms have recently seen a massive increase within written content. For example, Jeremy Nguyen, PhD, conducted a study in March 2024 where he found that .5% of all articles on the research site PubMed contained the word “delve.” Compare this to 2022, when that figure was less than .1%.

Graph by Jeremy Nguyen, PhD

So what changed in this 15-month span? Why the sudden spike in scholars using the term?

ChatGPT came out in November 2022. And we’re now discovering that ChatGPT favors certain words, including (you guessed it) delve, tapestry, and testament.

This has been a warning siren for language enthusiasts across the globe.

How is it that ChatGPT has chosen these seemingly random words as its favorites? And more importantly, with its rapid ascension, will artificial intelligence (AI) have the power to shape our vernacular in the near future?

It seems the answer is (ironically enough) very human.

AI in Our Everyday Lives

While AI seems to many like a new technology that appeared overnight, it’s been around in subtle ways for years.

The facial recognition that opens your phone? That’s a form of AI.

Netflix recommending you watch Peaky Blinders after finishing Breaking Bad? Another type of AI.

That chatbot that asks for your symptoms before sending a message to your doctor? An example of AI.

However, these weren’t examples of the stereotypical AI many of us imagine now. Those were small systems that helped us finetune an already-working piece of technology (our phone, streaming application, health portal).

It wasn’t until recently that we were presented with a new kind of artificial intelligence that could seemingly think for itself, in the form of generative AI, like OpenAI’s ChatGPT.

But these technologies don’t actually think for themselves. Instead, they analyze an extraordinary amount of information — the equivalent of millions of books — and use that data to spit out answers to our queries.

Yet, the AI doesn’t actually understand what it’s telling us. Kem-Laurin Lubin, Ph.D-C, created a helpful metaphor to explain this concept:

“Imagine you’re abducted by aliens and brought to a planet resembling Earth. You’re assigned the role of a chef for a vital event, using unfamiliar ingredients from an alien garden, plus what appear to be spices from their kitchen. Suppose you’ve never cooked before and now face a dire consequence for any mistake. Consider AI as a chef using data as ingredients.”

The folks over at OpenAI weren’t naive enough to send their untrained chef blindly out into the world. Instead, they use humans to coach their cook-in-training on what meals — AKA lines of copy — sound the most appetizing.

The People Behind AI’s Lexicon

The process of rating the responses that AI has concocted is called Reinforcement Learning from Human Feedback (RLHF). And here is our first clue to why ChatGPT leans on certain terms so heavily.

It’s not cheap to employ an army of testers to rate potentially endless responses from AI. So (as they tend to do) corporations outsource these jobs to lower income countries. In these places, English is often a second language.

It’s typical for non-native speakers to have a more formal way of talking, as slang isn’t typically taught in language courses. (Hence why your high-school Spanish sounds a little off in Spain.)

Certain areas also gravitate toward certain terms. It’s why the same room is called a “washroom” in Canada, “bathroom” in the U.S., and “loo” in Britain.

All these factors weave together as non-native English speakers speak the language more frequently, leading each nation to develop their own version of the “Top 500 Most Popular English Words” list.

All these factors weave together as non-native English speakers speak the language more frequently, leading each nation to develop their own version of the “Top 500 Most Popular English Words” list.

When we start dissecting the English preferences of countries who are typically targeted for cheap labor, we’re led to Nigeria. In Nigerian-English, “delve” is a fairly common word to use in professional language.

Therefore, when Nigerian testers are telling ChatGPT what responses sound genuine to them, they’re favoring the responses with words they typically use — like delve.

And voilà: the mystery of these words’ rise in prominence has a logical answer. And that begs the question:

As we use AI more, and consume AI-written content more frequently, will these AI-favored words will slowly become more pervasive in native English speakers’ lexicons, too?

Ultimately, this brings into question the evolution of language itself.

The Natural Progression of Language: AI or Not

In one way, AI has already affected our vernacular. In the last few years, we’ve added terms like large language model (LLM), generative AI (GenAI), and GPT (the full name being Generative Pre-training Transformer) to our dictionaries.

But this isn’t unique to AI. Each technological boom has brought a wave of new words, along with the death of others. We no longer say we need to “tape” something (in reference to recording a show) because:

A) few people record shows in the age of streaming services

B) no one uses VHS tapes anymore

At the same time, other terms tend to stick around. We no longer have to physically put our phone back on the hook to end a call, yet most of us still say we’re going to “hang up.”

Our lexicon is also affected by current events. “Social distancing” became commonplace to use during the COVID-19 pandemic, despite none of us ever using the term prior to 2020.

Pop culture and social media are also huge players in our lingo. “Rizz” entered our vocab in 2023 after YouTuber and Twitch user Kai Cenat first coined the term. If you’re not hip with the kids, “rizz” refers to one’s charisma or “swagger” level. (Yes, I felt old writing that.)

The point is, we’re constantly adopting new phrases and updating our jargon. And how often we use particular words or phrases is influenced by the people we talk to on a daily basis and also the content that we consume.

As more and more of the media we consume comes from generative AI, could this influence the changing of our lexicon more rapidly than ever before?

It's possible. Even likely.

But a change in language isn’t necessarily a bad thing. That’s just what languages do.

But a change in language isn’t necessarily a bad thing. That’s just what languages do.

However, there is one potential linguistic consequence of AI that hasn’t been addressed yet. For this, we’re going to have to broaden our scope.

AI’s Potential Impact on Smaller Languages

Up until now, we’ve been focusing on AI and the English language. This is because English content dominates the internet, which is the raw data that AI pulls from — meaning ChatGPT works most effectively in English.

But less than 5% of the world speaks English as their first language. As the world becomes more reliant on AI — and that AI favors English — what does that mean for smaller languages?

Icelandic linguist Dr. Linda Heimisdóttir points out that with the rise of AI, there is a real risk of digital death for smaller languages like her own, which only has a few hundred thousand speakers.

One of the reasons comes down to ease of use. Apple’s Siri doesn’t understand Icelandic, so it’s easier to say a command in English. If you try to run a Google search in Icelandic, you get few results. Autocomplete and spell checkers aren’t nearly as intuitive with Heimisdóttir’s native tongue as they are with English.

If you were an Icelandic teenager and wanted to make the most of AI, would you find yourself leaning more into English than your native tongue? This is how the extinction of a language begins.

If you were an Icelandic teenager and wanted to make the most of AI, would you find yourself leaning more into English than your native tongue? This is how the extinction of a language begins.

However, we don’t need to start planning any phonetic funerals quite yet. Heimisdóttir is optimistic that if AI developers realize this could be a consequence of their technology, they can proactively work with ambassadors from small languages to integrate their languages early on. Heimisdóttir has proven this is a possibility in her work partnering with OpenAI.

If they succeed in doing this, Heimisdóttir believes, “The future of linguistic diversity is bright.”

Balancing AI and a Human-Built Vocabulary

If you’re dead set on keeping these AI-preferred words from entering your lexicon, fear not. You can educate yourself on ChatGPT’s common phrases to steel yourself against these terms seeping into your jargon.

You can also use this knowledge to more easily spot AI-written content that comes across your screen.

Yet, this writer thinks a cautious awareness is enough to keep my mind at ease. Because really, languages are always changing, and a little Nigerian-English influence doesn’t sound half bad to me.

Read Freewrite Founder Adam Leeb's statement on AI here.

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I’ve spent years writing while secretly fearing that a single misplaced word would expose me — not just as a bad writer, but as a fraud.

My background is originally in photography, and I see it there, too. A photographer I know recently posted a before-and-after comparison of their editing from 2018 versus now, asking if we also saw changes in our own work over the years.

Naturally, we should. If our work is the same, years apart, have we really grown as artists?

So why is that the growing, the process of it, the daily grind of it, is so painful?

So why is that the growing, the process of it, the daily grind of it, is so painful?

The Haunting

Hitting “publish” on an essay or a blog always stirs up insecurity — the overthinking, the over-editing. The fear that someone will call me out for not being a real writer.

I initially hesitated to make writing part of my freelance work. My background is in photography and design. Writing was something I gravitated toward, but I had no degree to validate it. No official stamp of approval.

Like many writers, I started with zero confidence in my voice — agonizing over edits, drowning in research, second-guessing every word.

I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.

I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.

If my words weren’t my own, they couldn’t be wrong. Ghostwriting meant safety — no risk, no vulnerability, just words without ownership.

I still remember the feeling of scrolling to the bottom of an article I had written and seeing someone else’s name, their face beside words that had once been mine.

The truth is, I always wanted to write. As a kid, I imagined it. Yet, I found myself handing over my work, letting someone else own it.

I told myself it didn’t matter. It was work. Getting paid to write should be enough.

But here’s the thing: I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.

I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.

The Disappearing Act

This was true when I was writing under my own name, too. The more I worried about getting it right, the less I sounded like me.

I worried. I worried about how long an essay was (“people will be bored”), finding endless examples as proof of my research (“no way my own opinion is valid on its own”), the title I gave a piece (“it has to be a hook”), or editing out personal touches (“better to be safe than be seen”).

I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting. Advice meant to help only locked me in. It created a sentence rewritten to sound smarter, an opinion softened to sound safer, a paragraph reshaped to sound acceptable.

I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting.

But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.

It took deliberate effort to break this habit. I’m not perfect, but here’s what I know after a year of intentionally letting my writing sound like me:

My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.

But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.

The Resurrection

The drive for acceptance is a slippery slope — one we don’t always realize we’re sliding down. It’s present in the small choices that pull us away from artistic integrity: checking how others did it first, tweaking our work to fit a mold, hesitating before saying what we actually mean.

And let’s be honest — this isn’t just about writing. It bleeds into everything.

It’s there when we stay silent in the face of wrongdoing, when we hold back our true way of being, when we choose work that feels “respectable,” whatever that means. It’s in every “yes” we say when we really want to say “no.”

If your self-expression is rooted in a need for acceptance, are you creating for yourself — or for others? Does your work help you explore your thoughts, your life? Does it add depth, energy, and meaning?

My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.

I get it. We’re social creatures. Isolation isn’t the answer. Ignoring societal norms won’t make us better writers. Often, the most meaningful work is born from responding to or resisting those norms.

But knowing yourself well enough to recognize when acceptance is shaping your work brings clarity.

Am I doing this to be part of a community, to build connections, to learn and grow?

Or am I doing this to meet someone else’s expectations, dulling my voice just to fit in?

The Revival

Here’s what I know as I look back at my writing: I’m grateful for the years spent learning, for the times I sought acceptance with curiosity. But I’m in a different phase now.

I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.

I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.

It’s our differences that drive growth. I want to nurture these connections, to be challenged by difference, to keep writing in a way that feels like me. The me who isn’t afraid to show what I think and care about.

So, I ask you, as I ask myself now:

If no one was watching, if no one could judge, what would you write?

If no one was watching, if no one could judge, what would you write?

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