In 2026, AI has long since evolved from a novel toy of the past into an "omnipotent avatar" permeating every crevice of life, handling 80% of people's tedious tasks and pushing efficiency to unprecedented heights.
However, a highly paradoxical phenomenon is unfolding: As AI makes "perfection" easily attainable, people are, conversely, beginning to desperately miss things that are "imperfect." These things share a common name: the human touch.
In the era of AI, people are suddenly and keenly realizing: The scarcest thing today has never been the all-powerful, articulate AI, but "real humans" with the warmth of everyday life, emotions, the capacity to make mistakes, and the ability to empathize.
AI's core strength lies in executing "standardization" to its utmost perfection. Yet, it is precisely this undifferentiated perfection that has led us into a new kind of aesthetic fatigue.
Scroll through short videos now, and 8 out of 10 have scripts written by AI, voices dubbed by AI, and edits cut by AI. They have a precisely timed rhythm and a perfect emotional build-up, yet they are forgotten instantly, leaving no impression. Open our social media feed, half the posts are generated by AI—about travels, afternoon teas, or moods—perfect as if from a uniform template, yet showing none of the real person behind the post. Even the holiday greetings we receive are 90% lengthy, eloquently crafted by AI, with gorgeous prose and perfect sentiments, yet they are far less touching than a simple, "See U around."
When AI produces all content, services, and expressions, when everything becomes perfect, correct, and flawless, those "traces of humanity" imbued with personal imprint, imperfection, and genuine emotion become the scarcest commodity of our time. What AI produces is "standardized correctness," while what real people bring is "unique authenticity."
Many have had this experience: When encountering a problem, we contact customer service. An AI bot replies instantly with perfect scripts, but it just keeps circling back to the same few lines, "We apologize for the inconvenience," "Please provide the relevant information." No matter how we plead your case, it only operates within its pre-set rules. Finally, at our wits' end, we repeatedly type "talk to a human agent," and when you finally get a real person on the line—maybe with an accent, a slightly impatient tone—they simply solve the problem in a few sentences.
Why? Because AI can handle "processes," but it cannot handle "emotions." It can provide "standard answers," but it cannot offer "solutions that exceed expectations." It can be "polite," but it cannot "empathize."
If you lose a birthday gift meant for your child, AI will only mechanically tell you, "We will follow up within 48 hours." A human agent will say, "I understand your worry. Let me immediately apply for an expedited reship for you and add a coupon. We'll make sure you get it before your child's birthday." If you miss a refund deadline due to unfamiliarity with the rules, AI will coldly state, "The refund period has expired, so we cannot process this." A human agent will listen to your reasons, help you apply for a special exception, or, at least, offer a compromise compensation plan.
The core value of the "human touch" lies here: Not a standardized process, but empathetic, warm judgment; not flawless correctness, but the goodwill to see things from another's perspective. Trust is never built on perfect processes, but on genuine, perceptible goodwill.
The same applies in the workplace. Professionals now use AI to draft proposals—logically sound, data-rich, beautifully formatted—yet they often fail to pass muster with their bosses. The simple reason: An AI-generated proposal is a collection of "correct platitudes" stitched together from online data. However, it hasn't truly struggled in the industry, pulled all-nighters for a project, or stepped into pitfalls due to a decision. Its perfection is thus detached and rootless.
In contrast, a veteran employee's proposal, even if less logically airtight or with minor flaws, might contain a line like, "I tried this method three years ago, and it failed because of supply chain issues. This time, we need to avoid these three key points." That single sentence carries more weight than ten pages of perfect AI-generated analysis.
In the AI era, the barrier to content creation has been lowered to an unprecedented level. Input a few keywords, and AI can instantly generate an article, a short video script, a social media post, or even a poem or a song.
But we must face a reality: AI can produce "content," but it cannot produce "resonance." It can pile up "information," but it cannot infuse "soul."
Take the viral series last year about a "post-95 girl quitting her job to farm in her hometown." It had no exquisite visuals, no perfect script, often featured shaky camera work, verbal stumbles, and shots of her panting from farm work. It contained no AI-generated catchphrases, yet its views across platforms kept breaking records. The top comment read, "I see real life in her, not a staged 'pastoral fantasy.'"
Compare that to the mass-produced "rural life" short videos generated by AI. They have beautiful visuals, smooth pacing, and lines that perfectly tap into urban anxieties, yet they are instantly forgettable and often feel "fake." AI can mimic the image of rural life, but it cannot mimic the joy of harvesting vegetables or the anxiety when facing natural disasters. These real, personally charged, imperfect experiences are the core of what makes content truly moving.
Ever since ChatGPT burst onto the scene, some have been saying that 80% of jobs will be replaced by AI. As a result, everyone is scrambling to learn how to use AI, terrified of being left behind. But we are gradually discovering that the jobs truly immune to AI replacement are precisely those brimming with the "human touch."
A "return to the human touch" revolution is underway in the business world.
Many brands are abandoning flawless AI virtual hosts and bringing back real human streamers. Even if their oral language isn't standard, they stumble over words or occasionally mess up, their live stream conversion rates are higher than AI. Some brands are ditching standardized, AI-generated copy and letting their editors write in their own voice. Even if it's less perfect, it garners more interaction and trust. Many physical stores are moving away from standardized service scripts and encouraging staff to simply chat casually with customers, leading to increased customer retention.
What we should fear most is not AI becoming increasingly intelligent, but ourselves becoming increasingly like AI—we get used to expressing ourselves with standardized templates, thinking with algorithmic logic, wrapping ourselves in perfect shells, and slowly losing those "human" qualities, the imperfect yet most precious things. After all, the most touching things in this world are never flawless code, but those slightly imperfect, warm traces of humanity, imbued with the breath of real life.
(Source: Xinmouls, WeChat Public Platform)
Related News:
Deepline | People say YES, hospitals say NO: Unchecked risks of OpenClaw AI agent
Deepline | It starts with AlphaGo: How move 37 on board predicts future of AI
Comment