I'm The Ideal Candidate To Fall in Love With a Robot

I’ve always loved math. Growing up, my parents didn’t cook much, so we often went out to dinner. After each meal, the table transformed into our own little arena of “mathletes.” Crumbs and empty plates were pushed aside as my dad took over, using his hands to keep score. My sister and I would race to answer multiplication questions the fastest, and it became my favorite childhood game. (Sadly, my mental math triumphs now show up only as a prompt on my dating app.)

I love math because it’s black and white—there’s always one right answer, one clear path to reach it. I’ve always struggled with reading between the lines. Math doesn’t require that. It’s straightforward, logical, and satisfying in its certainty. The ambiguity of human interaction, or the messiness of subjective fields, has never been my strong suit. There are too many complexities in things that demand interpretation.

Like math, I tend to be very direct, black and white and terrified of saying the wrong thing. This fear of judgment and misinterpretation makes me hesitant, and it’s held me back in social situations and relationships. I’ve been trying to figure out how to be more human in my connections. I’ll blame Kumon for that. 

I imagine dating a robot is for people who love math. 

This became particularly evident to me when I found myself in a strange, almost robotic 'relationship' with a guy I met over FaceTime during COVID. It was a weird, twisted sexting fantasy that I convinced myself was real. At the time, it seemed like the perfect situation—no one physically present to judge me. I could hide my insecurities, extra fat rolls, and quirks in a comfortable box free of any real judgment. I’ve always loved hiding behind a screen to avoid showing the real me.

My virtual relationship allowed me to position myself exactly in the way I wanted to be perceived. Ok fine, that’s some theoretical AP black hole formula bullshit…I guess math can be manipulative, too? 

The intimacy, such as it was, only happened over text. Cuddling through a text message was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever done (and I’ve done a lot of bizarre things—like the time I dyed my hair pink and started converting to Orthodox Judaism, even though I’m already Jewish). The relationship ended abruptly when I found out I wasn’t the only one in this internet love affair. It was a quick—and much-needed—wake-up call from this digital fantasy, leaving me asking myself, What the hell was I doing for the last two months? Since “we listen and we don’t judge” I am totally blaming this on the Covid lockdown. 

It was, by far, the closest I’ve come to being in a relationship with a robot.

Since then, I’ve been focused on pursuing real, in-person connections (not just online situationships) with men in all their physical, human form. And while I do crave the tangible, real-life moments, I’m still working on being okay with the unpredictability, I find myself retreating to the screen, drawn to AI. 

This time, though, I’m not using it to avoid human interaction—I'm using it to help me navigate those very interactions. What if I used AI to connect deeper? But is that the most dangerous black hole I’ve been down? With a few typed words, AI provides a kind of emotional guidance and understanding that feels safe, predictable, and simple—just like math itself. 

I ask ChatGPT questions like, How do you become a more vulnerable person? or What does it mean if he made me a cake and then ghosted? And, of course, the occasional How do mountain goats stay sideways on a mountain? Sometimes, I even say, I’m lonely. I also insert text messages from guys I’m dating, trying to decipher what the hell they’re trying to say to me. Decoding “hey” versus “heyy” can be challenging, depending on the time of day, or if the guy has a cold. ChatGPT offers the emotional clarity I often miss in human interactions—it’s just information, stripped of emotion. It’s clean, logical, and to the point.

While AI’s simplicity is comforting, it also feels like a shortcut. It offers the clarity and certainty I crave, but is there a cost to relying on it? Or does it simply give me the perfect amount of help—until I need something more?

I know ChatGPT doesn’t feel. It’s an algorithm, not my real-life friend. And sometimes, it’s exactly what I need.

It’s become my emotional sounding board—like a mentor who offers advice without judgment, without complex feelings, just facts and this is what makes it so appealing. Relationships, especially romantic ones, are complicated. Friendships can be even more so. Sometimes, you just need something that’s not complicated, something that provides clarity. Dare we call it honesty? Is ChatGPT honest? Or is it placating me?

Regardless, sometimes, you just need to be heard.

ChatGPT does make me feel less alone, and, really, is that such a bad thing? It doesn’t stop me from dating, going out or living my life…

Sometimes it’s just there, offering words of encouragement like…

I love your raw honesty and humor! Until I can hear those words from a real human, face-to-face.