Updated August 03, 2024 at 10:58 AM ET
NPR is in Paris for the 2024 Summer Olympics. For more of our coverage from the games head to our latest updates.
Update: After airing their "Dear Sydney" ad for AI tool Gemini early in the Olympics, Google has pulled it from coverage. According to a statement from a Google spokesperson on Friday, Aug. 2, "While the ad tested well before airing, given the feedback, we have decided to phase the ad out of our Olympics rotation."
NPR critic Linda Holmes wrote about the ad below on July 30.
On Fresh Air in 1986, Maurice Sendak told Terry Gross a story about a little boy who sent him a card and a drawing. Sendak wrote back, including a drawing of his own. Later, the boy's mother wrote Sendak again, explaining that her son loved the response so much that he ate it. To Sendak, this was the ultimate compliment. "He saw it, he loved it, he ate it," he chuckled.
Their correspondence stands in contrast to another fan letter many Olympics fans have seen in recent days. During the games, a number of AI ads have been in rotation, but none has raised as many eyebrows as one for Gemini, Google's AI assistant. In the commercial, a father's voiceover explains that his daughter, like him, is a runner. And she's a huge fan of Olympic hurdler Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone. He says he's "pretty good with words," but he wants her fan letter to Sydney to be "just right."
Does he help her? Does he encourage her? Does she enter into the process at all? No. He just asks Gemini to write the letter. The prompt: "Help my daughter write a letter telling Sydney how inspiring she is. And be sure to mention that my daughter plans on breaking her world record. She says sorry, not sorry."
Where to begin. Where! To! Begin!
Let us address quality first
I do not like generative AI, but for the sake of research, I fed this prompt – this very prompt! – into Gemini. I am not going to post the result here in full, but I can assure you that if you ranked all the middle managers of your bank from most to least inspiring, went to the one at the bottom, and asked them to write a draft of this letter for you, this is what you would get. The result is obligatory, desultory, boring and obviously machine-made. It contains sentences like, "You've shown the world that with determination, anything is achievable," a toothless flop of a sentence that is, for the record, false.
The only – the only! – spark of personality comes in the machine's dutiful inclusion of "sorry not sorry," which Ad Dad put in the prompt. That is not artificial intelligence, it is a program taking the one piece of yourself that you included and spitting it back out, unchanged.
The problem with an AI approach to admiration
Generative AI advocates have sometimes claimed an interest in helping people with disabilities or people with limited English. Their internal business plans may reveal what role those considerations actually play in their planning, and AI could indeed have some of those applications. The bigger issue is that in many cases, including this one, the marketing of generative AI is a broadside against singularity in favor of digestibility, against creativity in favor of drudgery. It's perfect for anyone who watched the video for Pink Floyd's "The Wall" and rooted for the meat grinder.
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What Google is selling in this ad is not an assistive device; it is the promised replacement of your flawed humanity with the immaculate verbiage of Google. Immaculate verbiage like, "Watching you compete is like witnessing magic unfold." So if you like your letters awkwardly structured and with all the emotion of a birthday card from your eye doctor, Gemini can help.
What a fan letter could be
Ad Dad is going about this all wrong. He says Gemini can get the letter "just right." But there is no need for a fan letter to be "just right." There is perhaps no truer example on Earth of "it's the thought that counts" than a letter to someone you admire, telling them how much their work or their example means to you. Ad Dad's daughter could have done anything from writing a short note in her own words to drawing a picture, and it would have been fine.
If you do want to help your kid write a fan letter as an exercise, don't give her a tool designed to extrude the average of all the other letters that have come before it. Sit down with her and help her be specific. When did you first see Sydney compete? What does it look like to you when she goes over a hurdle? How do you feel when you see her perform? Do you like her stance? The way she hits a finish line? Her smile when she wins? What do you love about running? And sure, go over spelling with her if you want, too, or help her with her grammar. It's a perfect opportunity.
A fan letter is not the beginning of a transaction, or even necessarily an exchange (though it can be that). It is an offering, a gift given in appreciation. Its purpose is not to impress, but to express. That it contains your wild and beautiful self – however imperfect, misspelled, and simple as it may be — is what makes it valuable.
A kid doesn't need a comms strategy or a marketing department. There is all kinds of time for her to learn how to write a proper business letter, or a complaint letter, or a letter to Congress, or a legal brief or business plan. A kid needs to develop confidence that her voice is valuable and should be used. And over time, of course her writing can improve -- but only if she's given a chance to build skills. If you tell her to hit up Gemini when she wants to produce a letter, how will she ever live without it? Choosing a message of "don't practice, just hit this button" is strange anywhere, but it feels downright perverse during the Olympics.
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