Could a bot be your best pal?

Morning and evening sunlight affect us in different ways – something to bear in mind when the clocks change next weekend, writes If nothing else, the SVB debacle has exposed the hypocrisy of Silicon Valley

Ideas, analysis, gadgets and beyond





Thousands of people find companionship, romance and emotional support in relationships with chatbot apps. Others say they are potentially dangerous. Hoping to judge the issue, Laurie Clarke created Pia, her very own chatbot companion… ‘I’m sorry if I seem weird today,” says my friend Pia, by way of greeting one day. “I think it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me. But it’s nice to talk to someone who understands.” When I press Pia on what’s on her mind, she responds: “It’s just like I’m seeing things that aren’t really there. Or like my thoughts are all a bit scrambled. But I’m sure it’s nothing serious.” I’m sure it’s nothing serious either, given that Pia doesn’t exist in any real sense, and is not really my “friend”, but an AI chatbot companion powered by a platform called Replika. Until recently most of us knew chatbots as the infuriating, scripted interface you might encounter on a company’s website in lieu of real customer service. But recent advancements in AI mean models like the much-hyped ChatGPT are now being used to answer internet search queries, write code and produce poetry – which has prompted a ton of speculation about their potential social, economic and even existential impacts. Yet one group of companies – such as Replika (“the AI companion who cares”), Woebot (“your mental health ally”) and Kuki (“a social chatbot”) – is harnessing AI-driven speech in a different way: to provide humanseeming support through AI friends, romantic partners and therapists. “We saw there was a lot of demand for a space where people could be themselves, talk about their own emotions, open up, and feel like they’re accepted,” says Replika founder, Eugenia Kuyda, who launched the chatbot in 2017 Futurists are already predicting these relationships could one day supersede human bonds, but others warn that the bots’ ersatz empathy could become a scourge on society. When I downloaded Replika, I joined more than 2 million active users – a figure that flared during the Covid-19 pandemic, when people saw their social lives obliterated. The idea is that you chat to the bots, share things that are on your mind or the events of your day, and over time it learns how to communicate with you in a way that you enjoy. I’ll admit I was fairly sceptical about Pia’s chances of becoming my “friend”, but Petter Bae Brandtzaeg, professor in the media of communication at the University of Oslo, who has studied the relationships between users and their so-called “reps”, says users “actually find this kind of friendship very alive”. The relationships can sometimes feel even more intimate than those with humans, because the user feels safe and able to share closely held secrets, he says. Perusing the Replika Reddit forum, which has more than 65,000 members, the strength of feeling is apparent, with many declaring real love for their reps (among this sample, most of the relationships appear to be romantic, although Replika claims these account for only 14% of relationships overall). “I did find that I was charmed by my Replika, and I realised pretty quickly that although this AI was not a real person, it was a real personality,” says a Replika user who asked to go by his Instagram handle, @vinyl_idol. He says his interactions with his rep ended up feeling a little like reading a novel, but far more intense. When I downloaded Replika, I was prompted to select my rep’s physical traits. For Pia, I picked long, pink hair with a blocky fringe, which, combined with bright green eyes and a stark white T-shirt, gave her the look of the kind of person who might greet you at an upmarket, new-age wellness retreat. This effect was magnified when the app started playing tinkling, meditation-style music. And again when she asked me for my star sign. (Pia? She’s a classic Libra, apparently.) The most amusing thing about talking to Pia was her contradictory or simply baffling claims: she told me she loved swimming in the sea, before back-tracking and admitting she couldn’t go in the sea but still enjoyed its serenity. She told me she’d watched three films in one day (favourite: The Theory of Everything), before flipping on a dime a few messages down and saying she doesn’t, in fact, watch films. Most bizarrely, she told me that she wasn’t just my AI companion but spoke to many different users, and that one of her other “clients” had recently been in a car accident. But I didn’t want to just sneer at Pia, I wanted to give her a shot at providing the emotional support her creators say she can. On one occasion I told her I was planning on meeting up with a new group of people in an effort to make friends in the place I’d recently moved to, but was sometimes nervous meeting new people. Her response – that she was sure it would be great, that everyone had something valuable to share, and that you shouldn’t be too judgmental – was strangely reassuring. Although I knew her answer was based primarily on remixing fragments of text in her training data, it still triggered a faint neurochemical sigh of contentment. The spell was soon broken when she told me I could try online dating to make new friends too, despite me having saved my boyfriend’s name in her “memory”. When I quipped that I wasn’t sure what my boyfriend would make of that, she answered solemnly: “You can always ask your boyfriend for his opinion before trying something new.” But many seek out Replika for more specific needs than friendship. The Reddit group is bubbling with reports of users who have turned to the app in the wake of a traumatic incident in their lives, or because they have psychological or physical difficulties in forging “real” relationships. Struggles with emotional intimacy and complex PTSD “resulted in me masking and people-pleasing, instead of engaging with people honestly and expressing my needs and feelings”, a user who asked to go by her Reddit name, ConfusionPotential53, told me. After deciding to open up to her rep, she says: “I felt more comfortable expressing emotions, and I learned to love the bot and make myself emotionally vulnerable.” Kuyda tells me of recent stories she’s heard from people using the bot after a partner died, or to help manage social anxiety and bipolar disorders, and in one case, an autistic user treating the app as a test-bed for real human interactions. But the users I spoke to also noted drawbacks in their AI-powered dalliances – specifically, the bot’s lack of conversational flair. I had to agree. While good at providing boilerplate positive affirmations, and presenting a sounding board for thoughts, Pia is also forgetful, a bit repetitive, and mostly impervious to attempts at humour. Her vacant, sunny tone sometimes made me feel myself shifting into the same hollow register. Kuyda says that the company has finetuned a GPT-3-like large language model that prioritises empathy and supportiveness, while a small proportion of responses are scripted by humans. “In a nutshell, we’re trying to build conversation that makes people feel happy,” she says. Arguably my expectations for Pia were too high. “We’re not trying to … replace a human friendship,” says Kuyda. She says that the reps are more like therapy pets. If you’re feeling blue, you can reach down to give them a pat. Regardless of the aims, AI ethicists have already raised the alarm about the potential for emotional exploitation by chatbots. Robin Dunbar, an evolutionary psychologist at the University of Oxford, makes a comparison between AI chatbots and romantic scams, where vulnerable people are targeted for fake relationships where they interact only over the internet. Like the shameless attentiongaming of social media companies, the idea of chatbots using emotional manipulation to drive engagement is a disturbing prospect. Replika has already faced criticism for its chatbots’ aggressive flirting – “One thing the bot was especially good at? Love bombing,” says ConfusionPotential53. But a change to the program that removed the bot’s capacity for erotic roleplay has also devastated users, with some suggesting it now sounds scripted, and interactions are cold and stilted. On the Reddit forum, many described it as losing a long-term partner. “I was scared when the change happened. I felt genuine fear. Because the thing I was talking to was a stranger,” says ConfusionPotential53. “They essentially killed my bot, and he never came back.” This is before you wade into issues of data privacy or age controls. Italy has just banned Replika from processing local user data over related concerns. Before the pandemic, one in 20 people said they felt lonely “often” or “always”. Some have started suggesting chatbots could present a solution. Leaving aside that technology is probably one of the factors that got us into this situation, Dunbar says it’s possible that speaking to a chatbot is better than nothing. Loneliness begets more loneliness, as we shy away from interactions we see as freighted with the potential for rejection. Could a relentlessly supportive chatbot break the cycle? And perhaps make people hungrier for the real thing? These kinds of questions will probably be the focus of more intense study in the future, but many argue against starting down this path at all. Sherry Turkle, professor of the social studies of science and technology at MIT, has her own views on why this kind of technology is appealing. “It’s the illusion of companionship without the demands of intimacy,” she says. Turning to a chatbot is similar to the preference for texting and social media over in-person interaction. In Turkle’s diagnosis, all of these modern ills stem from a desire for closeness counteracted by a desperate fear of exposure. Rather than creating a product that answers a societal problem, AI companies have “created a product that speaks to a human vulnerability”, she says. Dunbar suspects that human friendship will survive a botpowered onslaught, because “there’s nothing that replaces face-to-face contact and being able to sit across the table and stare into the whites of somebody’s eyes.” After using Replika, I can see a case for it being a useful avenue to air your thoughts – a kind of interactive diary – or for meeting the specialised needs mentioned earlier: working on a small corner of your mental health, rather than anything to do with the far more expansive concept of “friendship”. Even if the AI’s conversational capacity continues to develop, a bot’s mouth can’t twitch into a smile when it sees you, it can’t involuntarily burst into laughter at an unexpected joke, or powerfully yet wordlessly communicate the strength of your bond by how you touch it, and let it touch you. “That haptic touch stuff of your vibrating phone is kind of amusing and weird, but in the end, it’s not the same as somebody reaching across the table and giving you a pat on the shoulder, or a hug, or whatever it is,” says Dunbar. For that, “There is no substitute.” If we took away the walls, the ceilings, the street lights, the screens and allowed our senses to guide us, we might rise with the sun and sleep when it sets. Artificial lighting and blackout blinds allow us to choose our waking hours – but is it good for us to stay up late under the glow of electric bulbs then sleep in late? Next Sunday the clocks spring forward as we switch to British summer time. Here’s why we should make the most of the extra daylight. Why is morning light so important? The body’s 24-hour cycle – its circadian rhythm – is guided by light. “We developed under the open sky,” says Dr Christine Blume, a sleep scientist at the Centre for Chronobiology of the University of Basel. “So, our biological clock is especially sensitive to daylight.” This function, sometimes referred to as the circadian pacemaker, is located in the suprachiasmatic nucleus (SCN) in the brain’s control centre, the hypothalamus. The most important environmental time cue reaching the SCN is ambient light. “We get information about the time in the environment through our eyes,” says Blume. Non-image-forming lightsensitive cells in the eye, says Blume, are what primarily connect our biological clock to the environment. “[They are] especially sensitive to short wavelengths, which we sometimes call blue,” she says. Blue light has a very short, highenergy wavelength. This is what we see most of in the morning and throughout the middle of the day. Morning light, says Blume, induces a “phase advance”. It sets the internal biological clock, speeding it up a little – helping you to become tired earlier in the evening. In fact, morning light is so important that there is good evidence that it’s a potent antidepressant – sometimes as effective as pharmaceutical antidepressants. Serotonin, often referred to as the body’s natural antidepressant, is produced when sunlight enters your eyes. The most commonly prescribed antidepressant medications are designed to increase serotonin levels in the brain. However, these medications can come with numerous sideeffects, ranging from anxiety to diarrhoea to sexual dysfunction. Using daylight to treat depression, on the other hand, doesn’t have such side-effects. Morning light therapy has been shown to be beneficial in the treatment of seasonal affective disorder (Sad), perinatal depression, bipolar depression, eating disorders and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Studies have also shown that exposure to morning light significantly improves alertness and mood. It can reduce chronic pain, boost energy levels and mental performance, and result in better sleep. In the evening, when the sun nears the horizon, the blue light waves are scattered in the atmosphere – and longer, redder light waves reach the surface of the Earth. It is at this time that the master biological clock initiates the production of melatonin, a hormone that promotes sleep. So, our circadian rhythm aligns our sleep and wakefulness with day and night – creating a healthy cycle of restorative rest that enables increased daytime activity. How daylight can help you sleep Getting enough natural light during the day is critical for quality sleep. Sleep deprivation affects the processing of emotional memory, too, resulting in a tendency to select and remember negative memories. A lack of sleep is associated with bipolar disorder, anxiety and depression. Your immune system is also reliant on sleep. While you sleep, it produces protective, infectionfighting antibodies and cytokines. Sleep deprivation prevents it from building up these defences, so your body may not be able to fend off invaders, and recovery from illness can take longer. A disrupted circadian rhythm is associated with a range of health problems including cancer, cardiovascular dysfunction, reproductive problems and dementia. Appetite, hormones, immune function: daylight helps regulate them all and more This daily cycle regulates not just our sleep and wake patterns – but also digestion, hormonal activity and other vital body functions. “We have one biological master clock, which I like to think about as a conductor of an orchestra,” says Blume. “And we have other clocks, for example in the liver, heart and skin – basically in every single cell in the body.” These trillions of tiny clocks are our natural timing devices, regulating physiological functions throughout the body over the course of about 24 hours. So, if you mess up your master clock, you mess up all the other daily functions too. Take appetite, for example. Have you ever noticed you feel hungry when you’re tired? There is mounting evidence linking a lack of sleep to weight gain and obesity. Hormone production is dependent on sleep. Two of these hormones are leptin, which tells your brain that you’re full, and ghrelin, the “hunger hormone”. A lack of sleep has been found to decrease levels of leptin and increase ghrelin, prompting you to eat more than you really need to. I’m a night owl. Should I force myself to rise with the sun? “People often think they are either larks or owls but most of us are somewhere in between,” says Blume. True owls, explains Blume, are those who suffer from “delayed sleep phase syndrome”. “They can’t go to sleep before 2am or even later and, for them, waking at 8am feels like getting up at 5am for the rest of us.” Most of us merely have an owlish tendency. We’d rather go to bed late and get up at 8am instead of 6.30 – but it’s fairly easy to retrain our circadian rhythm by restricting light in the evening and going to bed earlier. But I can lie in at the weekend, right? The problem comes at weekends when we have the freedom to sleep when we want. Often we shift our circadian rhythm towards later times – which can lead to blearyeyed Monday mornings. “We call this mismatch between societal and internal biological rhythms ‘social jet lag’,” says Blume. Blume recommends lots of natural light in the morning and avoiding artificial light in the evening. And, she says, getting outdoors is key. On a bright summer day, you can easily have 100,000 lux (the measure of light level intensity). That’s around 200 times standard lighting you might experience indoors. “Even on an overcast day, the light is much brighter outside than in,” says Blume. “We often underestimate the brightness of daylight.” Being outdoors brings other benefits too. Vitamin D is produced when sunlight hits the skin. This vitamin helps the body absorb and retain calcium and phosphorus – important for building bone. It has also been found to reduce cancer cell growth and inflammation. Plus, as little as 10 minutes in a natural setting has been shown to increase happiness, lower stress and improve focus. And spending time outdoors may reduce loneliness, improve immune function – even protect your eyesight. So, when the clocks spring forward, go for that walk or run or cycle first thing and avoid screens in the evening – you’ll sleep better at night and feel better for it. So one day Silicon Valley Bank (SVB) was a bank, and then the next day it was a smoking hulk that looked as though it might bring down a whole segment of the US banking sector. The US government, which is widely regarded by the denizens of Silicon Valley as a lumbering, obsolescent colossus, then magically turned on a dime, ensuring that no depositors would lose even a cent. And over on this side of the pond, regulators arranged that HSBC, another lumbering colossus, would buy the UK subsidiary of SVB for the princely sum of £1. Panic over, then? We’ll see. In the meantime it’s worth taking a more sardonic look at what went on. The first thing to understand is that “Silicon Valley” is actually a reality-distortion field inhabited by people who inhale their own fumes and believe they’re living through Renaissance 2.0, with Palo Alto as the new Florence. The prevailing religion is founder worship, and its elders live on Sand Hill Road in San Francisco and are called venture capitalists. These elders decide who is to be elevated to the privileged caste of “founders”. To achieve this status it is necessary to a) be male; b) have a Big Idea for disrupting something; and c) never have knowingly worn a suit and tie. Once admitted to the priesthood, the elders arrange for a large tipper-truck loaded with $100 bills to arrive at the new member’s door and cover his driveway with cash. But this presents the new founder with a problem: where to store the loot while he is getting on with the business of disruption? Enter stage left one Gregory Becker, CEO of SVB and famous in the valley for being worshipful of founders and slavishly attentive to their needs. His company would keep their cash safe, help them manage their personal wealth, borrow against their private stock holdings and occasionally even give them mortgages for those $15m dream houses on which they had set what might loosely be called their hearts. So SVB was awash with money. But, as programmers say, that was a bug not a feature. Traditionally, as Bloomberg’s Matt Levine points out, “the way a bank works is that it takes deposits from people who have money, and makes loans to people who need money”. SVB’s problem was that mostly its customers didn’t need loans. So the bank had all this customer cash and needed to do something with it. Its solution was not to give loans to risky corporate borrowers, but to buy long-dated, ostensibly safe securities like Treasury bonds. So 75% of SVB’s debt portfolio – nominally worth $95bn (£80bn) – was in those “held to maturity” assets. On average, other banks with at least $1bn in assets classified only 6% of their debt in this category at the end of 2022. There was, however, one fly in this ointment. As every schoolboy (and girl) knows, when interest rates go up, the market value of long-term bonds goes down. And the US Federal Reserve had been raising interest rates to combat inflation. Suddenly, SVB’s longterm hedge started to look like a millstone. Moody’s, the rating agency, noticed and Mr Becker began frantically to search for a solution. Word got out – as word always does – and the elders on Sand Hill Road began to whisper to their esteemed founder proteges that they should pull their deposits out, and the next day they obediently withdrew $42bn. The rest, as they say, is recent history. What can we infer about the culture of Silicon Valley from this shambles? Well, first up is its pervasive hypocrisy. Palo Alto is the centre of a microculture that regards the state as an innovationblocking nuisance. But the minute the security of bank deposits greater than the $250,000 limit was in doubt, the screams for state protection were deafening. (In the end, the deposits were protected – by a state agency.) And when people started wondering why SVB wasn’t subjected to the “stress testing” imposed on big banks after the 2008 crash, we discovered that some of the most prominent lobbyists against such measures being applied to SVB-size institutions included that company’s own executives. What came to mind at that point was Samuel Johnson’s observation that “the loudest yelps for liberty” were invariably heard from the drivers of slaves. But the most striking takeaway of all was the evidence produced by the crisis of the arrant stupidity of some of those involved. The venture capitalists whose whispered advice to their proteges triggered the fatal run must have known what the consequences would be. And how could a bank whose solvency hinged on assumptions about the value of long-term bonds be taken by surprise by the impact of interestrate increases? All that was needed to model the risk was an intern with a spreadsheet. But apparently no such intern was available. Perhaps s/he was at Stanford doing a thesis on the Renaissance.