The biggest story on my personal WhatsApp this week – populated, as of course it is, by former journalism students, people I met on the college newspaper and ex-media peeps (I think, of the friends I made in my time in newspaper and magazine journalism, 75% of them now work in PR, marketing or “content”, outside of media itself) – was The Irish Times’ AI-produced op-ed.
A piece ran in the newspaper on May 11, criticising Irish women’s use of fake tan and suggesting it as a form of cultural appropriation; less than 24 hours later, it was pulled from the site as journalists from The Currency discovered that the byline photograph, of a Latin American woman with blue hair, was AI-generated.
The bigger reveal was, of course, that the entire piece had been written by Chat GPT, at the behest of an undergraduate student who told the Evening Standard they wish to remain anonymous.
In a way, it was an inevitability. Ever since the swift advancements in AI that have led to the release of Chat GPT, and Bing’s (frankly terrifying) new chatbot earlier this year, writers have been wondering how long it would take for artificial intelligence to come for our jobs. Now, it seems, we have the answer. Chat GPT launched in November 2022 and The Irish Times published its AI-produced piece in May of 2023; it took six months.
For what it’s worth, I feel incredibly sorry for Jennifer O’Connell, the opinion editor of The Irish Times, whose appointment to the role was announced in early May. The Irish Times’ opinion pages have always been open to all pitches and writers, which cannot but be a positive, and no previous opinion editor has ever had to grapple with the possibility that the piece they were being pitched had been written by a computer. The technology simply wasn’t there.
As for the content of the piece, it is so obviously a ridiculous hot take – that fake tan is equal to cultural appropriation – that it could, of course, be real. Current culture wars, and the battle against “ultra-wokeness”, whatever that means, have reached such levels of farce that it would be comical, were it not genuinely frightening, and dangerous for those who find themselves in the firing line.
The fight against “woke ideology” has become a fight against transgender children, drag artists, people of colour, minorities who have, throughout history, faced persecution – and are now facing more because some factions of society seem to think that we have “gone too far” in our pursuit of fairness, equality and acceptance.
It feels a bit like saying a meal is too delicious; a sunset “too perfect”. When it comes to these things, surely the limit does not exist: how can something be too fair? Too Equal? Too acceptable?!
But I digress.
It is, like I said, a weird time to be a writer.
But that has been true for me ever since I became one. While I could paraphrase Abba and tell you I was a writer before I could walk, I only began to work in the field in early 2008, a year that is not known for its employment prospects. I graduated from DIT with an MA in International Journalism that autumn, mere weeks after the bankruptcy of Lehman Brothers, into a recession I absolutely did not see coming.
I was one of the lucky ones; a friend of a friend had got me an “in” at The Irish Times, and after a successful trial day, I had started to take sub editing shifts at the paper that spring, on Mondays and Fridays, while I attended lectures Tuesdays through Thursdays and worked on my thesis at the weekends. (Its title? Girl Talk: How Women Conspire to Oppress Women in Women’s Publications, kill me now.)
Upon graduating, I increased that to three shifts a week; at €244 per shift, I was taking in almost €750 a week, working part-time, when my fellow graduates were struggling to find work in journalism or any related fields.
My then-boyfriend, who had moved to Dublin to work as a structural engineer in a firm with its offices in Stoneybatter, was laid off almost immediately, and moved back to Galway. We broke up shortly thereafter; he had decided to “do a year” in Australia, where engineers were still able to make a living, and though I had initially planned to go with him, I struggled to justify the idea of quitting my dream job to maybe find something halfway across the world, ultimately deciding to stay in Ireland.
He never came home.
The word “recession” was soon a daily feature of the front page. Ireland’s building industry, which had been experiencing a massive boom, had gone bust; employment was at an all-time high; we became familiar with terms we’d never heard before, like “ghost estate” and “negative equity.”
It felt as though, all of a sudden, art was no longer important, and those who were trying to make a living as artists, musicians, even writers, seemed to be seen as almost ridiculous vestiges of a past life that no longer bore any resemblance to this new everyday.
One friend, an art director at a large Dublin advertising agency, was let go and took a junior role in a firm doing marketing and PR, writing press releases and Instagram captions; another, with an MA in art history, trained to become a teacher; I, with my MA in International Journalism, and having harboured dreams of going to work in Iraq or Iran as a foreign correspondent, wrote commercial features about the EU regulations that banned the sale of certain shaped bananas.
Journalism’s true heyday, which anyone who’s read Tina Brown’s Vanity Fair Diaries, will know was in the 1980s and, to an extent, early 1990s. Feature writers were sent on assignments that would take weeks and span thousands of miles, with matching expense accounts and remuneration that made the job worth the effort, recognising both the work and the talent that went into such long-form, investigative journalism.
It’s something that seems increasingly hard to find now – although this Insider piece by Olivia Gentile is a stunning exception – due to a combination and confluence of factors, not least of which has been the power of social media to erode our attention spans. Maybe investigative journalism in 2023 belongs on TikTok, although the limitations of the three-minute video clip are clear to see, even in the recently enthralling #tattoogate scandal, that took four clips – and countless follow-ups – to truly explain.
Get ready to wave goodbye to the next hour of your life as you fall down this rabbit hole:
By 2008, the writing seemed to be on the wall for print media; the internet was taking over, as sites like Buzzfeed and Huffington Post were breaking stories hours, sometimes days, before those same pieces would appear in print. Journalists were now expected to churn out piece after piece for an online audience whose appetites were remarkably difficult to pin down. If a piece on Kate Middleton performed well on a Monday, it was no guarantee that Tuesday’s follow-up would get more than a handful of clicks, and there would be no time to rewrite or rework – it was just on to the next thing.
The idea that the writing of a feature was a craft, requiring time, thought, skill, revision, was suddenly outdated. We simply didn’t have the time for any of that. Churnalism 101 required that the next piece be started at the same time as the last piece was winging its way, by email, to the higher-ups.
It reminded me of how my grandmother would light each cigarette from the embers of the last; she only ever needed a match first thing in the morning.
A friend at The Irish Times told me, once, about where she was when news of 9/11 broke: in the pub, at lunchtime, having a pint with some colleagues, all of whom abandoned their drinks and toasted sandwiches when Sky News was switched on, and they realised they should probably get back to the office. A mere seven years later, the notion of a leisurely lunch – let alone one eaten without your mobile phone on hand, at all times – was outdated, too. Those were the days, etc.
When I thought about what it would mean to be a journalist, in those days and years before I became one, things looked a lot different. I would have a desk of my own and an “in” tray and I would bring a pen and notepad to editorial meetings and I would pitch ideas and be given time to work on them. (If you’ve seen The Bold Type, I thought it would be a lot like those meetings, those commissions.)
Instead, I worked in production while freelancing on the side, writing occasional features and commercial content and, then, becoming a TV stylist for Xposé, kind of by accident (because I sometimes wrote about fashion, I was asked if I would present a short piece on debs dresses). I launched a fashion blog on irishtimes.com and wrote about new launches and shop openings (and closings) and the time Victoria Beckham came to Brown Thomas.
At one stage, I was publishing three short pieces a day on the site, and being paid €350 a week. That’s a little over €23 per piece. (Take that, Tina Brown!)
That’s probably the least money I’ve ever written for, but the best wage I received was for those production shifts. When I wrote a weekly fashion column for the paper, which took two days to write and research, I got €250; an online opinion piece for independent.ie earned €70; an early-morning jaunt to Donnybrook to chat on RTÉ Radio One with Ryan Tubridy or Dave Fanning was also €70 (but they forked out for the taxi there and back, at least); an afternoon in TV3, appearing on Midday, netted €50; Xposé’s fashion segments could range from €350 to €500, with the fee being paid by the brand featured, which was great money, but was not an entirely comfortable arrangement for me, being paid by Penneys to extoll the virtues of their new range on the TV, while trying to remain entirely impartial in my Irish Times role.
It was also difficult to juggle all of those balls, to switch from TV presenter mode to writing and back again in the blink of an eye, to hoof around town with bags full of clothes being returned to some shop or another, not to mention the time it took to follow up on unpaid invoices.
“We didn’t get a single sale after that segment on Xposé,” one brand owner told me, when I chased a late invoice. “I’m not paying for that.”
Life after graduation was not what I thought it would be.
Some 15 years on, it’s safe to say it’s still not what I thought it would be, and the media landscape is not what any of us expected. The Irish Times, caught out by an AI-wielding prankster; Buzzfeed shutting down; former print titles like Allure and Glamour now existing solely in the form of websites offering “Beauty Tips, Trends and Product Reviews”.
Advertisers, whose payments helped keep magazines and newspapers afloat, are now spending more and more working with social media influencers, many of whom get more eyes on their daily Instagram Stories or TikTok videos than the print version of a newspaper or magazine will get in a month, or even a year.
Subscription models like Substack and Patreon have become more and more popular with former print journalists who simply cannot make a living from print journalism any more and, beyond that, don’t want to be in thrall to advertisers in order to make a buck.
My beloved Virginia Sole-Smith, for example, speaks frequently about how she cannot write the anti-diet journalism she wants to write for mainstream publications who rely on diet culture-loving conglomerates to pay their bills; Jessica DeFino’s The Unpublishable is another newsletter that came about as DeFino realised she couldn’t write about the beauty industry with the level of honesty and integrity she wanted, while also catering to that same industry in the form of advertisers.
I’m not sure that I would have liked the Vanity Fair era of journalism, by the way – and I doubt I would have made it as a war reporter, even if I did avoid getting killed in the process. I don’t have the patience for playing the long game, in investigative journalism or simply general terms, and the other day I got a blister on my hand after 20 minutes of weeding. Nor can I imagine myself lugging my laptop and voice recorder around a hot, sweaty, war-torn country without simply bursting into tears.
Working as a production editor, day in, day out, felt too repetitive; TV work didn’t pay enough or, if it did, felt like it cost too much; and I hated my short time working for The Man.
Plus, there is a certain kind of democratic aspect of the subscription model that appeals to me. Those who wish to, can subscribe. Those who don’t, can simply… not.
As consumers, too, we can choose whose pockets we are lining. We can reward the writers whose work and ethos and outlook we admire, and we can avoid those with whom we disagree.
There is, of course, the danger of creating an echo chamber, of reading only opinions and points of view with which we agree. It’s a comforting concept, but it can trick us into thinking we’re safe. So, you know, don’t stop reading the newspapers altogether. Even if you’re now worried that everything is written by Chat GPT.
It’s probably not.
Out of interest, I asked Chat GPT to “write a money diary in the style of Rosemary Mac Cabe”, and it’s fair to say that it got quite a lot wrong. About me, yes, but it also gave up after three days’ worth of diarising – proving that, at least on this front, I don’t have to worry about AI and my particular job. It simply hasn’t got the stamina.
Monday:
7:30 AM - I wake up feeling refreshed and excited about the week ahead. After a quick shower, I put on my favorite vintage dress and pair it with some statement earrings. Looking good makes me feel good, and it sets the tone for a productive day.
8:00 AM - I head to my local café for a cup of artisanal coffee. Yes, it's a bit pricey, but I consider it an investment in my overall well-being. Plus, the barista knows exactly how I like it - extra foam and a dash of cinnamon on top.
9:00 AM - Time to get to work. As a freelance writer, my office is wherever my laptop is. Today, I'm working on a series of articles for a lifestyle magazine. I'm grateful for the flexibility and freedom that comes with being my own boss, but it also means I have to hustle to secure new gigs.
12:30 PM - Lunchtime! I whip up a delicious salad with organic greens, avocado, and grilled chicken. Eating healthy is important to me, and I believe that investing in quality food now will pay off in the long run. Besides, I can't resist the taste of fresh, vibrant ingredients.
3:00 PM - I take a break from my writing to meet up with a fellow freelancer for a brainstorming session. We grab a couple of green smoothies from a trendy juice bar. Networking is key in my industry, and bouncing ideas off each other always sparks creativity.
6:00 PM - Time to wind down and focus on self-care. I head to a yoga class, where I can find peace and reconnect with my body and mind. The membership fee is a splurge, but it's worth it for the mental and physical benefits I receive.
8:00 PM - Dinner with friends at a trendy restaurant. We indulge in a selection of small plates and share stories of our latest adventures. It's important to nurture relationships, and these shared experiences are priceless.
Total spending today:
Artisanal coffee: $5.50
Lunch ingredients: $12
Smoothies: $10
Yoga class: $20
Dinner: $40
Tuesday:
7:00 AM - I start my day with a morning run in the park. It's a great way to clear my mind and boost my energy levels. Plus, it's free!
8:30 AM - Back home, I make a delicious, nutritious breakfast. Today, it's a hearty bowl of oatmeal topped with fresh berries, chia seeds, and a drizzle of honey. Good food is fuel for my body, and I believe in investing in quality ingredients.
9:30 AM - I spend the morning pitching article ideas to various publications. It's a numbers game, and rejection is part of the process. But every "yes" brings me closer to my goals.
12:00 PM - I meet up with a fellow writer for a working lunch at a cozy café. We split the bill, and the food is delicious. It's great to have someone who understands the challenges and triumphs of the freelance life.
3:00 PM - I attend a webinar on personal finance and investing. As someone who values financial independence, I believe in constantly educating myself about money matters. Knowledge is power, after all.
6:00 PM - I head to the library to research for an upcoming article. It's a treasure trove of information, and the best part is it's free. Plus, the quiet atmosphere helps me focus and be more productive.
8:00 PM - I cook a simple yet satisfying dinner at home. Tonight, it's a homemade veggie stir-fry with tofu. It's not only delicious but also budget-friendly.
Total spending today:
Breakfast ingredients: $8
Lunch: $15 (split with friend)
Webinar: Free
Dinner ingredients: $10
Wednesday:
7:30 AM - I treat myself to a luxurious bubble bath before starting my day. Self-care is important, and taking time for myself helps me stay balanced.
9:00 AM - I have a meeting with a potential client. We meet at a local café, and I order a cappuccino. I see it as a small investment in building a professional relationship.
12:30 PM - Lunchtime. I bring a packed lunch from home - a colorful salad with quinoa and roasted vegetables. It's a delicious and cost-effective option.
3:00 PM - I attend a workshop on social media marketing. It's crucial to stay updated with the latest trends in my industry, and this workshop provides valuable insights.
6:00 PM - I head to the gym for a workout session. Physical fitness is a priority for me, and the gym membership is well worth it for the range of equipment and classes available.
8:00 PM - I invite a few friends over for a cozy dinner at home. I prepare a delicious pasta dish, and we enjoy good food and great conversation. It's a low-cost way to socialize and create lasting memories.
Total spending today:
Coffee: $4.50
Lunch: $0 (packed lunch)
Workshop: $25
Gym membership: $40 (monthly fee)
As a freelance writer, I understand the importance of balancing self-care, networking, and investing in my career. While I make conscious choices about how I spend my money, I also prioritize experiences and relationships, knowing that they contribute to my overall well-being and success. [Editor’s note: LOL.]
I really enjoyed this piece, I’m so nosy, so love finding out how much people earn for these types of things.
The money diary was hilarious though!! 🤪🤪
The money diary 😂