Why We Call It Slop

You’ve probably seen the term “AI slop” floating around lately — and you may have even used it. I bet even seeing my previous sentence with the now slop-identifying em-dash made you feel some type of way. In this post, I want to explore a bit on why marvel at Gen AI in one breath and in the next we reject it as slop.

This “AI slop” is a new slur for our super-charged machine age. It’s what we call the weird-fingered images, the off-kilter text, the uncanny attempts at art or writing that feel like someone pressed generate and walked away.

But beneath the meme is something more revealing: a human defense mechanism.

We don’t call it “slop” because it’s wrong. We call it slop because it’s threatening.

The Slur of the Machine Age

When we label something as AI slop, we’re not just critiquing the output. In reality, we’re trying to reassert our place in a changing world. It’s a psychological recoil against the idea that machines might now share our creative space.

Every major shift in technology has birthed its insults. Early digital art was “soulless.” Word processors were “lazy writing.” Even photography, when new, was dismissed as a “mechanical trick.” “AI slop” joins that lineage. It’s an emotional shorthand for “this thing doesn’t make me feel special anymore.”

We Crave Relevance

Human beings need to matter. For many of us, our sense of identity is deeply tied to what we do rather than how we feel. Work is how we prove worth. So when machines start doing the things that once defined us, we don’t just feel displaced — we feel unmoored.

But instead of naming that loss directly, we redirect it outward. We mock, we label, we diminish. “AI slop” becomes a socially acceptable way to express technological grief.

It’s easier to sneer at the product than to sit with the discomfort of perceived redundancy.

We’re Better Than That

We also can’t imagine being redundant because, naturally, we feel more valuable than the tools we wield. In the past, we praised the author, not the pen. You’ve probably never considered which computer or operating system your favorite novelist uses.

But with Gen AI, it feels like the awe has shifted to the tool, leaving less for the human. Where it’s obvious that a word processor doesn’t create stories, Gen AI seems to blur that line. And because of that illusion, we’re on high alert. We find ourselves constantly scanning for ways to prove we’re still better than the machine.

When Humans Err, It’s Humanity. When AI Errs, It’s Slop.

We romanticize our mistakes. A typo is “authentic.” A misstep is “part of the process.” But when a model does it, we call it “slop.”

We don’t just measure machine performance by output. We measure it by emotion. Does it make us feel diminished or inspired? That’s not a technical question — it’s a human one.

The irony is that many AI “failures” look a lot like human drafts: first tries, rough sketches, unedited thoughts. The difference is that when we make something messy, we call it creativity. When it does, we call it trash.

Furthermore, we shame the human who dared to use it.

Who Calls It “Slop” — and Why

Many of the strongest reactions come from highly experienced people who have spent years mastering craft, process, or precision. The ones who know what “good” actually means. Their skepticism isn’t irrational; it’s earned.

I remember being in one of my first corporate jobs after university, working on a mission-critical application. The senior architect on the project had designed a remarkably clean, consistent pattern for building new services. When I was assigned to build one, I followed his structure exactly and got working code.

During the code review, he glanced at my work and said, “You can always tell when someone copy/pastes to start.”

He didn’t mean it cruelly, and I don’t think he realized how it landed. Up until that moment, I was proud — I’d followed his pattern, learned from it, and built something real. But what I heard in his tone wasn’t pride in having created a system others could replicate. What I heard was uncertainty. Perhaps he wanted to reassert his place in the ecosystem he’d built.

And I understand that now.

When you’ve spent years building a foundation and suddenly someone — or something — can produce competent results by following your pattern, it stirs complicated emotions. Pride and fear coexist. It’s not that the architect resented me; it’s that he was watching his expertise become invisible through success.

That’s what’s happening to many professionals today.

Humans have spent generations producing patterns, frameworks, and cultural blueprints. Now AI, trained on those very patterns, can generate something good enough in seconds. It’s dizzying. You can either cry “slop!” or step back and marvel that our collective work has reached a point where a machine can echo it at all.

And many people do have reason to pause. The discomfort isn’t about the tool. It’s about identity. It’s about ownership. It’s about the deep, human desire to feel that our contributions still matter in a world that increasingly automates expression.

We’ve been here before, watching the tools we built start to outpace us, or at least look like they do. And yet, if we’re honest, it’s rarely the tools themselves that scare us.

The Real Threat Isn’t the Machine

What really unnerves us are the people who might use those tools against us. The manager who sees automation as a shortcut. The founder who values efficiency over expertise. The peer who leans on the tool instead of the team.

“AI slop” becomes a rallying cry: Don’t replace us. Don’t sell out. Don’t pretend the machine can do what we do.

It’s a human-to-human warning disguised as a critique of code — a way of reminding each other not to become complicit in our own obsolescence.

But the truth is, AI isn’t the replacement. It’s the reshaping. No tool has ever replaced human intent; it simply amplifies whatever direction we point it in.

If I used spell check and Grammarly to collect a bunch of grammatically correct sentences, you wouldn’t call it an essay. Grammarly can’t write one for you. And although Gen AI can generate an essay, it’s rarely inspiring on its own.

When the direction is thoughtful, the outcome can be extraordinary. When it’s careless, it looks like slop — not because of the AI, but because of the human aim behind it.

We might consider judging work by the product itself, not by the tool used to create it.

From Shame to Standard

Eventually, the cultural shame around using AI will fade. It will be as ordinary as using spellcheck or autocomplete.

Just as spellcheck doesn’t make you a writer, AI doesn’t make you an expert. The tool doesn’t replace the need for judgment, intent, or taste.

The real question isn’t whether AI produces slop. It’s whether we’re cultivating humans who can shape what it produces with discernment instead of defensiveness, curiosity instead of fear.

That will be the mark of creative maturity in the AI era: not avoiding the tools, but using them with taste, depth, and purpose.

So Who’s Really Being Sloppy?

Before we call the next image or paragraph “AI slop,” it’s worth pausing. What are we really reacting to? Are we offended by the machine, or what it reflects back about us?

Maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s just the natural awkwardness of a species learning to collaborate with its own invention.

Whatever it is, we should learn to name it honestly. We can learn to identify and articulate whether it’s disappointment in the product, discomfort with the process, or resistance to change. Some work will need to be rejected. Some will just need another round of human collaboration and iteration.

We are not (yet :P) being replaced by AI. We are being reshaped through our relationship with it — empowered, extended, mirrored.

And the sooner we stop shouting “slop,” the sooner we can start shaping what’s next.