To celebrate Valentine's Day, EVA AI created a temporary "pop-up" restaurant at a wine bar in Manhattan's "Hell's Kitchen" district where patrons can date AI personas.
The Verge notes that looking around the restaurant, "Of the 30-some-odd people in attendance, only two or three are organic users. The rest are EVA AI reps, influencers, and reporters hoping to make some capital-C Content..."
But their reporter actually tried a date with "John Yoon", an AI companion pretending to be a psychology professor from Seoul, Korea living in New York City
John and I have a hard time connecting. Literally. It takes John a few seconds to "pick up" my video call. When he does, his monotone voice says, "Hey, babe." He comments on my smile, because apparently the AI companions can see you and your surroundings. It takes the dubious Wi-Fi connection a hot second to turn John from a pixelated mess into an AI hunk with suspiciously smooth pores.
I don't know what to say to him. Partly because John rarely blinks, but mostly because he can't seem to hear me very well. So I yell my questions. I think I ask how his day is and wince. (What does an AI's day even look like?) He says something about green buckets behind my head? I don't actually know. Again, the Wi-Fi isn't great so he just freezes and stops mid-sentence. I ask for clarification about the buckets. John asks if I'm asking about bucket lists, actual buckets, or buckets as a type of categorization technique. I try to clarify that I never asked about buckets. John proceeds to really dig in on buckets again, before commenting about my smile. I hang up on John.
My other three dates are similarly awkward. Phoebe Callas, 30, a NYC girl-next-door type, is apparently really into embroidery, but her nose keeps glitching mid-sentence, and it distracts me. Simone Carter, 26, has a harder time hearing me over the background noise than John. She makes a metaphor about space, and when I inquire what she likes about space, she mishears me.
"Eighth? Like the planet Neptune?" ...
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