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By Ken Hollow, professional fox spirit handler, part-time therapist, full-time financial victim Let me paint you a picture. I wake up. It’s 6 a.m. The…

By Ken Hollow, AI wrangler, burnout survivor, and reluctant personal brand
When GPT-5 dropped, I thought, “Perfect. Finally, an assistant who can handle my tone so I can stop writing captions at 1 a.m. while half-watching reruns of Kitchen Nightmares.”
The dream: teach it to write like me, minus the spiraling panic that I lace into every paragraph.
The reality: mixed success.
Let’s talk about what worked, what didn’t, and why GPT-5 now thinks I’m 40% cynicism, 40% coffee, and 20% ellipses.
Easier said than done.
When you write in a constant state of exhaustion and sarcasm, your voice is less a “style” and more an emotional coping mechanism. But fine, let’s try to define it.
I dumped a bunch of my past posts into GPT-5 and asked it to:
It came back with:
“Your style is conversational, self-deprecating, and sarcastic, with a tendency to juxtapose humor against mild despair.”
Which, rude, but accurate.
Here’s what I started with:
Write as Ken Hollow: sardonic, witty, burnout-tinged but insightful. Avoid excessive doom, keep the humor sharp, and deliver actual value beneath the sarcasm.
This worked… sort of. The early attempts felt like reading a parody of myself. Imagine if a chatbot watched you for a week and then tried to do an impression at a party.
So I tweaked it:
Adopt Ken Hollow’s voice: dry humor, self-awareness, light bitterness. Blend insight with wit. Make readers feel entertained but oddly seen. Avoid melodrama.
Better. Still not perfect. The trick with GPT-5 is specificity without handcuffing it — tell it how to sound, but not exactly what to say.
GPT-5 learns tone faster when you show it instead of just telling it. I gave it:
Then I prompted:
Using the above as tone reference, write a post intro about the rise of AI-generated friends.
Boom — 80% nailed. The humor landed, the pacing felt right, and it didn’t sound like it was trying too hard. That last part is important. If AI sounds like it’s performing wit, you lose the authenticity.
Sarcasm is my brand seasoning. Too little, and it’s bland. Too much, and you sound like a Twitter reply guy.
GPT-5 can balance this if you:
Example tweak:
Use dry humor and subtle irony. One or two direct asides to the reader are fine. Keep it playful.
This got me to that sweet spot where readers chuckle but don’t send wellness check texts.
My early drafts had GPT-5 slipping into:
So I added a negative style guide:
Avoid clichés, corporate jargon, and forced optimism. No overexplaining punchlines. No motivational poster energy.
That alone cut out 90% of the awkwardness.
This was my biggest mistake: letting GPT-5’s output go straight to publish. It’s good — scarily good — but it’s still missing the micro-moments that make writing feel lived-in.
Now, I:
This hybrid approach keeps the AI efficiency without losing my fingerprints.
I realized GPT-5 doesn’t know if I’m feeling “mildly caffeinated” or “two emails away from snapping.” Tone is emotional context, so I started adding it:
Tone: playful but tired. Audience: creators who feel slightly dead inside but still love the work.
Shockingly effective. It’s like giving the model a little backstory before it enters the scene.
What Worked:
What Didn’t:
GPT-5 can mimic me with unnerving accuracy now. Sometimes I’ll read a draft and have to check if I actually wrote it during a blackout.
But here’s the thing — it’s still mimicry. It can echo my phrasing, match my rhythm, even capture that bittersweet punch at the end. What it can’t do is feel the moment it’s writing about.
And maybe that’s fine. Maybe my job isn’t to fight the machine for personality, but to use it as a mirror — to see what’s essential about my voice and what’s just filler I hide behind.
So yes, GPT-5 now sounds more like me.
Just without the 2 a.m. dread, the Slack avoidance, or the creeping suspicion I should’ve opened a coffee shop instead.
Ken Hollow, freelance cynic, AI tone coach, and guy who just trained a robot to roast him better than his friends do.
Hi. I’m Ken. I run Two Second Solutions, a one-man agency that somehow landed a fox spirit influencer as a client. I drink too much coffee, blog when I need to vent, and regularly update my résumé just in case she sets the office on fire again. I’m not crying — it’s just spell residue.
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