We have finally done it folks! We have hit a point where content generation has outpaced content digestion. AI tools can produce 3,000 words before your coffee has cooled, and that speed shows in the sheer volume of content that is dumped daily on our timelines, feeds, mailboxes, DMs, App notifications, [insert any channel you want]. But when everything starts to sound like a slightly tweaked version of the last thing you read, attention fades, and irritation sets in.
Scroll through SEO blogs, LinkedIn thought pieces, or generic marketing articles, and you’ll feel the overload. The main problem: one content is indistinguishable from the next.
Read on, this isn’t a call to abandon AI tools (we’re all using them). This is a call to use your brain before the prompt.
The guide below is a breakdown of the patterns, phrasings, and narrative tics that make your inner voice scream “machine-generated”; and tips to avoid sounding like your blog post was handcrafted by a mildly enthusiastic autocomplete engine.
So, without further ado, let’s write to be read, and in effect make our writing stand out. Or, as your well-trained, deeply-trusted LLM buddy would call it – “No dramatics, no finger-wagging. Just real examples, smart rewrites, and a reminder that writing is still a human act.”
AI loves contrast-heavy framing: “It’s not X, it’s Y.” This device feels clever at first, but when everything becomes a dramatic twist, nothing feels fresh anymore. It’s a template often forced into places where it simply does not belong, and its many derivatives make it worse. Think:
These constructions pretend to build nuance, but they rely on the illusion of insight.
Instead: Say what you mean. If there’s a real contrast, build the logic clearly. If you’re trying to make a shift, earn it. Share perspective with context and clarity.
Weak: “It’s not about content volume. It’s about content quality.”
Better: “Readers care more about clarity and value than keyword stuffing. Search engines increasingly do too.”
To rewrite these tropes, isolate the two parts (X and Y) and ask: can this be said directly? Do both ideas deserve equal weight? Could this become a cause-effect or comparison instead? Most often, you’ll find the second part (Y) is the real message and the first (X) was just a rhetorical device to set it up.
You know the line: “In today’s fast-paced world…” or “In the digital age…” These generic openers feel vague and signal that what follows might be surface-level filler. They’re overused, and they delay the point.
These intros have many other faces:
They all say the same thing: “I don’t really have an opening insight, so here’s a placeholder.”
Instead: Start where it matters. Use an observation, a specific stat, a micro-story, or even a contradiction (if it’s honest and logical).
Weak: “In today’s business landscape, AI is playing a major role.”
Better: “Three years ago, no one wrote SEO blogs using language models. Today, most of us do.”
When revising, ask: Can the first sentence stand on its own without context? If it’s a timestamp or a vague truism, cut it.
AI content often defaults to sounding impressive. It strings together words like “leverage,” “solutions,” and “impact” into sentence-shaped noise. It looks like thought leadership, but you get to the end and wonder what was actually said.
These phrases are everywhere:
They feel professional. They also feel empty.
Instead: Get specific. Use real verbs. Use nouns people can picture. And make sure you’re saying something that couldn’t be said by any of your competitors.
Buzzword-heavy: “Our framework leverages innovation to drive scalable impact.”
Better: “We redesigned the onboarding emails and reduced drop-offs by 18%.”
AI-generated writing loves symmetry. And nothing shows that more than its obsession with the Rule of Three. It’s everywhere: three benefits, three steps, three claims. The repetition feels neat, polished, even persuasive at first — but when every list hits the same beat, readers begin to see the scaffolding instead of the message.
You’ll often find:
Instead: Let the idea lead. If there are two points, say two. If there are four, say four. Don’t shape your argument to fit a rhythm. Shape it to reflect what’s worth saying.
Predictable: “We create content that informs, engages, and converts.”
Better: “Most of what we write gets bookmarked or screenshotted, because it actually helps someone do something.”
One of the easiest ways to spot AI-generated content—especially on LinkedIn and Instagram—is the dramatic sentence drop. Every thought gets its own line. Every line thinks it’s a mic drop. The result? A feed full of fake drama and manufactured pause.
You’ll see it in formats like:
This matters.
Really matters.
Because without it, nothing else works.
This pattern mimics speech, but without the actual rhythm of conversation. It exaggerates minor ideas, and flattens complex ones. Worse, it trains readers to skim because nothing feels worth staying for.
Instead: Let sentences live together. Group by thought. If you’re writing for effect, make sure there’s actual content under the surface. If every line is isolated, it stops being a cohesive and logical piece.
Bad:
This tool changes everything.
It’s fast.
It’s smart.
It’s scalable.
Better:
The tool runs fast, handles scale, and works without supervision.
One of the most common signs of AI-generated content is how polished yet empty it feels. The grammar is clean. The sentences flow. But you reach the end and realise nothing new was said. That’s what happens when writers begin with a prompt and let the tool take the lead. The result is writing that’s structured well, but built on vague ideas that anyone could have said.
This becomes even more obvious when the content avoids taking a stance, reflecting on failure, or sharing anything specific. AI can summarise articles. It can rephrase other blogs. But it can’t tell you what went wrong in a campaign or what an unexpected win taught your team.
Instead: Start by figuring out what you actually want to say. Don’t open the tool until you have a perspective—an experience, a strong opinion, a real example. Think about what you can add that’s different from what’s already out there. Use the tool to help shape your message, not decide it for you.
Weak: “Creating strong customer relationships is key to business growth.”
Strong: “We lost three key clients last year because our onboarding process wasn’t responsive. Fixing that meant rewriting the emails, rebuilding the flow, and bringing the support team in earlier. Retention numbers finally caught up.”
If your content could be written by anyone — or worse, by anything — it’s probably not worth publishing. Specifics make it credible. Perspective makes it useful. And both start with thinking before writing.
Once a stylish tool for adding rhythm, clarity, or contextual layering, the em dash has now been hijacked by AI writing tools and turned into a tell-tale sign. AI content overuses — and misuses — it in ways that feel unnatural to human readers.
You’ll spot it where commas, semicolons, conjunctions, or even clean sentence breaks would have done the job better. It shows up often, and unnecessarily.
The original purpose of the em dash was nuance:
But it doesn’t belong here:
Instead: Use the em dash sparingly. Ask yourself if a comma, “and,” “but,” or even a period would sound more natural. Read the line aloud. If it sounds like a bot trying to sound clever, it probably is.
There’s no harm in using AI to write. Most of us do. The problem begins when we stop paying attention—when we let the tool decide the rhythm, the structure, even the voice. That’s how content starts to sound the same.
This guide isn’t a rejection of AI. It’s a reminder that tools don’t replace judgment. The best content still comes from writers who know what they want to say, how they want to say it, and who they’re saying it to
Write with intent. Edit with awareness. And if a sentence sounds like it wrote itself, it probably did—so fix it.