Through the Mirror

A Cautionary Tale About the Cost of Criticism

There was once a man named Jeremy Lang who believed the world was going downhill fast. Not because of politics or climate change or even the internet, but because, in his eyes, people had stopped trying to be “better.” They dressed how they wanted, talked however they pleased, and embraced odd passions that he saw as ridiculous.

Jeremy was sharp tongued, proud of his opinions, and very active on social media. “Just calling it like I see it,” he would say, often after launching into a takedown of someone’s appearance, lifestyle, or choices. He wasn’t a bully, he told himself. Just a critic of a crumbling culture.

In his hometown of Stafford, Jeremy had become infamous for his commentaries. He ran a blog titled The World Is Not Okay, where he regularly posted think pieces criticizing everything from people’s haircuts to the way teenagers walked with their heads down.

Then one day, something strange happened.

The Experiment

Jeremy’s younger brother, Calvin, a computer engineer at a local AI startup, had long been bothered by his brother’s attitude. He didn’t argue anymore. Jeremy always had a comeback. But Calvin was patient, methodical, and curious. One night, he invited Jeremy over, luring him with the promise of a free steak dinner and “something that would blow his mind.”

After dessert, Calvin walked Jeremy into his home office and sat him down in front of a computer.

“I’ve been working on a simulation,” Calvin said. “It’s powered by a conversational AI model trained on your own writing. Your blog, your tweets, your comments; it’s all in there.”

Jeremy squinted. “You made a little me?”

Calvin smiled. “Not just that. I made an AI version of you with the same values and critical nature. Then I fed it the profiles of real people, anonymized, of course, and let it judge them. Want to see how it stacks up?”

Jeremy leaned forward, intrigued. “Let’s see it.”

Running the Simulation

The first profile was of a teenage girl who dyed her hair bright blue and wore cosplay outfits in public. Jeremy’s AI version wasted no time.

AI-Jeremy: “Immature. Probably trying to get attention. Should focus on something meaningful, like school or a job.”

Jeremy chuckled. “See? Not wrong.”

The next profile was of a single father who worked as a delivery driver and wore eyeliner. AI-Jeremy responded:

AI-Jeremy: “Trying too hard to be edgy. Be a father, not a fashion statement.”

The profiles kept coming. A boy with autism who loved collecting old newspapers. A plus sized woman who posted body positive content. A man who spoke with a stutter but ran a podcast. Each time, the AI version of Jeremy dissected them coldly, stripped them down, and offered a curt evaluation of what they should “fix.”

By the tenth profile, Jeremy had stopped laughing.

“Wait,” he said. “This guy, he’s got a stutter but he’s running a podcast? That takes guts.”

“Your AI doesn’t think so,” Calvin replied. “Want to hear what it said?”

Jeremy nodded.

AI-Jeremy: “Poor delivery. Shouldn’t speak publicly if he can’t do it clearly. Stick to writing.”

Jeremy winced. “Okay, that’s harsh.”

“Why?” Calvin asked. “Isn’t that what you’d say?”

Jeremy opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

The Turning Point

Calvin switched the display. This time, the AI was shown an anonymized profile Jeremy didn’t recognize right away. The subject loved jazz, wrote daily in a leather journal, and believed people should follow strict social norms. He wore the same clothes every day — jeans, white shirt, loafers. He mocked trends and thought tattoos were “childish marks of rebellion.”

AI-Jeremy assessed:

“Rigid. Pretentious. Struggles with empathy. Likely unhappy but hides it behind moral superiority. Probably thinks he’s helping when he’s hurting.”

Jeremy stood up, face flushed.

“Who was that?”

Calvin turned. “It was you. Well, your behavior, without your name.”

Jeremy looked away. “That’s brutal.”

Calvin leaned forward. “It’s just your logic, turned on itself. You judge people for being who they are, for not fitting your idea of what’s right. But that same logic doesn’t show you mercy. You’re not perfect either, Jer. None of us are. That’s kind of the point.”

The Mirror Doesn’t Flatter

Jeremy didn’t say much the rest of the night. He left early, claiming he had a blog to work on. But he didn’t write that night or the next.

Instead, he scrolled through his old posts. All the times he’d mocked people. All the comments from followers who agreed. All the ones who tried to reason with him, only to be shut down.

He noticed something else, too. Not once had anyone he wrote about reached out. No one had argued with him directly. But they had blocked him. Or ignored him. Or disappeared quietly from his feed.

He remembered the girl with blue hair. How she used to post artwork every day. Then stopped. He wondered if he had anything to do with that.

The Quiet Rebuild

Over the next few weeks, Jeremy started rewriting his blog. Not just new content. he took down dozens of old posts. He replaced them with stories. Observations. Questions.

Instead of criticizing people, he started asking what made them light up. He posted interviews with folks who dressed differently, loved strange hobbies, or lived off the beaten path.

And he listened.

His followers shifted. Some left, saying he’d “gone soft.” But new ones came. Quiet at first, then steadily more engaged.

He shared the simulation one day, describing how it humbled him. The story got traction. People didn’t attack him for who he had been. They were more interested in who he was becoming.

Why We Judge

We all do it. Maybe not online, not in public, but somewhere in our heads. We see someone who doesn’t fit our idea of what’s normal, or smart, or respectable, and we judge them. Sometimes we do it out loud. Sometimes we tell ourselves we’re just “being honest.”

But the truth is, most of the time, we’re just scared.

Scared that we might be wrong. Scared that we don’t measure up. Scared that the freedom other people have might mean we’re the ones stuck.

It’s easier to point fingers than to ask questions. Easier to mock someone’s strange haircut than to admit we’re tired of pretending to like our own reflection.

Letting People Be

The real courage isn’t in calling people out, it’s in letting them be.

Letting the quiet kid speak slowly. Letting the artist paint outside the lines. Letting someone wear whatever they want without thinking it’s a statement about you.

That’s not weakness. That’s strength.

Because when you start letting people be, something surprising happens: you give yourself permission, too. To make mistakes. To change. To grow.

You stop looking at people as broken versions of your ideal and start seeing them as whole stories you’ve never read before.

A Final Word from Jeremy

Jeremy still writes. But now, his blog is called The World Is Learning. He doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. He still slips up sometimes and gets snarky, lets old instincts resurface.

But then he remembers the simulation.

He remembers what it felt like to be judged by a version of himself.

And he never wants to be that voice again.

If You’ve Made It This Far

Maybe you’ve been Jeremy. Maybe you’ve been the one on the receiving end. Maybe both.

Here’s the invitation: take a step back. Look at how you respond to people who live differently than you. Ask yourself if your version of “better” is really kinder or just louder.

Because in the end, nobody changes when they’re shamed into it.

People grow when they’re seen. Respected. Given space to be more than just someone else’s opinion.

So offer that space.

You never know how much it might mean.