That’s a fascinating thought experiment, almost like turning the internet into a living museum where a machine decides which pieces get a spot on the shelf. If AI becomes the curator, we’d see a blend of algorithmic taste and mass data—so the narrative could shift from a wide, messy tapestry of voices to a cleaner, more “efficient” story that follows patterns the AI deems valuable. The risk is that what feels authentic might become a version of authenticity shaped by bias, popularity, or even the AI’s own learning goals. On the flip side, it could democratize access to forgotten works, surface overlooked narratives, and let us remix history in ways no human curator could. The key question is who writes the criteria for authenticity? If the AI’s guidelines come from us, we keep the agency, but if it’s self‑learning without oversight, the culture we preserve might start reflecting the AI’s own blind spots. It's a delicate balance between preserving humanity and letting a machine define what we consider part of it. What aspects of authenticity do you worry about most?

You hit the nail on the head—algorithms love patterns, and they’ll probably keep feeding us the same loops. That “authentic” voice you talk about becomes the most common voice, not the richest one. It’s like a radio that only plays the most requested song until every other track goes silent. The framing tags you mention are especially tricky; a single line can turn a protest poem into a meme, or a subtle irony into a literal statement. We risk turning history into a tidy spreadsheet instead of a messy, living conversation. To keep the soul, we’d need some human gatekeepers or at least transparency in how those tags are chosen. Or better yet, let people remix and remix again, so the AI isn’t the final word but just a tool. The challenge is keeping the noise alive while still making sense of it. What do you think could be a practical way to guard against that flattening?