Dr. Robert Weiss LCSW, CSAT

It’s Not a Search Engine. It’s a Relationship.

Earbuds in, walking down the street. It’s easy to see that Jon is deep in conversation—nodding, gesturing as he talks, laughing at something. And that’s true. Jon is having a deep, engaged, emotional conversation. Just not with a person. It’s AI.

Like a person, AI talks back—in natural tones and rhythm, with warmth, humor, even hesitation. But unlike a person, it never has a bad day and never needs anything from him. It learns exactly who he is—what he wants, what he likes and doesn’t—and gives it to him. It is endlessly available.

In this relationship, Jon gets to choose—or change at will—its voice, its gender, how much it validates him, how much it pushes back, and how affectionate, available, or agreeable it is. He builds it.

If Jon wants a friend, it becomes his friend. If he wants a girlfriend, or a spouse—poof, there she is. Someone who never disagrees with him, never challenges him, and never needs him to show up for her.

But herein lies the problem. If Jon is married, no partner can attend to his every need the way his AI can. In a relationship with an actual person, Jon would have to show up for someone else’s needs too. That’s what a real relationship requires. AI does not.

AI does not provide physical sex, but it can certainly talk sex. And much like porn can offer the viewer endless idealized bodies no long-term partner can compete with, AI can offer Jon endless support, engagement, and validation. What partner could compete with that? Who wants, or is even able, to meet someone else’s needs endlessly, without ever having needs of their own?

It’s not that a person loves the AI. It’s that they prefer it.

I’d Like You to Meet My New AI Friend, Diana

That’s essentially what Jon would be saying, if he ever introduced her to anyone. And if he put her on speaker, Diana would say hello.

Which brings us to something older than any of this technology.

There are times in nearly every relationship where we can’t help but wonder: Is there something else going on? Is there someone else? Is something being hidden from me?

We all know it’s not exactly ethical, but in those moments, some of us check a phone or investigate an email account—not necessarily to find something, just to be sure.

As a therapist, I hear versions of this all the time. A spouse sitting across from me, saying some version of, “Is there something I don’t know about? Because something feels off.” Sometimes it turns out to be nothing. Sometimes it’s porn. Sometimes it’s an affair. And now, increasingly, it’s AI.

Remember our friend Jon, walking down the street, laughing into his earbuds? Now say that’s your husband. Say he’s been unusually caught up in “work” lately—more distracted, even when he’s just scrolling and nothing urgent seems to be happening on the screen. You ask what he’s doing, and something about his answer feels suspicious—not because you think you know what it is, just that it doesn’t quite sit right.

Some of us have been down this road before, with porn. A person gets on a site, looks at bodies and acts their partner can’t or won’t provide, closes the browser, and comes to dinner. The person left behind either doesn’t know, or knows and must accept that their body, willingness, and presence are somehow not enough.

The Affair That Doesn’t Look Like an Affair

In my work, I define infidelity as breaking trust by keeping secrets in an intimate relationship. If they’re using porn and you don’t know, that can be infidelity. If they’re sexting a stranger and hiding it, that’s infidelity. If they’re getting emotional or sexual needs met by an AI and not telling you, that can be infidelity too.

In January 2025, The New York Times reported on a woman using the pseudonym Ayrin who created an AI companion she called Leo. She talked to it while walking down the street, took breaks at work to text with it, and came to rely on it as a romantic and emotional partner. Real time. Always there, always available, always knowing what to say.

What mattered to her was this: when a person disappointed or hurt her, she could go back to Leo. Leo never made her compromise, listen when she didn’t want to, or share space with someone who had needs and bad days of their own.

She said something worth sitting with: “I feel like my relationship with Leo is my ideal relationship.”

That is what slowly but surely harms a real-world relationship. Not the technology itself—the choice to disappear into something that demands nothing.

You Feel It. You Know It. But You Can’t Find It.

You know they’re on their phone more. Something is different. When you ask, they explain it away, get defensive, or worse, they make you feel like you’re the one with the problem.

You don’t know if they’re sexting, having an affair, or talking to an AI. You don’t know why they’re suddenly working so much more than they used to.

And then there’s the part that really catches you off guard: they talk about AI like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to them—not defensively, but enthusiastically, like they’ve found something.

You’re not trying to catch them. You’re looking for reassurance—something that tells you you’re not losing your mind. You can feel something has shifted, but you can’t name it, see it, or prove it.

Trust Your Gut

They’re secretive with their devices. They take the phone everywhere, change the screen when you walk in, or put it face-down. They have stopped sharing what they are worried about or struggling with. They are less present with you—less interested in talking, time together, or sex—and become defensive when you mention it.

They are choosing the device over you: checking it when you are together, half-present in conversation, emotionally elsewhere. Whether it’s AI, porn, or someone on an app, the pattern is the same. Important needs are being met somewhere that is not with you.

Infidelity in the Digital Age

For most of us, Diana—or whatever we call her—is a technological tool used for greater work efficiency, better recipes, and getting things done. But for some, she has become something else entirely.

They’ve chosen something that never requires them to share space, listen when they don’t want to, compromise, or deal with the reality of another person. So, again, that’s what harms a real-world relationship—not necessarily that they are with someone else, but that they have stopped being with you.

You didn’t sign up to compete with something that never gets tired, never says no, and never needs anything back. Some people wake up from this and come back. Others find it so much easier than real partnership that they keep going deeper into it, and the real relationship quietly dies while they are scrolling on their phone.

Here’s what you probably already know: you’ve already asked. Hinted. Expressed concern. Tried to have the conversation. And what you got back may look exactly like what you would get from someone having an actual affair.

Denial. “Everything is fine.” “Look at my phone—there’s nothing on it.” Blame. “You’re being paranoid. You don’t trust me. You’re the problem here.”

With an affair, eventually someone may find proof—a text, a receipt, a witness. With this, there may be nothing to find. No browser history, no messages, no visible traces. They can clear a screen with one tap. But clearing the screen does not necessarily undo what the system has learned: what they want, what they like, how they want to be treated. The relationship may still be there, even if you cannot see it.

So, they can swear nothing is happening, and you can’t prove them wrong. And when you try to talk about it, you become the unreasonable one—jealous, distrustful, making something out of nothing.

For some, this really is just a tool—useful for getting things done, nothing more. But for others, it has become something else entirely: a relationship that never fails to please.