The tragedy of "pretty hot" content

When Romeo first sets eyes on Juliet in Act I, Scene V, he doesn’t just think “ooh, cute.” Here’s what Shakespeare wrote instead:

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!”

Translation? Juliet is so blindingly beautiful she makes fire feel insecure, and so transcendent she doesn’t even belong on the planet.

Shakespeare didn’t sound like anyone else. This is a piece about why you shouldn’t either. Your voice is your signature.

Now imagine, instead of this passionate and lyrical prose, Shakespeare wrote:

“Romeo thought Juliet was pretty hot.”

Now that would really make the play a tragedy. And yet, this is exactly what countless people using AI to write content for them do to themselves every single day.

They take their bold, complex, utterly brilliant idea... and deliver it in the emotional register of a post-it note.

There is a plague upon the land. A pestilence. A global infestation of content so aggressively generic, it makes poached chicken seem spicy. I’m talking about marketing copy that reads like it was ghostwritten by a sentient microwave that’s been reading HR manuals.

Let’s fast-forward a few centuries. Instead of poetry, we now get this:

“Empowering synergy through scalable innovation.”

Cool. Now tell me what you actually do and maybe use words that weren’t pulled from a corporate jargon generator?

Your voice is the delivery system for your message.
It determines whether people feel something or immediately scroll past to watch a capybara eating watermelon. And honestly, who could blame them?

Your voice is part of how we recognise you.
It’s the rhythm.
The phrasing.
The random aside about that one obscure hobby.
It tells your audience: this isn’t just content.
This is a human. Talking to me. Like they mean it.

And that’s what your audience actually wants.
Not a PDF with bullet points.
Not a stock photo of someone laughing alone with a salad.

They want voice. Clarity. A little bite. A bit of weird.

Something that doesn’t feel like it’s been passed through a committee, a style guide, and six legal reviews until every last spark of personality has been quietly extinguished.

The world isn’t short on content. It’s short on content that makes people care.

And here’s the part most people miss: sounding like yourself isn’t a “nice to have.”
It’s a commercial advantage.

Because when people recognise your voice, they trust you faster.
And when they trust you, they’re more likely to listen, follow, and buy.

Your voice is your unfair advantage. Your secret weapon.
Your dramatic monologue delivered from the balcony, with your audience leaning in, breath held, whispering: “Finally. Something real.”

If you edit out your voice to sound more professional, you’re just going to sound like every other professional.

So when you’ve got something to say, say it like only you can.

And that is what Virtually Myself is built to protect. It doesn’t just stash your thoughts in a digital filing cabinet. It captures the fingerprint of how you say things. The cadence, the quirks, the cheeky turn of phrase that makes your audience say, “Yep. That’s them.”

Because it’s not just about preserving your ideas. It’s about bottling your essence.

Nobody ever became legendary sounding like everyone else.

And for the love of Juliet, don’t you dare settle for ‘pretty hot’.