The Flaws of AI Detection Tools

Auguste Rodin, The Thinker (conceived 1880, cast c. 1917).
Bronze. Cleveland Museum of Art. CC0 
Originally conceived as part of The Gates of Hell, Rodin’s The Thinker was not merely a passive figure lost in thought, but a representation of Dante himself, contemplating the fates of souls below. Cast in tension and muscle, he embodies the labor of intellect—the weight of reflection, the cost of authorship, and the solitary burden of making meaning in a world of mechanized shortcuts. A fitting emblem for the human writer mistaken for a machine.

Preface: A Writer Mistaken for a Machine

The main essay that follows this preface was generated wholly by ChatGPT’s “Deep Research” feature, produced at my request after a recent experience that was equal parts amusing and unsettling.

In a recent essay I had written—carefully and thoughtfully—I found myself admiring a few turns of phrase that seemed, perhaps, too polished. Seeking to determine whether I had unconsciously absorbed and repeated something from my recent reading, I turned to a site I had used before—one that aggregates reviews of AI and plagiarism detectors commonly employed by educators. From there, I selected not one, but three highly rated tools to review my essay and determine whether I had inadvertently borrowed a phrase from Blake, Eckhart, Pseudo-Dionysius, or anyone else I have recently been reading.

The results were, to put it mildly, contradictory, though not for the issue I had set out to explore. The first site was no longer operational, citing the unreliability of AI detection in view of the accelerating complexity of AI language model algorithms. The second tool confidently declared that my essay was entirely free of both plagiarism and AI-generated content. The third, by contrast, just as confidently pronounced that my essay was likely 100 percent AI-generated, both in style and content, based on the presence of twenty phrases—unhelpfully left unidentified—that appeared more frequently in AI-generated material. The site explained that those mysterious phrases had been used in training language models and thus their use in my writing rendered it suspect. It passed no judgment on whether I had plagiarized any statements, only that the content bore resemblance to machine-generated text.

My immediate reaction, I confess, was to teeter between horror and bemusement. The accusation—if one may call such pronouncements generated by AI algorithms such—felt surreal. After all, I knew the truth: I had written every word of the essay, agonized over phrasing, amended lines multiple times, and left the final version still slightly flawed in its characteristic manner—overwritten in places, a bit repetitive, and too fond of “dollar words” when “nickel words” might have sufficed. In other words, it bore the unmistakable hallmark of my own inimitable style and vocabulary—a style and vocabulary that had been mine long before AI and computers were available to assist writers.

My suspicion is that some AI detectors struggle with refined style and elevated or scholarly vocabulary, not because the language itself is artificial, but because such prose deviates from what the detectors expect. Many of these tools appear to assume that typical writing samples—particularly from Americans—will reflect a sixth- to eighth-grade reading and writing level, which is often cited as the norm in American education. As a result, writing that demonstrates syntactic complexity, lexical richness, or familiarity with classical or theological sources may be flagged as anomalous—if not by design, then by statistical accident.

But perhaps this is not so much a matter of cynicism as it is a reflection of changing cultural baselines. It may be that AI detectors are most often trained and tested on writing submitted by individuals who, through no fault of their own, have received a relatively standard education—one that is no longer grounded in the Western canon, rhetorical tradition, or literary cultivation. Meanwhile, the language models themselves were trained on vast bodies of material that included precisely such literary and scholarly writings. The result is a curious inversion: those whose writing reflects a more literary or humanistic sensibility may appear “too AI-like” because the models were trained on the very texts that once defined erudition. We have, in a sense, taught the machines what good writing looks like—and then turned around and accused anyone who writes well of being a machine.

Once the bemusement passed, I turned to curiosity. How could this happen? What is the current scholarly consensus on these tools? Are they reliable? Ethical? Legally defensible? And what risks do they pose—to students, educators, or professionals whose authentic work is misjudged by algorithm? The essay that follows is the product of those inquiries: an AI-assisted deep research essay on AI detection tools, their promises and pitfalls, their technical limits, and their unintended consequences.

To be clear, I do use AI tools—but not to draft my writing. I use them as an editor and as a very well-informed assistant. Tasks assigned to AI include reviewing essays for spelling and grammatical errors, formatting footnotes and endnotes, formatting essays for publication on my website, converting material into HTML, creating SEO-friendly titles and tags, checking poetic meter, or assisting me as a thesaurus when a word feels off. AI assists at the margins. It does not craft essays, as writing is my work.

Anyone still in doubt need only glance at my desk—or my nightstand or dining room table. There, amid scattered books, notebooks, half-drafted pages, and layers of revisions, is the reality of my writing process. It is rarely clean, often circuitous, and always human.

Writing is a laborious but enjoyable process. Many essays and poems take months to write, others take weeks, a few only days. Now and then, an essay or poem does arrive nearly whole, a rare gift, as if sprung from the brow of Zeus. But more often, it is a time-consuming process, coming line by line, revision by revision.

So, with that somewhat overwrought introduction, I offer the following AI-generated essay on AI detection tools—an essay which, in my professional and legal opinion, should dissuade any reasonable educator or institution from ever using AI detectors to determine authorship. AI plagiarism detection may still serve a purpose. But AI authorship detectors? Never. Do not be tempted.

And if I may offer some unsolicited advice in their place, grounded not in machine logic but in the lived practice of teaching and learning: when I taught history, reading, and religion to seventh and eighth graders at St. Edward Catholic School in Youngstown, Ohio, I insisted that all assignments be written in ink. “If one is to err, one should err boldly, in ink,” I told my students, and I refused to accept work written in pencil. This approach taught them not only to commit to their words but, more importantly, to reflect on them before committing anything to paper. It encouraged thought and contemplation—qualities essential to authentic writing and learning—rather than the careless drafting and endless erasing that pencils with erasers, and now mechanical tools, permit. That ethic, I believe, translates well to our current moment.

Educators should begin by becoming familiar with the voice, habits, and capabilities of the writers whose work they are assessing. Ask for drafts, notes, outlines, or written reflections that reveal the student’s thinking process. Structure assignments so that substantial components are completed in class, or are grounded in personal experience or classroom dialogue—subjects that AI cannot credibly fabricate. Make clear whether AI tools may be used, and if so, how. Explain why certain shortcuts, especially in formative stages, may undermine the very skills students are meant to acquire.

For developing writers especially, I am inclined to believe it is best to eschew AI altogether—and perhaps even computers and, dare I say, typewriters, should any still have access to them—in the early stages of learning. Write by hand, with ink. Let not an algorithm be found in the process.


Scholarly and Critical Perspectives on AI Content and Detection Tools

A CHAT GPT ESSAY

Introduction

AI content detection tools – such as Copyleaks, Turnitin’s AI-writing detector, GPTZero, and others – have emerged to help educators and publishers identify text that might have been generated by AI. These detectors typically analyze text for telltale patterns or “low perplexity” that could signal machine-written prose. However, as these tools proliferate in classrooms and journals, many academics, educators, and legal experts are raising alarms about their reliability, transparency, and potential harms. Recent studies and critiques suggest that current AI detectors often fall short of their promises and may even produce unintended negative consequences​ theguardian.comvanderbilt.edu. This report provides an up-to-date overview of how academic, educational, and legal communities view AI content detectors, focusing on concerns over accuracy, fairness, and the risk of false accusations.

Accuracy and Reliability Issues

Detectors’ claims vs. reality: AI detector companies often tout extremely high accuracy rates – some advertise 98–99% accuracy for identifying AI-generated text​citl.news.niu.edu. For example, Copyleaks has claimed 99.12% accuracy and GPTZero about 99%​citl.news.niu.edu. In practice, independent evaluations have found such claims “misleading at best”​ theguardian.com. OpenAI’s own attempt at an AI-written text classifier was quietly discontinued in mid-2023 due to its “low rate of accuracy”​insidehighered.combusinessinsider.com. Even Turnitin, which integrated an AI-writing indicator into its plagiarism platform, acknowledged that real-world use revealed a higher false positive rate than initially estimated (more on false positives below)​insidehighered.cominsidehighered.com. In short, consensus is growing that no tool can infallibly distinguish human from AI text, especially as AI models evolve.

False negatives and AI evolution: Critics note that detectors struggle to keep up with the rapid progress of large language models. Many detectors were trained on older models (like GPT-2 or early GPT-3), making them prone to “overfitting” on those patterns while missing the more human-like writing produced by newer models such as GPT-4 ​bibek-poudel.medium.com. A recent U.K. study underscores this gap: when researchers secretly inserted AI-generated essays into real university exams, 94% of the AI-written answers went undetected by graders​ bibek-poudel.medium.comreading.ac.uk. In fact, those AI-generated answers often received higher scores than human students’ work ​bibek-poudel.medium.com, highlighting that advanced AI can blend in undetected. This high false-negative rate suggests detectors (and even human examiners) can be easily fooled as AI-generated writing grows more sophisticated. It also reinforces that educators cannot rely on detectors alone – as one analyst put it, trying to catch AI in writing is “like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands” bibek-poudel.medium.com.

Transparency and Methodological Concerns

Many in academia criticize AI detection tools as “black boxes” that lack transparency. Turnitin’s AI detector, for instance, was rolled out in early 2023 with almost no public information on how it worked. Vanderbilt University – which initially enabled Turnitin’s AI checks – reported “no insight into how it [the AI detector] works” and noted that Turnitin provided “no detailed information as to how it determines if a piece of writing is AI-generated or not.” vanderbilt.edu Instead, instructors were told only that the tool looks for unspecified patterns common in AI writing. This opacity makes it difficult for educators and students to trust the results or to challenge them. If a student is flagged, neither the instructor nor the student can see what specific feature triggered the detector’s suspicion. Such lack of transparency runs counter to academic values of evidence and explanation, as decisions about academic integrity are being outsourced to an algorithm that operates in secrecy.

Lack of peer review or independent validation: Unlike plagiarism checkers (which match text against known sources), AI detectors use proprietary algorithms and often haven’t been rigorously peer-reviewed in public. Experts point out that “AI detectors are themselves a type of artificial intelligence” with all the attendant opaqueness and unpredictability ​citl.news.niu.edu. This raises concerns about due process: should a student face consequences from a tool whose inner workings are not open to scrutiny? Legal commentators note that relying on an unproven algorithm for high-stakes decisions is risky – any “evidence” from an AI detector is inherently probabilistic and not easily explainable in plain terms  ​cedarlawpllc.comcedarlawpllc.com. Some universities have therefore erred on the side of caution. For example, the University of Minnesota explicitly “does not recommend instructors use AI detection software because of its known issues”  ​mprnews.org, and advises that if used at all, it be treated as an “imperfect last resort.”

Privacy concerns: Another transparency issue involves data privacy and consent. Using third-party AI detectors means student submissions (which can include personal reflections or sensitive content) are sent to an external service. Vanderbilt’s review concluded that “even if [an AI detector] claimed higher accuracy… there are real privacy concerns about taking student data and entering it into a detector managed by a separate company with unknown data usage policies.”​  vanderbilt.edu Educators worry that student work could be stored or reused by these companies without students’ knowledge. This lack of clarity about data handling adds yet another layer of concern, leading some institutions to opt out of detector services on privacy grounds alone.

False Positives and Bias Against Certain Writers

Perhaps the most pressing criticism of AI content detectors is their propensity for false positives – flagging authentic human work as AI-generated. Researchers and educators have documented numerous cases of sophisticated or even simplistic human writing being mistaken for machine output. A dramatic illustration comes from feeding well-known texts into detectors: when analysts ran the U.S. Constitution through several AI detectors, the document was flagged as likely written by AI​  senseient.com. The reason is rooted in how these tools work. Many detectors measure “perplexity,” essentially how predictably a text aligns with patterns seen in AI training data​  senseient.comsenseient.com. Paradoxically, a text like the Constitution or certain Bible verses, which use common words and structures, appears too predictable and yields a low perplexity score – causing the detector to misjudge it as AI-produced. As one expert quipped, detectors can incorrectly label even America’s most important legal document as machine-made​  senseient.com. This highlights a fundamental flaw: well-written or formulaic human prose can trip the alarms because AI models are trained on vast amounts of such text and can mimic it.

Bias against non-native English writers: A growing body of scholarship reveals that AI detectors may disproportionately flag work by certain groups of human writers. A 2023 Stanford study by Liang et al. found that over half of essays written by non-native English speakers were wrongly flagged as AI-generated by popular detectors​  theguardian.com. By contrast, the same detectors judged over 90% of essays by native English-speaking middle-schoolers to be human-written  ​theguardian.com. The disparity stems from linguistic style: non-native writers, or those with more basic vocabulary and simpler grammar, inadvertently write in a way that the detectors identify as “low perplexity” (too predictable)  ​theguardian.com. Detectors, trained on AI outputs that tend to be straightforward, end up penalizing writers who use simpler phrasing or formulaic structures, even if their work is entirely original  ​theguardian.com. The Stanford team bluntly concluded that “the design of many GPT detectors inherently discriminates against non-native authors”​  themarkup.org. This bias can have serious implications in academia and hiring: an ESL student’s college essay or a non-native job applicant’s cover letter might be unfairly flagged, potentially “marginalizing non-native English speakers on the internet” as one report warned  ​theguardian.comtheguardian.com.

Beyond language background, other kinds of “atypical” writing styles trigger false positives. People with autism or other neurodivergent conditions, who might write in a repetitive or highly structured way, have been snared by AI detectors. Bloomberg reported the case of a college student with autism who wrote in a very formal, patterned style – a detector misidentified her work, leading to a failing grade and a traumatic accusation of cheating  ​gigazine.net. She described the experience as feeling “like I was punched in the stomach” upon learning the software tagged her essay as AI-written  ​gigazine.net. Likewise, younger students or those with limited vocabulary (through no fault of their own) could be at higher risk. In tests on pre-ChatGPT student essays, researchers found detectors disproportionately flagged papers with “straightforward” sentences or repetitive word choices​  mprnews.orggigazine.net. These examples underline a key point from critics: AI content detectors exhibit systemic biases – they are more likely to falsely accuse certain human writers (non-native English writers, neurodivergent students, etc.), raising equity and ethical red flags.

Real World Consequence: False Accusations and Student Harm

For students and educators, a false positive isn’t an abstract statistical problem – it can derail a person’s education or career. Recent incidents show the tangible harm caused by over-reliance on AI detectors. At Johns Hopkins University, lecturer Taylor Hahn discovered multiple instances where Turnitin’s AI checker flagged student papers as 90% AI-written, even though the students had written them honestly​  themarkup.orgthemarkup.org. In one case, a student was able to produce drafts and notes to prove her work was her own, leading Hahn to conclude the “tool had made a mistake.”​  themarkup.org  He and others have since grown wary of trusting such software. Unfortunately, not all students get the benefit of the doubt initially. In Texas, a professor infamously failed an entire class after an AI tool (reportedly ChatGPT itself) “detected” cheating, only for it to emerge that the students hadn’t cheated – the detector was simply not a valid evidence tool  ​businessinsider.combusinessinsider.com. Incidents like this have fueled professors’ concerns that blind faith in detectors could lead to wrongful punishments of innocent students.

The psychological and academic toll of false accusations is significant. Students report experiencing stress, anxiety, and a damaged sense of trust when their authentic work is misjudged by an algorithm​  citl.news.niu.edu. For international students, the stakes can be even higher. As one Vietnamese student explained, if an AI detector wrongly flags his paper, it “represents a threat to his grades, and therefore his merit scholarship” – even raising fears about visa status if academic standing is lost  ​themarkup.orgthemarkup.org. In the U.S., where academic misconduct can lead to expulsion, an unfounded cheating charge could put an international student at risk of deportation​  themarkup.org. These scenarios illustrate why students like those at the University of Minnesota say they “live in fear of AI detection software”, knowing one false flag could be “the difference between a degree and going home.”  mprnews.orgmprnews.org

Unsurprisingly, some students and faculty have fought back. In early 2025, a Ph.D. student at the University of Minnesota filed a lawsuit alleging he was unfairly expelled based on an AI cheating accusation​  mprnews.orgmprnews.org. He maintains he did not use AI on an exam, and objects that professors relied on unvalidated detection software as evidence  ​mprnews.orgmprnews.org. The case, which garnered national attention, underscores the legal minefield institutions enter if they treat AI detector output as proof of misconduct. Similarly, a community college student in Washington state had his failing grade and discipline overturned after lawyers demonstrated to the school’s administration how unreliable the detection program was – notably, the college vice-president admitted that even her own email reply was flagged as 66% AI-generated by the tool  ​cedarlawpllc.com  ​cedarlawpllc.com. In voiding the penalty, the college effectively acknowledged that the detector’s result was not trustworthy evidence​  cedarlawpllc.com. These cases highlight a common refrain: without corroborating evidence, an AI detector’s output alone is too flimsy to justify accusing someone of academic dishonesty​  cedarlawpllc.com.

Responses from Educators and Institutions

The educational community’s response to AI detectors has rapidly evolved from initial curiosity to growing skepticism. Many instructors, while concerned about AI-assisted cheating, have concluded that current detector tools are “a flawed solution to a nuanced challenge.” They argue that “they promise certainty in an area where certainty doesn’t exist”  ​bibek-poudel.medium.com. Instead of fostering integrity, heavy-handed use of detectors can create an adversarial classroom environment and chill student creativity  ​medium.com. For these reasons, a number of teaching and learning centers at universities have published guides essentially making the case against AI detectors. For instance, the University of Iowa’s pedagogy center bluntly advises faculty to “refrain from using AI detectors on student work due to the inherent inaccuracies” and to seek alternative ways to uphold integrity​  teach.its.uiowa.edu. Northern Illinois University’s academic technology office labeled detectors an “ethical minefield,” arguing their drawbacks (false accusations, bias, stress on students) “often outweigh any perceived benefits.”​  citl.news.niu.edu Their guidance encourages faculty to prioritize fair assessments and student trust over any quick technological fix​citl.  news.niu.edu.

Importantly, some universities have instituted policy decisions to limit or reject the use of AI detection tools. In August 2023, after internal tests and consultations, Vanderbilt University decided to disable Turnitin’s AI detector campus-wide  ​vanderbilt.edu  ​vanderbilt.edu. Vanderbilt’s announcement cited multiple concerns: uncertain reliability, lack of transparency, the risk of ~1% false positives (potentially hundreds of students falsely flagged each year), and evidence of bias against non-native English writers  ​vanderbilt.eduvanderbilt.edu. Northwestern University likewise turned off Turnitin’s AI detection in fall 2023 and “did not recommend using it to check students’ work.”  businessinsider.com  The University of Texas at Austin also halted use, with a vice-provost stating that until the tools are accurate enough, “we don’t want to create a situation where students are falsely accused.”  businessinsider.com   Even Turnitin’s own guidance to educators now stresses caution, advising that its AI findings “should not be used as the sole basis for academic misconduct allegations” and should be combined with human judgment​  turnitin.com. In practice, many colleges have shifted focus to preventative and pedagogical strategies – designing assignments that are harder for AI to complete (personal reflections, oral exams, in-class writing), educating students about acceptable AI use, and improving assessment design  ​mprnews.orgmprnews.org. This approach seeks to address AI-related cheating without leaning on fallible detection software.

On a broader policy level, OpenAI itself has cautioned educators against over-reliance on detectors. In a back-to-school guide for fall 2023, OpenAI explicitly warned that AI content detectors are not reliable for distinguishing GPT-written text​  businessinsider.com. The company even confirmed what independent studies found: detectors tend to mislabel writing by non-English authors as AI-generated, and thus should be used, if at all, with extreme care  ​businessinsider.com. As a result, many institutions are rethinking how to maintain academic integrity in the AI era. The emerging consensus in education is that no AI detection tool today offers a magic bullet, and using them blindly can cause more harm than good. Instead, instructors are encouraged to discuss AI use openly with students, set clear policies, and consider assessments that integrate AI as a learning tool rather than treat it as a forbidden trick  ​mprnews.orgmprnews.org.

Legal and Ethical Considerations

The controversies around AI writing detectors also raise legal and ethical questions. From an ethical standpoint, deploying a tool known to produce errors that can jeopardize students’ academic standing is highly problematic. Scholars of educational ethics argue that the potential for “unfounded accusations” and damage to student well-being means the costs of using such detectors may outweigh the benefits  ​themarkup.org  ​themarkup.org. There is an implicit breach of trust when a student’s honest work is deemed guilty until proven innocent by an algorithm. This reverses the usual academic principle of assuming student honesty and has been compared to using an unreliable litmus test that forces students to “prove their innocence” after a machine accuses them​  themarkup.org. Such an approach can poison the student-teacher relationship and create a climate of suspicion in the classroom.

Legally, if a student is disciplined or loses opportunities due to a false AI detection, institutions could face challenges. Education lawyers note that students might have grounds for appeal or even litigation if they can show that an accusation rested on junk science. The defamation lawsuit at Minnesota (mentioned above) may set an important precedent on whether sole reliance on AI detectors can be considered negligent or unjust by a university  ​mprnews.orgmprnews.org. Additionally, since studies have demonstrated bias against non-native English speakers, one could argue that using these detectors in high-stakes decisions could inadvertently violate anti-discrimination policies or laws, if international or ESL students are disproportionately harmed. Universities are aware of these risks. As the Cedar Law case in Washington illustrated, once informed of the detector’s fallibility, administrators reversed the sanction to avoid unfairly tarnishing a student’s record​  cedarlawpllc.comcedarlawpllc.com. The takeaway for many is that any evidence from an AI detector must be corroborated and cannot be treated as conclusive. As one legal commentary put it: the “lesson from these cases is that colleges must be extremely conscientious given the present lack of reliable AI-detection tools, and must evaluate all evidence carefully to reach a just result.”​  cedarlawpllc.com

Finally, there are broader implications for academic freedom and assessment. If instructors were to let fear of AI cheating drive them to use opaque tools, they might also chill legitimate student expression or push students toward homogenized writing. Some ethicists argue that the very concept of AI text detection may be a “technological dead end” – because writing is too variable and AI is explicitly designed to mimic human style, trying to perfectly separate the two may be futile​  bibek-poudel.medium.combibek-poudel.medium.com. A more ethical response, they suggest, is to teach students how to use AI responsibly and adapt educational practices, rather than leaning on surveillance technology that cannot guarantee fairness.

Conclusion

Current scholarly and critical perspectives converge on a clear message: today’s AI content detectors are not fully reliable or equitable tools, and their unchecked use can do more harm than good. While the idea of an “AI lie detector” is appealing in theory, in practice these programs struggle with both false negatives (missing AI-written text) and false positives (flagging innocent writing) to a degree that undermines their utility. The lack of transparency and independent validation further erodes confidence, as does evidence of bias against certain writers. Across academia, educators and researchers are warning that an over-reliance on AI detectors could lead to wrongful accusations, damaged student-teacher trust, and even legal repercussions. Instead of providing a quick fix to AI-facilitated cheating, these tools have become an object of controversy and caution.

In the educational community, a shift is underway – away from automated detection and toward pedagogy and policy solutions. Many universities have scaled back use of detectors, opting to train faculty in better assessment design, set clear guidelines for AI use, and foster open dialogue with students about the role of AI in learning  ​mprnews.orgmprnews.org. Researchers are continuing to study detection methods, but most acknowledge that as AI writing gets more advanced, the detection arms race will only intensify​  edintegrity.biomedcentral.comedintegrity.biomedcentral.com. In the meantime, the consensus is that any use of AI content detectors must be coupled with human judgment, skepticism of the results, and a recognition of the tools’ limits  ​edintegrity.biomedcentral.comedintegrity.biomedcentral.com. The overarching lesson from the past two years is one of caution: integrity in education is best upheld by informed teaching practices and fair processes, not by uncritically trusting in artificial intelligence to police itself​  cedarlawpllc.comcitl.news.niu.edu.

The Art of Praise: Tariff Impact on Economics and Ethics

Recently, I published an essay titled The Certainty of Wealth Redistribution Amid Tariff Chaos, in which I argued that the true function of the current administration’s tariff policies was not economic revival, but the deliberate and predictable transfer of wealth from working households to the uppermost tier of financial elites.

Events of the past several days—culminating in imposition of a market-crashing tariff decree swiftly reversed for maximum opportunistic gain—have confirmed my worst fears. That some now praise this spectacle as “brilliant” only adds insult to economic injury.

In response, I offer the following satirical memo from a fictional Wharton Annex ethics professor—one Professor Basil P. Whisker, Chair of Ethical Opportunism at the Weasel School of Business. His observations regarding the situation and the logic he embodies—even though he is fictional—are uncomfortably real.


Professor Basil P. Whisker

On Ethics, Market Manipulation, and the Power of Praise

Buy the Dip, Praise the Dipper: A Wealth Transfer Playbook

By Professor Basil P. Whisker, PhD, MBA, CFA (Parole Honoré Distinction)
Chair of Ethical Opportunism, Weasel School of Business, Wharton Annex
Formerly of the Federal Correctional Institute for White Collar Refinement
“Our Honor Code is Flexible. Our Returns Are Not.”


Some in Congress have raised the unfashionable concern that the recent tariff saga looks suspiciously like market manipulation.

To which I reply: Of course it is.
But for whom?

Not the little people—they lack both the reflexes and the capital reserves. No, it is for the elite few trained in the disciplines of anticipation, flexibility, and pliable morality.

At the Weasel School of Business, we teach that ethics must be nonlinear and dynamic—responsive to the moment, like high-frequency trading algorithms or a presidential memory when questioned under oath. The recent 90-day tariff “pause” (following a dramatic market collapse) teaches students everywhere that sometimes the most profitable thing to do is to:

  1. Create a crisis
  2. Seize the resulting dip
  3. Declare victory through reversal
  4. Congratulate the disruptor for his “brilliance”
  5. Move on before the subpoenas arrive

The Art of the Non-Deal

When a policy announcement wipes trillions from the markets, only to be reversed days later with a triumphant “THIS IS A GREAT TIME TO BUY!!!” post, we must acknowledge we are witnessing not governance but performance art.

Like all great art, it asks difficult questions:

  • Is it market manipulation if you announce the manipulation in real time?
  • Can one declare “Liberation Day” and then liberate oneself from that declaration?
  • If financial whiplash creates billionaire gratitude, is it still whiplash—or merely strategic spine realignment?

Billionaires praising such tactics is not sycophancy—it is advanced portfolio management by other means.

As we say in Weasel Finance 101:
“Praise is just another form of leverage.”


Looking Ahead: A Curriculum of Chaos

We are entering a new phase of global commerce—what I call the Era of the Glorious Lurch. In this new age, tariffs are not policies but market mood regulators, deployed tactically to evoke loss, recovery, and eventual Stockholm syndrome-like gratitude.

My revised syllabus for the coming semester will include:

  • Advanced Self-Dealing (OPS-526)
  • Narrative Arbitrage: Writing History Before It Happens (OPS-618)
  • Strategic Sycophancy and Influence Leasing (co-listed with Communications)
  • Tariff Whiplash: Creating Wealth Through Vertigo (OPS-750)
  • When Textbooks Fail: The Art of the No-Deal Deal (Senior Seminar)

Applications are open. Scholarships available for those with prior SEC entanglements or experience declaring “everything’s beautiful” while markets burn.


A Word on Timing

Critics who suggest that one should wait until an actual deal is struck before declaring brilliance simply do not understand modern finance.

In today’s economy, praise is a futures contract—you are betting on the perception of success, not success itself.

When a policy costs the average American household thousands in higher prices and market losses, only to be partially reversed with no actual concessions gained, the correct reaction is not analysis but applause. After all, it takes real courage to back down without admitting it.


A Final Toast

To the president, I raise a glass of vintage tax shelter with notes of plausible deniability.

To the billionaires celebrating the “brilliant execution” of a retreat, I offer a velvet-lined echo chamber.

And to my students, past and future, I remind you:
If you cannot time the market, at least time your praise.

Because in today’s economy, there is no such thing as too soon, too blatant, or too obviously beneficial to the 0.01%.

So next time markets plunge on policy chaos, do not ask “who benefits?”
Instead ask, “am I positioned to be among those who do?”

Thank you. And as always—
buy low, tweet high, and declare victory before the facts catch up.

Historical Lessons on Government Efficiency from Otto von Pulpo

Sometimes, a little historical memory delivered with a healthy dose of satire is exactly what the moment calls for. I recently stumbled upon this memorandum—allegedly issued by Herr Obersekretär Otto von Pulpo, our resident officious German octopus—crafted as a sharp response to The Economist’s editorial, “Is Elon Musk remaking government or breaking it?” Unsatisfied with the notion that “some transgressions” might be acceptable if they bring about efficiency, I was inspired to share this fictional but incisive critique. Enjoy Otto’s take on why the path of destruction is never a shortcut to genuine reform, and join the conversation on how we should remember history in light of today’s political challenges.


Memorandum No. 843.3a-b(krill)
From the Desk of Herr Obersekretär Otto von Pulpo
Former Archivist, Department of Tentacular Oversight (Ret.), Abyssal Branch
Current Observer of Surface-Level Folly, Emeritus

To the editorial board of The Economist,
cc: The Directorate for Dangerous Euphemisms, Baltic Division

RE: Concerning Your Recent Enthusiasm for “Some Transgressions” in the Service of Government Efficiency

Esteemed humans,

It is with a firm grip and furrowed brow (of the metaphorical kind—our brows are subdermal) that I write to express my alarm, tinged as it is with a deep familiarity, at your recent editorial on the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). Your noble publication—usually known for reasoned analysis and fondness for balanced budgets—has recently dabbled in the genre of historical amnesia.

You write, approvingly if not enthusiastically, that “some transgressions along the way might be worth it” in your editorial “Is Elon Musk remaking government or breaking it?” Permit me, as a creature of long memory and cold water, to remind you: some transgressions are never worth it. History is not made by heroic shortcuts. It is unraveled by them.

When I was a much younger cephalopod, gliding the brackish waters near Wilhelmshaven, I recall hearing the surface-world’s chatter about another figure who spoke boldly of waste and stagnation, who promised national renewal, who performed gestures that were first dismissed as eccentric, and who flirted with “creative destruction” until the destruction ceased to be metaphorical. He too was seen by many as a misunderstood innovator. Until it was too late.

Herr Musk, I understand, now punctuates state occasions with gestures uncannily similar to the Roman salute, and praises parties in your former occupation zone with a fondness that suggests more than economic theory. If these are the traits of a reformer, then perhaps I should consider joining the AfD myself—though I suspect I would not pass their purity tests, being both foreign and soft-bodied.

But it is not Herr Musk who most disturbs me. It is your newsmagazine, with your steady tone and Oxford commas, that murmurs, “Efficiency requires boldness,” and wonders aloud whether the destruction is merely a precursor to some unseen creation. You ask: “Who now remembers the Grace Commission?” And I reply: who now remembers the Enabling Act of 1933, passed under the same logic—that extraordinary conditions justify extralegal actions?

Beware the language of renovation when it requires dismantling the foundation. Beware the hagiography of disruptors who come not to build, but to erase. DOGE does not make government more efficient. It makes obedience more efficient.

If I may say so without rudeness, your editorial reads as if it were penned in a warm bath, insulated from the chill that such reasoning brings to those of us with memory. Down here, in the benthic gloom, we remember what it means when legislative bodies and courts are bypassed, when “wrongthink” is rooted out, when civil servants are mocked as obstacles to destiny.

Do not confuse boldness with wisdom. Do not mistake collapse for reform.

With respectful concern and eight meticulously inked signatures,

Otto von Pulpo
Obersekretär a.D.
Archivist, Rememberer, Cephalopod

P.S. Historical Note from the Abyss:

When tectonic plates shift, they do not ask for parliamentary approval. They simply move—and tsunamis follow. I have observed this firsthand from 4,000 meters below. The surfacelings always call it unprecedented, as if the sea forgets. We do not forget.

Herr von Pulpo’s earlier memoranda (Nos. 842.1–843.1) were dispatched in response to similar enthusiasms for charismatic technocrats in the late Weimar period. These were, at the time, unread by those who most needed to read them.

About the Author
Otto von Pulpo is a retired archivist, amateur historian, and former Vice-Chair of the Commission for Bivalve Misclassification. He resides in a gently collapsing wreck off the Heligoland shelf and writes occasionally on democracy, plankton, and the perils of charismatic overreach.

Poetry as Revelation: Engaging with “Vitruvian Man Unbound”

Michelangelo, The Awakening Slave (c. 1525–30).
A body caught between measure and becoming.

I. On Bloom and the Anxiety of Influence

As the poet of Vitruvian Man Unbound, I find myself drawn to Harold Bloom’s understanding of how poetry functions within tradition—not as mere imitation or influence, but as a creative misreading that transforms both predecessor and successor. Bloom’s vocabulary—his clinamen (poetic swerve), daemonization, and apophrades (the return of the dead)—offers a framework for understanding my own relationship with Leonardo’s iconic drawing.

Yet I would press beyond the confines of Bloom’s categorical system. The strongest poetry, as Bloom himself recognized, resists easy resolution. Vitruvian Man Unbound embodies what he called a tessera—a completion of its precursor that simultaneously preserves and undermines its foundational terms. The poem does not simply revise Leonardo; it retroactively reshapes our understanding of him. It allows us to see Vitruvian Man as an incomplete gesture, one whose implicit metaphysical longing only achieves full articulation through the poem’s unfolding of form, desire, and transcendence.

II. The Paradox of Poetic Creation as Discovery

When I began Vitruvian Man Unbound, there was no conceit of a new idea. Rather, I felt I was unearthing the obvious—articulating for the first time verses that had already been rendered, waiting to be heard.

This situates the poem not as invention but as discovery—a Renaissance conception of artistic creation. Michelangelo spoke of liberating the form already imprisoned within the marble. Leonardo, too, conceived of art as revelation through observation, uncovering structures latent in nature and proportion. I participate in that lineage: the transcendence of the circle was already latent in Leonardo’s drawing. My poem does not overwrite Vitruvian Man but unveils what it always contained.

III. Poetry as Transcription of Revealed Truth

Poetry is primarily, in my conception, the art of transcription. Poetry is ultimately truth revealed, however rendered.

This belief is ancient. Poets once invoked the Muse, believing their songs were received rather than authored. Plato cast poets as possessed vessels of divine madness. In scriptural traditions, the prophet or sage writes not from invention but from vision. In this view, the poet is not creator but conduit.

This understanding reorients poetic practice. What matters most is not novelty of theme or form but receptivity—a cultivated attentiveness to truths that ask to be heard. To compose well is to listen well. The most vital poems do not invent so much as reveal. The poet’s charge, then, is fidelity.

Vitruvian Man Unbound aspires to this kind of transcription. It draws out from Leonardo’s image the philosophical tensions embedded therein: between proportion and possibility, containment and becoming, structure and the longing to transcend it.

IV. The Poem’s Journey: From Containment to Transcendence

At its heart, my poem charts a metaphysical journey—the awakening of a consciousness confined within geometry, gradually realizing its cosmic vocation. The Vitruvian figure, bound in ratios and ruled lines, discovers within himself not mere form but flame. The movement is from being drawn to drawing, from being measured to measuring.

The poem gives voice to this paradox: “I am both bound and boundless, large and small, / Both measured part and immeasurable all.”

This is no empty contradiction. It is the philosophical heart of the work. The circle becomes “not wall but door,” not negated but reimagined. Limitation, as I came to understand, is not the enemy of freedom but its precondition. Form does not imprison; it allows the infinite to appear in the guise of the finite.

This idea resonates with multiple traditions: the Christian theology of kenosis, quantum indeterminacy, the aesthetics of the golden ratio, even the existential struggle of Camus’ Sisyphus. In Vitruvian Man Unbound, I sought to draw them all into poetic coherence.

V. Beyond Influence: Co-Creation and Transcendence

My relationship to Leonardo’s drawing is not one of mere homage or critique. The poem does not simply descend from his vision; it reconfigures how I understand that vision. In Bloom’s terms, it enacts an apophrades: the precursor is altered by the successor, the past rewritten by the presence of the present.

I acknowledged this inversion within the poem itself: “Da Vinci dreamed me into being’s start; / I dream myself anew with conscious art.”

This was not rebellion against the tradition but transcendence through deep fidelity. I did not seek to destroy Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man; I hoped to fulfill him. I entered the drawing and found the voice that seemed to have been waiting there. The Vitruvian Man, for me, ceased to be object and became subject, consciousness incarnate.

VI. Poetry as Epistemological Practice

If poetry is the transcription of revealed truth, then it is not merely aesthetic. It is epistemological. It helps us understand not only what is, but how we come to know what is. The most original poems do not dazzle through novelty alone; they resonate because they name what we already suspected was true, but had not yet heard.

Vitruvian Man Unbound aspires to such resonance. I hope it awakens a dormant dimension in Leonardo’s drawing—and perhaps, in us. I did not set out to create a new form, but to reveal the old form’s silent music. For me, it was an act not of invention, but of listening—not conquest, but witnessing. A poetry of revelation.

Thus the ink that once bound becomes the ink that reveals.

VII. Echoes of Prometheus

In reflecting on Vitruvian Man Unbound, I recognize the shadow of another unbound figure—Shelley’s Prometheus. His liberation from cosmic tyranny, his transformation into a visionary voice of harmony, and his rejection of vengeance in favor of transcendence, all resonate deeply with the arc of my poem. Like Prometheus, the Vitruvian figure is not merely released; he is revealed—as a bearer of fire, of knowledge, of poetic truth. It is not accidental that in striving toward the infinite, we find ourselves echoing those myths and verses where the infinite has already spoken.

A Handful of Dust, A Handful of Light

Detail highlighting the dust motes from “Støvkornenes dans i solstrålerne” (Dust Motes Dancing in the Sunbeams, 1900)
By Vilhelm Hammershøi (1864-1916)
Oil on canvas, 70 cm × 59 cm
Ordrupgaard Museum. Photograph Public Domain.

Dust lingers in the ruins of empires, in the fading footprints of the past. It clings to the forgotten, settles upon the broken. T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land declares “I will show you fear in a handful of dust,” evoking a profound existential dread—the terror of insignificance, the finality of death in a world where nothing endures. Shelley’s Ozymandias presents the cruel irony that even the mightiest fall into dust, their ambitions erased by time. Shakespeare reinforces this democratic nature of mortality in Cymbeline, reminding us that: “Golden lads and girls all must, / As chimney-sweepers, come to dust” (Act IV, Scene 2). The biblical refrain, “For dust you are, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19) serves as a humbling reminder of human mortality—our bodies fated to mingle with soil and ruin.

This narrative of dust as dissolution has dominated our cultural consciousness for millennia. Yet beneath this interpretation lies a profound irony: the very science that revealed our cosmic insignificance also offers us a path to transcendence.

As we began to understand the origins of matter itself, a counternarrative emerged. The spectrographic analysis of stars, the discovery of nucleosynthesis, and the mapping of elemental creation within stellar lifecycles revealed an unexpected truth: the dust of our being is not merely the residue of life lost but the particulate remnants of stars long dead.

This scientific revelation transforms our relationship with dust. No longer just the symbol of our inevitable decay, it becomes evidence of our cosmic lineage. In this expanded understanding, we are made of elements forged in stellar cores—carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, iron—the ashes of ancient supernovae. As Carl Sagan elaborated: “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars.” (Cosmos, 1980)

The death of those stars gave birth to us. Thus, when our bodies return to dust, they are not returning to nothingness, but to the infinite. This is a poetic inversion of the traditional dread associated with dust. Instead of entropy as a reduction to meaninglessness, it becomes a return to something larger than the self.

Where Eliot shows us fear in dust, Carl Sagan tells us: “The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff.” Lawrence M. Krauss echoes this sentiment: “Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded…. You are all stardust… the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron …. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars.” (A Universe from Nothing, 2009)

The Paradox of Cosmic Fear

If one understands oneself as a finite being, bound to decay, dust is terrifying—it signifies loss. But if one understands oneself as an ephemeral expression of the universe, momentarily coalesced and destined to dissolve back into the great celestial flow, then there is no reason for fear. The end is not the end, but a return to origins.

So why does existential dread persist? Perhaps it is the ego’s reluctance to let go of selfhood. Perhaps it is the mind’s inability to accept that individual consciousness does not endure. Perhaps it is because dust, unlike stars, is silent. A ruined city, a forgotten name, a scattering of bones—all speak of oblivion, not grandeur.

As William Blake advised in The Proverbs of Hell, we “Drive [our] cart and [our] plow over the bones of the dead,” suggesting our instinctive fear of becoming that which is trampled and forgotten. Jorge Luis Borges captures this anxiety when he writes that “time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river”—we are both the eroder and the eroded, the dust-maker and the dust.

Yet, as a poem once attributed to Emily Dickinson but now considered of uncertain authorship reminds us: “Ashes denote that fire was; / Revere the grayest pile / For the departed creature’s sake / That hovered there awhile.” Dust does not truly vanish. It transforms.

Yet if the erasure of self is what we fear, we must ask: is selfhood truly lost, or merely transformed? If dust dissolves, does it vanish—or does it scatter into something greater?

From Dust to Light: The Redemption of Stardust

Yet if we understand dust not as an annihilation of self but as the very fabric of renewal, the fear dissolves. The metaphor itself must be rewritten: From dust we are made, from stardust we are formed. To dust we return, to the stars we return.

Walt Whitman intuited this cycle when he wrote: “I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love.” (Song of Myself, LII) His biological understanding of transformation prefigures our cosmic one—matter recycled through systems larger than ourselves.

If the metaphor itself shifts, then the meaning shifts with it. We do not fall into dust; we rise into radiance. We do not vanish into the void; we dissolve into the cosmos, as much a part of the next great supernova as we once were of the last. Even in knowing that we return to the stars, a quiet unease remains: what of the self? If I dissolve into light, is there still an “I”?

This cosmic transformation demands a new poetic language—one that recasts the traditional imagery of dust not as a symbol of loss but as a promise of renewal. If we are to truly grasp this shift in understanding, we must reimagine the very metaphors through which we comprehend our mortality. In the spirit of this reframing, I offer these verses that trace our journey from stardust to dust and back again:

From dust we are made—
  Not of earth, but embered light,
  Forged in stellar furnace bright,
  A whisper of stars in the cosmic shade.

To dust we return—
  Not to silence, not to loss,
  But scattered bright across the gloss
  Of galaxies that twist and burn.

Fear not the handful of dust—
  It is not death, nor mere decay,
  But embers cast upon the way,
  To rise once more in cosmic trust.

Thus, the fear in Eliot’s handful of dust dissolves when we see it not as an end, but as a beginning of something else. In the vast cosmic cycle, there is no finality—only motion, only transformation. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam gestures toward this understanding when it speaks of being “Star-scatter’d on the Grass”—our elements returning to the cosmos from which they came. If all that we are, all that we love, all that we create ultimately returns to the stars, is that not immortality?

The Choice of Understanding

We return to the beginning, as dust does. The words of Genesis remind us: “For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”

Yet now, having traced the journey of dust from earth to stars, we hear these words anew. Through the narrow human lens, we interpret them as a grim certainty—dust as ruin, silence, and the erasure of memory. We see only decay, the dissolution of self, the inevitable fading of all things into oblivion.

But through the enlightened cosmic lens, we recognize a deeper truth. Dust is not an end, but a transformation. It is not absence, but renewal. It is potential, energy, and the foundation of new worlds.

As Jorge Luis Borges reflects in We Are the Time:

“We are the time. We are the famous
metaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure.
We are the water, not the hard diamond,
the one that is lost, not the one that stands still.
We are the river and we are that Greek
who looks himself in the river.”

Borges, invoking Heraclitus’ ever-flowing river, offers a vision of existence as movement, dissolution, and renewal. We are not fixed, immutable beings; we are the water, ever-changing, ever-returning to the whole. If we are dust, then we are not the dust that settles, but the dust that travels—the dust that, like the stars, finds itself scattered only to be reshaped into something new.

To understand this is to grasp something beyond the immediate and the visible. It is to move past fear into recognition: that what was once bound into form returns to the vastness, not in loss, but in continuation. That what dissolves is not diminished but remade, part of a cycle stretching beyond human time. What Yeats called “a terrible beauty” is born in this transformation—terrible in its finality, beautiful in its cosmic potential.

Perhaps it is our task, then, to choose how we understand our own dust—not as the extinguishing of life, but as its return to the great fire from which it came. In this cosmic understanding, we are not merely dust returning to dust, but light returning to light—briefly kindled, then scattered again, not into oblivion, but into reunion with the luminous whole from which we emerged.