Here's a delicious irony for the AI age: the image everyone assumed was AI-generated was actually created by a human artist.
Alexis Franklin, a digital artist, created what became an iconic promotional image for The Devil Wears Prada 2 — a striking portrait of Meryl Streep's Miranda Priestly that went viral on social media. The internet, in its infinite wisdom, immediately declared it "obviously AI."
The telltale signs were all there, apparently: the hyper-stylized rendering, the impossibly perfect composition, the slightly uncanny quality that digital art sometimes has. Thousands of film fans and tech experts confidently explained why this was clearly the work of an algorithm, not a person.
They were wrong.
Deadline reports that Franklin, a professional illustrator who's been working in digital media for years, spent dozens of hours creating the image using traditional digital painting techniques. No AI, no algorithms, just talent and Adobe Creative Suite.
The irony cuts both ways. We've become so paranoid about AI-generated content that we can no longer recognize human artistry when we see it. At the same time, we've internalized aesthetic assumptions about what AI "looks like" — often based on the limitations of earlier generative models.
This is what happens when technology moves faster than our ability to process it. We develop heuristics — mental shortcuts — to identify AI content. Too polished? AI. Slightly weird hands? AI. Hyperreal lighting? Definitely AI. Except sometimes it's just a skilled artist who knows what they're doing.
Franklin's experience is both vindicating and troubling. Vindicating because it proves human artists can still create work that stands out in the AI age. Troubling because it shows how quickly we're willing to dismiss human creativity as machine-made.
The broader implication is worth considering: as AI tools improve, how do we maintain appreciation for human craft? Do we need digital signatures verifying human authorship? Should artists watermark their work with "I promise a human made this"?
Or maybe — radical thought — we could just slow down before confidently declaring something AI-generated. Franklin deserves better than being told her work looks like it was made by a robot. So do the countless other digital artists navigating this strange new landscape.
In Hollywood, nobody knows anything — except me, occasionally. And right now, I know we need to recalibrate our ability to recognize human artistry. Before we algorithmically discount it out of existence.
