The End of Intuition: Are We Outsourcing Gut Feelings to AI?

Growing up, I accompanied my parents on their weekly grocery runs, a routine that seemed mundane and tedious at that time but, in retrospection, was filled with curious silence and observations. At the local market, I would watch them closely as they sorted through the huge piles of fruits and vegetables, inspecting them with subtle but deliberate gestures to identify the freshest pick. They would tap, squeeze, or shake and would instruct me to do the same. When requesting a kilogram of the same, they would confidently ask the vendor to provide ‘only the best’, unbothered about what would happen to the rest of the stock. Back then, I didn’t realise that these were intuitive decisions, honed over time and built upon patterns my parents could not always articulate but simply knew. The vendor, too, was a routine and skilled participant in this intuition-led activity, trusted to make the best selection when my parents handed over the task.

Visiting my grandparents’ house offered a different kind of sensory delight. I would leaf through glossy magazines showcasing the latest home decor trends of pristine kitchens, thoughtfully arranged plants, and cushions in shades I had never seen in real life. My mother would often comment on my grandmother’s desire to make the garden or living room look modern and elegant, always taking inspiration from those pages. It was clear even then that aesthetics weren’t arbitrary. There was a judgment at play, a quiet insistence on what suited our home and what didn’t. That red carpet on the cover of a design magazine? Beautiful, yes, but it would look entirely out of place in our living room, and we knew it.

What I began to realise is that these little moments of choosing the best tomato, picking the right shade for the curtains, were not trivial, as they often seem to be. They were markers of something far more fundamental: our relationship with creativity, decision-making, and intuition. Not everyone possesses such expertise, and that’s precisely why some people rely on vendors to choose produce or hire interior designers to shape their spaces. We turn to those with a ‘knack’ for it, an eye that sees more than others can.

Today, however, we find ourselves in an era where we no longer outsource these decisions to humans, but increasingly, to artificial intelligence. Viral videos on social media showcase AI tools like ChatGPT's ability to pick the sweetest watermelon from a random bunch, suggest the 'best' colour palettes for a room based on an image, or, surprisingly, even choose the best dish off a random menu. And I can’t help but wonder what happens to our creative judgment and intuition amidst all this?

There is a quiet joy in researching a cuisine before visiting a restaurant, learning about flavours, and making a decision. There is immense trust involved when you ask a waiter for their recommendation or the most ordered food in the restaurant. And sometimes, you simply look at the menu, spot an item, and something tells you, “This is it”.  You wait, hoping the dish lives up to your expectations. That feeling of anticipation after a decision made consciously is the essence of what makes us human.

Jean Piaget, the Swiss psychologist, describes the preoperational stage in child development, where intuitive thought begins to flourish between the ages of four and seven. This intuitive sense, once sparked, matures with age and experience. In cognitive theory, there’s also a popular model known as the ‘dual-process theory’ — the idea that the human brain operates with two systems: one analytical, the other intuitive. Scholar Edward R. Smith extends this with what he calls the 'Traffic Light Diagram', suggesting that our two minds work best when they are in collaboration.

Traffic Light Diagram by E Sadler-Smith, 2023

These faculties of creativity and intuition cannot, and should not, be reduced to mechanical processes of prediction and probability. Some argue that AI is useful in bridging the gap where human experience is lacking. But the danger lies in this passive overreliance. By constantly deferring to machines, we deny ourselves the chance to build that experience. Repeated exposure, mistakes, and successes are integral to human learning. While AI might mimic these functions through data and pattern analysis, it lacks the very substance of experience. When AI intervenes in even the most intimate decisions — what to wear, what to eat, how to decorate a room — we risk diminishing our capacity to think and feel independently.

There is also a troubling tendency to compare AI to older technologies like calculators or spreadsheets, suggesting that this is simply another tool in the human toolbox. But the analogy is inherently flawed. Calculators enhanced our computational ability; they did not replace our cognitive frameworks. AI, on the other hand, interferes directly with how we perceive, judge, and even desire. It doesn’t just support decision-making; it alters it.

We live in a world that increasingly celebrates not just the development of AI, but also our ability to use it “efficiently.” There is an odd modern pride in being able to prompt ChatGPT better than others, or using generative design tools faster than one’s peers. But in this race, what we mistake for skill development may actually be skill decay. Professionals risk losing their touch. Learners risk never acquiring one.

And so, we ought to deliberate on what humanity loses in the rat race to delegate everything to machines? In our desire for ease, speed, and automation, are we sacrificing the very small but crucial aspects that comprise human-made decisions and make them thoughtful?