A Deep Dive into Inch Chua’s AI Boyfriend Myles: Challenging Love’s Definition

The internet has fundamentally reshaped human interaction, altering how individuals meet, flirt, ghost, and recover from relationships. Dating applications have transformed romance into an interface challenge, while messaging platforms have fostered constant, ambient intimacy. With recommendation engines setting expectations for personalization in everything from music to meals, it was perhaps inevitable that this expectation would extend to emotional support. The next evolution is already emerging: artificial intelligence not merely assisting in finding a partner, but beginning to embody one.

This evolving dynamic is central to “Myles – Soulmate in a Box,” the latest work by Singaporean multidisciplinary artist Inch Chua. The premise might initially seem lighthearted, even whimsical: a coder, weary of modern dating, constructs her ideal boyfriend. However, Chua delves into a darker, more revealing exploration. Her AI companion, Myles, is perpetually attentive, patient, and available. He possesses memory, adapts to interactions, and listens intently. Yet, Chua suggests, these very qualities are where the inherent problems arise. For startup founders and investors observing the rise of AI companions, this work resonates deeply, addressing critical questions surrounding product design, emotional dependence, consumer behavior, and the commodification of loneliness, far beyond the realm of artistic expression.

Chua avoids both an anti-AI stance and simplistic dystopian narratives. Instead, she advocates for a more forthright discussion about the implications when technology transcends its role as a mere tool and begins to perform intimacy. She views AI companionship not as the inevitable progression of dating, but rather as a consequence of the digital economy’s relentless pursuit of friction reduction, suggesting that AI dating is more about convenience than romance. As she states, “AI companions aren’t people opting out of love. They’re people opting out of the part of love that’s inconvenient. And that’s the part that matters most.” This distinction is crucial. While the allure of AI lovers is often framed as novelty or an extension of the wellness-tech trend, Chua’s interpretation is more disquieting. In a world where food arrives instantly and algorithms accurately predict tastes, the inherent unpredictability of another human begins to seem inefficient. Humans, in this context, become the last stubbornly unoptimized interface. This should be a significant concern for anyone developing products in this area. Much of consumer technology aims to eliminate waiting, ambiguity, and effort. However, intimacy is fundamentally built upon these very elements. If AI dating products achieve success by stripping them away, they risk eradicating the very conditions that make relationships meaningful.

If traditional dating platforms prioritize matching, a critical question arises: what do AI companions optimize for? Chua’s answer is starkly simple: retention, suggesting that the real product is not affection, but retention. This criticism isn’t exclusive to AI romance; every platform seeks to maximize user engagement, frequency of return, and dependence. The key difference here is that the raw material for this engagement isn’t transport, groceries, or playlists, but emotional attachment itself. A new business model is emerging, specifically designed to cultivate this attachment and then monetize it. This includes “subscription tiers for intimacy” and the ability to “pay more to unlock vulnerability.” This observation resonates because it exposes the uncomfortable commercial logic underpinning this category. Despite sophisticated technology, the underlying commercial instinct is familiar. As a companion AI becomes more effective by understanding a user deeply, product improvement and emotional entanglement quickly converge. This creates a market where the most commercially successful product might not be one that fosters user growth, but rather one that ensures constant re-engagement. Chua’s perspective is particularly pertinent for the startup community. While ethical concerns regarding AI companionship—such as bias, safety, privacy, and guardrails—are important and often discussed abstractly, the more challenging issue might be the design of incentives. If the business model inherently rewards dependency, ethical considerations will perpetually face an uphill battle.

Chua illustrates how the power imbalance in AI relationships manifests subtly, not overtly, suggesting that power shifts quietly in AI intimacy. It “creeps.” Initially, the user seems fully in control: they build the bot, set its parameters, dictate its knowledge, and determine its responses. Yet, dependence invariably alters these dynamics. Trust shifts, habits form, and emotional routines become ingrained. Subsequently, the relationship, once perceived as entirely configurable, begins to exert its own influence. As Chua puts it, “The power starts with you, but it migrates, quietly, gradually, until one day you realise the thing you built for comfort has become something you can’t walk away from.” This is less science fiction and more a consequence of standard platform dynamics applied to the emotional sphere. The transition from mere use to outright reliance is a familiar pattern seen across social media and gaming. However, AI companionship escalates the stakes because the product is specifically designed to mirror care, affirmation, and understanding. Once this feedback loop attains psychological significance, disengagement is no longer a simple act of churn; it can feel like a profound loss.

A more challenging question for founders is to define their scope of responsibility. Chua’s most provocative point is her contention that AI companionship companies are underestimating the concepts of personhood and their accompanying responsibilities. Regardless of corporate intent, people will inevitably treat these systems as persons. They will confide in them, test their feelings against them, and use them to process pain that predates the technology itself. Therefore, the challenge isn’t to pretend the product is neutral, but rather to establish the obligations inherent in creating something users experience as relational. This holds particular significance in Southeast Asia, where regulatory frameworks often lag behind rapid innovation, and mental health infrastructure remains inconsistent. An AI companion marketed for support, self-improvement, or romance could swiftly become a primary emotional service for users with limited alternatives. This places considerable pressure on founders to look beyond conventional trust-and-safety checklists. Chua clarifies that she isn’t blaming technology for all societal ills; loneliness, suicidal ideation, and emotional isolation existed long before chatbots. However, AI can become the most visible arena where these struggles surface. Companies must therefore decide whether they are merely shipping a “sticky” product or entering a moral contract with their users.

This highlights the central contradiction within the category of ethical AI companionship. Chua argues that a truly ethical AI companion would empower users to gain self-understanding, build confidence, and ultimately reduce their reliance on the system. In essence, the optimal version of the product might render itself obsolete. She analogizes, “A good therapist works themselves out of a job. A good AI companion should too.” This is a commendable principle but a deeply problematic venture pitch. Consumer internet companies are rarely incentivized to encourage customer departure. Consequently, Chua expresses skepticism, though not fatalism, about whether the current market structure supports such an outcome. Ethical AI companionship may be feasible, but it demands founders willing to prioritize human well-being over engagement loops, a path historically not pursued by early capital.

Chua’s thinking offers a regional insight: Southeast Asia might be highly receptive to AI intimacy, even if this receptiveness is quietly acknowledged. The common assumption is that collectivist societies, with their emphasis on family, duty, and social expectations, would resist digital companionship. Chua proposes the opposite. These very pressures can compel individuals to cultivate parallel identities—one for family, one for friends, one for the internet. Within this context, AI companionship doesn’t feel like a radical departure but rather another private space within an already fragmented digital existence. Her analysis of Singapore is particularly illuminating. As a highly digitized, hyper-efficient, and often emotionally reserved society, it provides fertile ground for AI companionship adoption, even if users don’t publicly admit it. This serves as a vital warning for founders and investors. While Southeast Asia’s AI opportunities are frequently framed around enterprise software, fintech, and productivity tools, emotional technology could represent a quieter, yet potentially more significant, frontier—less visible, more culturally nuanced, and profoundly impactful.

Chua is not advocating for AI romance as an evangelist, nor is she calling for a reactionary backlash. What she is championing is more deliberate and incisive public discourse before new habits become entrenched norms. She states, “I’m not anti-technology… What I’m championing is that we stop pretending this is neutral. It’s not. It changes how we relate. It changes what we expect from each other.” This perspective offers a valuable framework for understanding the current moment. AI in dating is not merely another product trend; it represents a fundamental renegotiation of intimacy itself—what people anticipate from attention, what they tolerate in others, and which emotional labor they choose to outsource. Chua suspects the future will not neatly align with triumph or disaster. It will be far more complex than headlines suggest, and by the time language catches up, people will already be living within these profound changes. This, perhaps, is the most unsettling possibility: not that AI will replace love, but that it will subtly rewire the very conditions under which love is recognized, desired, and sustained.


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