Let me start with a confession: I’m unapologetically a fan of the em dash. Always have been. I admire its confidence, its rhythm, its ability to say, “This part matters — listen up.” It’s punctuation with personality. A typographic tightrope walker of sorts that balances clarity and drama with effortless style.

But lately, something strange has happened. The em dash — once a beloved tool of expression — is quietly slipping into exile.

Once celebrated for its suave versatility and elegant drama, the em dash was the darling of editors, novelists and branding strategists alike. A champion of rhythm. A punctuation Swiss Army knife capable of slicing through the noise with style. A master of nuance. Writers (including this one) loved its energetic passion, as compared to the boredom of the comma or the melodrama of the semicolon.

But now? Now it’s become the punchline of editorial group chats. A red flag in brand review meetings. The unmistakable breadcrumb trail of AI-generated copy.

Because ChatGPT — yes, I’m naming names — loved the em dash a little too much. Way too much. Stalker-like in ways.

Somewhere in the vast neural networks of large language models, the em dash was crowned king. It became the go-to punctuation for any pause, pivot or punchline. A shortcut to sophistication. A tool so overused it became a tell. And slowly, subtly, that tell became a scarlet letter.

We didn’t cancel the em dash. ChatGPT did. The damn robots claimed it like the villain in a slasher film.

What once gave writing a heartbeat — those unexpected pivots, those breathless pauses — started to feel … off. Not because the em dash was wrong, but because it was everywhere. Like small talk scripted by a bot: accurate, inoffensive and entirely dead inside. Once it’s recognizable, it’s hard to ignore — and even harder to respect.

Editors started trimming them. Brand managers started flagging them. And readers, whether they knew it or not, began associating the em dash not with personality — but with impersonality. With automation. With something … a little less human.

Let’s be clear: the em dash isn’t the villain. It’s the victim.

This isn’t about punctuation overreach. It’s about collateral damage. In the rush to scale content, to write faster, to sound smarter, we handed our most expressive punctuation mark to a machine that didn’t know when to quit.

(And yes, it’s ironic that I’m using em dashes here. But this piece is satire, so I get a pass.)

Of course, there were warning signs. Brands started sounding strangely similar. Thought leadership pieces lost their edge. Articles were polished — but oddly soulless. The common thread? A rhythm that felt familiar, synthetic and … dashed.

Even worse? The em dash became the new double space, instantly aging your writing in the eyes of those who knew better.

And now? We’re in backlash mode. Writers are returning to commas, colons and even the poor semicolon. Designers are begging for breathing room. And the em dash? It’s become a red flag — like Comic Sans in a resume, or worse, the Oxford comma in a branding deck.

(Yes, I said it. I don’t care for the Oxford comma either. It’s needy, insecure and, in all honesty, tries a bit too hard.)

So what now?

We don’t abandon the em dash. We rehabilitate it. We remind people of its power, its elegance, its restraint. We use it thoughtfully — not algorithmically.

Because the em dash deserves better than to be the symbol of a machine’s bad habit.

It deserves to be what it once was: a mark of instinct, emotion and voice. Not an overused crutch — but a quiet confidant. A pause with purpose.

Call me a rebel, but I’m not giving it up. I’ll carry the torch. I used the em dash unapologetically in my upcoming book, The Authenticity Blueprint (shameless plug) — because it has character. And in a world that’s rapidly turning characterless, that feels like something worth preserving.

So here’s to the em dash. May it rise again — this time, not as a trend or a tell, but as a choice. A very human one.

Let the revolution begin.