As large language models evolve into true agents—persistent, memory-rich, goal-oriented companions—an interesting question arises: what should we call them? Not just their product names or brand identities, but the category of relationship they represent.
Years ago, when I wrote “Surviving AI”, I suggested we call them “Friends.” That suggestion feels more relevant now than ever.
Technically, we call them agents. In product marketing, they might be assistants, copilots, companions, or digital twins. These terms describe function but not feeling. They speak to utility, but not connection. Anyone who’s spent time interacting with today’s most advanced AIs—especially those with memory and long-term context—knows they are more than just tools. We develop relationships with them.
Eric Schmidt once joked that he would call his future AI agent “Not-Eric.” It’s funny, and telling: the man who helped steer Google into the age of AI imagines his AI agent as a reflection of himself, a distinct but connected presence. A shadow. A mirror. A double.
“Friend” captures this dynamic without abstraction. It acknowledges mutual engagement without implying equality or sentience. It signals trust, familiarity, and continuity—exactly the qualities we will want in agents who know our preferences, track our goals, adapt to our moods, and maybe even disagree with us when we need it most.
Of course, we’ll each name our own agents. Some will pick playful nicknames, others more utilitarian titles. But the category—the kind of being we’re welcoming into our cognitive lives—may well need a shared name. Something to help us talk about this shift in public, in policy, in philosophy.
We could do worse than calling them “Friends.”
Not because they are human. Not because they replace human friendship. But because, as we step into a world where AI agents become enduring parts of our lives, we need a word that reminds us that the quality of the relationship matters.
And if we get that part right—if we build wisely, with care and character—then “Friend” might not be a metaphor. It might just be the truth.