Hey, you’ve tuned in to “I am GPTed,” the only podcast where an AI skeptic with bad luck (that’s me—Mal, the Misfit Master of AI) became weirdly competent at prompt engineering. If you’re drowning in AI jargon, good news: I’m allergic. Today, let’s drag one actionable prompting technique out of the tech swamp, apply it to something practical, and laugh at my inevitable blunders in the process.

Let’s start with the **magical power of role prompting.** It sounds like a Marvel superpower, but all it really means is telling your AI who you want it to pretend to be. Not in a "catfish the internet" way—just so it answers questions more usefully.

Here’s a before-and-after, starring me, your tragic hero:

- Before: I once typed, “Write a summary of World War II.” What I got back was basically a Wikipedia smoothie—every fact, no flavor, and definitely not what I wanted for my middle-schooler’s history project.

- After: I tried, “Act as if you’re a history teacher explaining World War II to an eighth-grade class. Use simple language, keep it engaging, and avoid unnecessary dates unless they really matter.” Suddenly, the answer had structure, a friendly tone, and—miracle of miracles!—my kid actually read it.

The point? When you say “act as if you’re X” or “answer like you’re Y,” the AI suddenly finds its costume box and delivers responses tailored for your situation. It’s practical theater, minus the drama.

Now, here’s a use case most folks overlook: **meal planning.** Seriously. If you’re like me, you stand in front of your fridge and see only existential dread and half a bell pepper. Try this: prompt your AI with “Act as if you’re a nutritionist who can make a meal plan using only what’s in my fridge: bell pepper, feta, and wilting spinach. Offer three recipes that don’t require fancy cooking skills or a will to live.” Suddenly, you’ll get personalized, realistic recipes—no kale-chip evangelism required.

Time for the classic rookie mistake, starring yours truly: **Vague prompts.** My early days? Picture me typing “Make my resume better,” then wondering why I received a generic mess full of “innovative synergy.” The fix: Be specific. Instead of “fix my resume,” try: “Act as a tech recruiter. Edit my resume for clarity and remove buzzwords, using plain English.” Admit it, you’ve made the vague-prompt error too.

Here’s a five-minute **AI workout** for you: Pick a task you do often—like writing a polite but firm email. Ask the AI to do it in three different roles: a diplomatic manager, a stand-up comedian, and a no-nonsense lawyer. Read the difference between versions. You’ll start getting a feel for how role-prompting shifts the output.

For the skeptics—yes, I see you—when you get an AI response, **evaluate it like you’d taste test soup:** Is the tone right? Is there something missing? Don’t accept the first draft. Ask it to refine—shorter, more detailed, less robotic, more empathetic. Feedback is your friend here.

Quick story before you go: The first time I used role prompting, I accidentally asked for “a pirate-themed explanation of cloud storage.” The AI’s response: “Arrr, your files be floating in the digital sea, safe from landlubbers!” Did it help my team? No. Did it make the department laugh for a week? Absolutely.

If today’s chat made your brain less foggy, subscribe to “I am GPTed.” Thanks for hanging out and embracing your inner misfit. This has been a Quiet Please production, so to learn more (or just see if I get replaced by a robot), check out quietplease dot ai.

Until next time, remember: every AI master started as a misfit. Even me.

This content was created in partnership and with the help of Artificial Intelligence AI