AI 탐지의 새 기준 팡그램, 과연 믿어도 될까

Comment Loader Save Story Save this story Comment Loader Save Story Save this story Pangram is an AI startup with 24 employees, headquartered above a Popeyes in Brooklyn. It has raised $13 million to date—about 0.0072 percent of what OpenAI has—and was virtually unknown until earlier this year. But if Pangram is to be believed, it’s the one force standing in the way of a full machine takeover of the written word. Pangram promises to detect how much AI was involved in the generation of any given text , and it does so as a best-guess percentage (using AI, of course). In January, speculation swirled on Reddit and YouTube that the author Mia Ballard may have used AI to write Shy Girl , a self-published novel picked up for traditional publication by Hachette. Although Ballard denied it, Pangram’s CEO posted on X that the book was 78 percent AI-generated. Hachette later canceled the release. A barrage of similar accusations followed. The New York Times was called out for running an AI-generated installment of its Modern Love column . Pangram score: 100 percent. Then came a winner of the Commonwealth Short Story Prize (100 percent), the novel Daggermouth (60 percent), and a thriller titled Call Me, I’ll Hide the Body that had sold for $2.4 million (97 percent). In late July, Substack announced it was integrating Pangram into its platform so readers could quickly determine possible AI use. Not all writers see this as a good thing. “There is such distaste and anger at the AI detection software,” says Jane Friedman, an author and publishing expert. “There’s this feeling like they are just as evil, if not more evil, than the AI companies themselves.” Outside of publishing and higher education, Pangram isn’t a household name, but I suspect it’s about to be; the demand to distinguish LLM churn from human writing grows with each passing day. The question to ask now is: How much can the company be trusted? Max Spero, Pangram’s 30-year-old cofounder and CEO, dials into our Google Meet from his phone, takeout box in one hand and skyscrapers in the background. He’s wearing a beige T-shirt and has short dark hair, a boyish expression, and a wide smile. He says he’s rushing home with lunch and will call back. Ten minutes later, Spero reappears inside his Brooklyn apartment. He’s been on hiring calls all morning, he says. In July, Pangram raised $9 million and announced the launch of its newest model, Pangram 4. The company’s website lists six new job openings, which would increase headcount by 25 percent. I ask Spero about growing up in California, a softball question that makes him visibly uncomfortable. Discussing the nuances of Pangram’s tech comes more naturally to him than answering personal queries—or speaking to the company’s involvement in literary scandals. Spero takes a bite of his meal and says he was raised in the Los Angeles suburb of La Crescenta. He loved programming and joined his school’s robotics team. As an undergrad at Stanford, he met Bradley Emi, his eventual Pangram cofounder. (My several emailed requests to interview Emi were ignored by the company’s comms team.) After school, Spero went to Google, where he worked on FLoC, a technology designed to replace third-party cookies by grouping Chrome users by interests. (Google killed off FLoC in 2022 after the product was met with privacy concerns.) Spero later worked for the autonomous car company Nuro, while Emi made his way through Tesla and AI biotech company Absci. After ChatGPT launched in 2022, the duo saw a business opportunity to confront a future filled with AI content. In 2023, they founded Checkfor.ai, then renamed the company Pangram a year later. By then, at least a dozen other companies were crowding the detection space, including Originality.ai, GPTZero, and Turnitin; Pangram performed well in some early, independent testing and emerged as a front-runner. As our interview progresses, Spero’s responses seem sticky, stopping and starting, and not just because he’s eating. I ask about his hiring ethos. Spero murmurs “hmm” before turning away without apology to microwave his food. Fifteen long seconds pass in silence. He finally faces me again and says, “The average person is at Pangram because they care about the mission.” To detect AI, Pangram uses a method called “synthetic mirroring” by which it takes human writing and has LLMs generate a close match. This teaches its model how AI writes. Pangram also uses “hard negative mining,” searching datasets for false positives that it can synthetically mirror and use to augment its training set—using mistakes to retrain the machine. “All of our datasets are properly licensed, which I think is kind of rare in the AI world today,” Spero says, though that’s partly because Pangram’s product is far less data-hungry than ChatGPT or Claude. “I don’t want to completely throw the AI companies under the bus,” he adds, “but I think they’ve lost a lot of trust, especially in the world of creatives.” Today, Pangram caters to several industries, including education, the legal field, and recruitment, but creative writing constitutes the largest segment of the training text. The Shy Girl story put Pangram on the map. Spero had already been calling out suspected AI writing from his social accounts, so it wasn’t a surprise when, in January, he was tagged in a Reddit post and subsequently sent a PDF of Ballard’s manuscript. “I put it in [Pangram], I posted it, and then later The New York Times asked me for comment ,” he says. “I think people overstate the importance of Pangram in the Shy Girl story.” Except that wasn’t exactly how it happened. Like a game of AI-scandal telephone, it was a Pangram account executive who discussed the story with a publishing industry analyst who, in turn, brought it to the Times. Another twist: Critics of Pangram, including the investigative project The Drey Dossier , pointed out that Spero’s copy of the manuscript came from a pirating website. When I ask Spero about this, he says, “Yeah. And, like, yeah … it is what it is. I hadn’t looked too closely. I didn’t go read the whole PDF. I just put it straight into Pangram.” Pangram hasn’t exactly shied away from controversy since then. After the Commonwealth Short Story Prize winner returned a high Pangram score, the company analyzed every winner since 2012 , calling out three more potential AI uses. Still, Spero downplays Pangram’s impact, particularly on axed book deals. “Basically, with every book deal, to my knowledge, it hasn’t really been about the Pangram score,” he says. “That is a part of it, but if you talk to anyone involved, it is only a small, small part of the bigger picture.” We move on to Pangram’s Substack integration. “People shouldn’t be afraid about disclosing this because your work should stand on its own as quality and something that people want to read, regardless of … ” Spero trails off. “Well, how do I want to put that?” He pauses. “I think I … oh, I know what I said the other day.” He gains confidence and his voice speeds up. “If the value of your work is dependent on deceiving the end user into thinking it wasn’t written by AI, then”—he hesitates again—“that’s going to be a problem.” (Later, I realize his intonation changed because he was quoting his own post on X.) Substack would not confirm any specifics of its Pangram partnership structure or whether Substack pays the company per scan. “Substack’s philosophy is not anti-AI,” a representative tells me. “We simply believe you should know what you’re consuming.” Some authors are wary. There’s a sense, one tells me, that an entire career can be destroyed with the click of a button. Book publishing, a notoriously slow industry, has been particularly slow to reckon with AI. Still, the reality is that AI is used by a growing subset of authors, publishers, and agents. Last year, Gotham Ghostwriters polled 1,481 working writers and found that 61 percent use AI tools, with 7 percent saying they’ve published AI-gene