Somewhere in between your local plant swap’s enthusiastic talk of soils and the heady world of futuristic scams, a houseplant horror show is quietly taking root online. With a wink to the AI hype machine, The Verge reports that artificial intelligence is now manufacturing not just advice about your plants—but the plants themselves. Or, at least, eerily plausible photos of them.
The Great Pink Monstera Hoax
Apparently, the days of being scammed by a blurry photo of “magic beans” on eBay seem positively quaint. The new menace is a blossom of beautifully rendered, completely nonexistent foliage. According to Nicole Froio’s reporting in The Verge, online retailers are peddling seeds for neon pink monsteras, midnight-black bleeding hearts, or luminescent blue hostas—all with the help of AI-generated images convincing enough to ensnare the curious and the credulous alike.
In an especially surreal twist, The Verge details how even Google’s AI assistant has, without batting a digital eyelash, affirmed the supposed existence of pastel-pink monstera plants. Botanists might raise an eyebrow here, since the genetics simply aren’t possible—actual monstera species lack the genes to produce pink pigment. Casey Schmidt Ahl, engagement manager at Colonial Gardens, recounts in the report how customers inquire about such mythical specimens every spring. Ahl describes receiving calls from hopeful gardeners asking about black bleeding heart plants—a variety that circulates in just one dubious photo online and nowhere in the real world.
Ahl has responded to the proliferation by publishing blog posts teaching plant enthusiasts to spot these AI-driven scams. She highlights classic red flags: the alleged plant appearing in only a single image, no botanical details about care or variety, and—most damning of all—a color palette straight out of a sci-fi artbook.
The Misinformation Vines
But the fakery doesn’t end with images. Froio goes on to document how plant care misinformation is now cropping up with equal vigor, thanks to both AI chatbots and automated apps. According to Ahl, myths and pseudoscience have always been rampant in gardening (with folk remedies like honey or cinnamon liberally applied to leaves). Yet AI has essentially turbocharged these legends, turning unsourced plant care lore into an endless loop of generative “tips.” As Ahl points out, she relies on scholarly papers and growers’ guides when advising customers—a far cry from the murky origins of information spewing from AI bots.
Moderators of plant communities have noticed a similar deluge. In a written interview with The Verge, the Redditor known as CaringCactus—who helps moderate four plant-related subreddits—explains that most online groups now ban AI-generated images and advice outright. CaringCactus describes the situation as a battle against generic, false content, often posted by bots in large volumes. “They create a lot of generic responses that are full of false information. Most people also view it as lazy and disingenuous with ulterior motives,” the moderator observes. The outlet also notes that these bot-driven posts discourage meaningful engagement and waste the time of users genuinely seeking advice or connection.
Central to all this, the report notes, is what brings people to plant forums in the first place. According to Caring_Cactus, it’s not just about getting simple answers but about “socially connect[ing] based on real lived experiences, in a community with others like you.” AI-generated responses can flatten those experiences, ignoring the subtleties necessary for actual plant care—like local climates, a beginner’s or expert’s skill level, and even the availability of gardening supplies.
When Magic Looks Suspect
There’s an irony here that’s hard to miss: as AI’s outputs become more convincing, even nature’s most jaw-dropping real-life novelties suddenly arouse suspicion. In a detail highlighted by The Verge, the recently introduced firefly petunia—a glow-in-the-dark plant that sounds as fantastical as any AI invention—has become suspect in the eyes of collectors wary of digital chicanery. Ahl notes that, with so many fake images circulating, it’s not always easy to trust your own eyes. The result? A creeping existential skepticism that can chip away at the sense of wonder gardeners feel for rare or unusual varieties.
Ahl elaborates that the joy of cultivating plants is rooted in more than novelty or dopamine-hit curiosity. There’s value in “the growth and development of real plants”—a process best experienced through mindfulness and hands-on learning. Relying on AI apps for instant diagnoses, she argues, means you “let AI do the thinking for you and you’re not doing the full connection and the mindfulness of having plants.” It’s a shortcut that defeats much of what makes the hobby meaningful.
Earlier in Froio’s reporting, Ahl observes that the wider ecosystem of AI-powered misinformation and “plantfluencer” culture discourages genuine engagement between plant owners and experts. The rapid virality of plant trends, often decoupled from scientific accuracy, makes it harder for garden centers and experienced growers to connect with hobbyists in the first place.
Can You Spot the Real Philodendron?
Given all this, is this just an odd digital blip, or are we seeing a deeper shift—a world where digital “rare plants” are as plentiful as weeds, and authentic, earth-grown strangeness becomes suspect by default?
One thing seems certain: the real work of plant care—the waiting, the trial and error, the local expertise—resists automation. As Ahl and Caring_Cactus both make clear in The Verge’s report, what draws people to these communities is the messiness and unpredictability that comes with living things. If the rarest plant variety now springs from a neural net, what does that mean for our own connections—to nature, to one another, and even to the small, hard-won joys of waiting for a single genuine, imperfect leaf to unfurl? Maybe, at least in this corner of the internet, the analog surprises are still the ones worth keeping an eye out for.
