Oct 01, 2025·8 min
How Apple Let Siri Fall Behind While ChatGPT Redefined AI
Explore how Apple’s early lead with Siri faded as ChatGPT and large language models reshaped AI assistants, and what this shift means for Apple’s strategy.
Explore how Apple’s early lead with Siri faded as ChatGPT and large language models reshaped AI assistants, and what this shift means for Apple’s strategy.
Siri and ChatGPT are often compared as if they were just two different assistants. The more interesting story is how one company helped define the category, then lost momentum just as another technology wave arrived and reset expectations.
When Apple launched Siri on the iPhone 4S in 2011, it looked like the future of computing: talk to your phone, get things done, no keyboard needed. Apple had a clear first‑mover advantage in mainstream voice assistance, years before “AI” became the center of every product roadmap. For a while, Siri shaped what people thought an assistant could be.
A decade later, ChatGPT exploded in late 2022 and made many users feel like they were experiencing a different species of assistant. It could write, explain, translate, debug, and adapt to context in a way scripted voice systems never could. Overnight, user expectations jumped from “set a timer and mishear my request” to “reason with me about complex topics and generate content on demand.”
This article isn’t about feature checklists. It’s about trajectory: how Siri’s design, architecture, and product constraints kept it narrow and brittle, while large language models (LLMs) enabled ChatGPT to be open‑ended and conversational.
We’ll look at:
For product and AI teams, Siri vs ChatGPT is a case study in how timing, platform decisions, and technical bets can either compound advantage—or quietly erode it.
When Apple unveiled Siri alongside the iPhone 4S in 2011, it felt like a glimpse of science fiction on a mainstream device. Siri began as an independent startup spun out of SRI International; Apple acquired it in 2010 and quickly turned it into a headline feature, not just another app.
Apple marketed Siri as a conversational, voice-driven assistant that could handle everyday tasks: setting reminders, sending messages, checking the weather, finding restaurants, and more. The pitch was simple and powerful: instead of tapping through apps, you could just talk to your iPhone.
The launch campaign leaned hard on personality. Siri had witty responses, jokes, and easter eggs designed to make the assistant feel alive and approachable. Tech reviewers and mainstream media covered people “talking to their phones” as a cultural moment. For a while, Siri was the most visible symbol of consumer AI.
Behind the friendly voice, Siri’s architecture was an intent-based system wired to predefined domains:
create_reminder or send_message).Siri wasn’t “thinking” in a general way; it was orchestrating a large set of scripted capabilities.
At launch, this was years ahead of what competitors shipped. Google Voice Actions and other efforts felt narrow and utilitarian by comparison. Siri gave Apple a real first‑mover advantage: it owned the public imagination of what an AI assistant on a smartphone could be, long before large language models or ChatGPT entered the picture.
Siri earned a place in people’s routines by nailing a narrow set of everyday tasks. Saying “Hey Siri, set a 10‑minute timer,” “Call mom,” or “Text Alex I’m running late” usually worked on the first try. Hands-free control for calls, messages, reminders, and alarms felt magical, especially while driving or cooking.
Music control was another stronghold. “Play some jazz,” “Skip,” or “What song is this?” made the iPhone feel like a voice‑driven remote for Apple Music and the wider audio experience. Combined with simple queries—weather, sports scores, basic facts—Siri delivered quick utility in short, single-turn interactions.
Under the surface, Siri relied on intents, slots, and domains. Each domain (like messaging, alarms, or music) supported a small set of intents—“send message,” “create timer,” “play track”—with slots for details such as contact names, durations, or song titles.
That design worked well when users stuck close to expected phrasing: “Remind me at 3 p.m. to call the dentist” mapped neatly into a reminder intent with time and text slots. But when people spoke more freely—adding side comments or unusual orderings—Siri often misfired or fell back to web search.
Because every new behavior required a carefully modeled intent and domain, Siri’s capabilities grew slowly. Support for new actions, apps, and languages lagged behind user expectations. Many people noticed that year over year, Siri didn’t seem to gain new skills or noticeably greater “smarts.”
Follow-up questions were shallow, with almost no memory of earlier context. You could ask for one timer, but managing several with natural conversation was fragile. That brittleness—combined with the sense that Siri wasn’t evolving much—set the stage for users to be impressed when a more flexible, conversational system like ChatGPT appeared later.
Siri was built on an intent-based model: detect a trigger phrase, classify the request into a known intent (set alarm, send message, play song), then call a specific service. If your request didn’t match a predefined pattern or domain, Siri had nowhere to go. It either failed or fell back to a web search.
Large language models (LLMs) flipped that model. Instead of mapping to a fixed set of intents, they predict the next word in a sequence, trained on vast text corpora. That simple objective encodes grammar, facts, styles, and patterns of reasoning in a single, general system. The assistant no longer needs a custom rule or API for every new task; it can improvise across domains.
GPT-3 (2020) was the first LLM that felt qualitatively different: one model could write code, draft marketing copy, summarize legal text, and answer questions without task-specific training. However, it was still a “raw” model—powerful, but awkward to steer.
Instruction tuning and reinforcement learning from human feedback (RLHF) changed that. Researchers fine-tuned models on examples like “Write an email to…” or “Explain quantum computing simply,” aligning them with user instructions and safety norms. This made LLMs much better at following natural language requests, not just completing text.
Wrapping an instruction-tuned model in a persistent chat interface—what OpenAI did with ChatGPT in late 2022—made the capability understandable and accessible. Users could:
With multimodal models, the same system can now handle text, code, and images—translating between them fluidly.
Compared with Siri’s narrow, intent-bound skills, ChatGPT behaves like a general-purpose dialogue partner. It can reason across topics, draft and debug, brainstorm and explain, without Apple-style domain boundaries. That shift—from command slots to open-ended conversation—is what left Siri looking surprisingly old, very quickly.
Apple’s AI story is not just about algorithms; it’s about product philosophy. The same choices that made the iPhone trusted and profitable also made Siri feel frozen in time while ChatGPT surged ahead.
Apple built Siri under a strict privacy model: minimize data collection, avoid persistent identifiers, and keep as much as possible on-device. That reassured users and regulators, but it also meant:
While OpenAI and others trained large language models on enormous datasets and server logs, Apple treated voice data as something to discard quickly or heavily anonymize. Siri’s understanding of messy, real-world requests stayed narrow and brittle by comparison.
Apple also pushed aggressively for on-device processing. Running models on iPhones meant lower latency and better privacy, but it constrained model size and complexity for years.
Siri’s early architectures were optimized for small, specialized models that could fit within tight memory and energy budgets. ChatGPT and its relatives were optimized for the opposite: huge models in the cloud that could be scaled with more GPUs.
As a result, every leap in language modeling—larger context windows, richer reasoning, emergent capabilities—showed up first in cloud assistants, not in Siri.
Apple’s business revolves around hardware margins and tightly integrated services. Siri was framed as a feature that made iPhone, Apple Watch, and CarPlay more attractive, not as a standalone AI product.
That shaped investment decisions:
The result: Siri improved, but mostly in ways that supported device use cases—timers, messages, HomeKit—rather than broad, exploratory problem-solving.
Culturally, Apple is cautious with anything that feels unfinished. Public “beta” features and glitchy, experimental interfaces sit uneasily with its brand.
Large language models, especially in their early stages, were messy: hallucinations, unpredictable answers, and safety trade-offs. Companies like OpenAI and others shipped them openly, labeling them as research and iterating in public. Apple, by contrast, avoided letting an unpredictable Siri experiment at large scale.
That caution reduced the feedback loop. Users didn’t see radical new behaviors from Siri, and Apple didn’t get the same firehose of usage data that drove ChatGPT’s rapid refinement.
Each of these product choices—privacy-maximizing data practices, on-device bias, hardware-first economics, and cultural caution—made sense in isolation. Together, they meant Siri evolved in small, controlled steps while ChatGPT leapt forward.
Customers compared not Apple’s intentions, but the experience: Siri still failed on relatively simple, multi-step requests, while ChatGPT handled complex questions, coding help, brainstorming, and more.
By the time Apple announced Apple Intelligence and a partnership to integrate ChatGPT, the gap in user perception was already clear: Siri was the assistant you expected to misunderstand you; ChatGPT was the one you expected to surprise you.
Siri never just lagged on raw intelligence; it was boxed in by how Apple exposed it to developers.
SiriKit only allowed third‑party apps to plug into a handful of predefined “domains” and “intents”: messaging, VoIP calls, ride booking, payments, workouts, and a few others.
If you built a note‑taking app, a travel planner, or a CRM tool, there often was no domain for you. Even inside supported domains, you had to map user actions to Apple‑defined intents like INSendMessageIntent or INStartWorkoutIntent. Anything more creative lived outside Siri’s reach.
Invocation was equally rigid. Users had to remember patterns such as:
“Hey Siri, send a message with WhatsApp to John saying I’ll be late.”
If they said it differently, Siri often fell back to Apple’s own apps or failed entirely. On top of that, SiriKit extensions faced tight review, limited UI control, and sandboxing that discouraged experimentation.
The result: few partners, thin integrations, and a sense that “Siri skills” were frozen in time.
OpenAI took the opposite route. Rather than a short list of domains, it exposed a general text interface and later tools like function calling, embeddings, and fine‑tuning.
Developers could use the same API to:
No separate program, no domain whitelists—just usage policies and pricing.
Because experimentation was cheap and flexible, thousands of apps tried wild ideas: autonomous agents, plugin systems, workflow copilots, and more. Many failed, but the ecosystem evolved quickly around what worked.
As ChatGPT‑powered tools improved week by week, Siri integrations barely changed. Users noticed. Siri felt static and brittle, while AI products built on open LLM platforms kept surprising people with new capabilities.
Ecosystem design—not just model quality—made the Siri vs ChatGPT contrast so stark.
For many people, “Hey Siri” became shorthand for mild disappointment. Everyday moments piled up:
Over time, users quietly adapted. They learned to speak in clipped, formulaic commands. They stopped asking open-ended questions because the answers were shallow or simply “Here’s what I found on the web.” When voice failed, people fell back to typing on their phones—still in Apple’s ecosystem, but with lower expectations of the assistant.
Culturally, Siri turned into a punchline. Late-night jokes, YouTube compilations, and memes all circled the same theme: Siri misunderstanding accents, setting 15 timers instead of one, or answering questions with irrelevant search results. The assistant felt frozen in time.
ChatGPT flipped that emotional trajectory. Instead of misheard commands, users saw detailed, conversational answers. It could:
The interaction model shifted from quick, transactional commands—“set a timer,” “what’s the weather,” “text Alex I’m late”—to deep assistance: “Help me design a study plan,” “Rewrite this contract in plain English,” “Walk me through this bug.”
As people realized an assistant could remember context, refine drafts, and reason across steps, expectations for AI jumped several levels. Against that new bar, Siri’s incremental gains—slightly better dictation, marginally faster responses—felt modest and almost invisible. User perception didn’t just sour on Siri; it reset around a new definition of what an “assistant” should actually be able to do.
ChatGPT reset expectations for assistants from “voice remote” to “thinking partner.” Instead of just setting timers or toggling settings, users suddenly had an assistant that could draft emails, debug code, explain physics, outline marketing campaigns, or role‑play a negotiation—all in the same conversation.
ChatGPT made it normal for an assistant to:
The key shift was not just answering queries, but helping produce finished work products. People started pasting in documents, spreadsheets, and snippets of code and expecting a thoughtful, formatted output they could ship with minor edits.
Large language models introduced a sense of continuity. Instead of a single Q&A, ChatGPT could:
With tools and plugins, that extended to workflows: pulling data from apps, transforming it, and turning results into emails, reports, or code changes. This is what users increasingly mean by an “assistant”: something that can move from understanding intent to orchestrating several steps toward a goal.
ChatGPT quickly shifted from curiosity to daily infrastructure for work and study. Students use it to understand concepts, practice languages, and outline essays. Knowledge workers use it for research synthesis, idea generation, and first drafts. Teams build it into support flows, coding pipelines, and internal knowledge tools.
Against this backdrop, Siri’s core strength—reliable device control and quick, hands-free commands—started to feel narrow. It excels at on-device actions: alarms, messages, calls, media, and smart home control.
But when users expect an assistant that can reason across topics, keep context, and help complete complex tasks, a system that mainly flips switches and answers simple facts no longer defines “smart.” ChatGPT shifted that definition toward assistants that collaborate on thinking, not just operate the device.
After years of incremental Siri updates, Apple’s 2024 announcements finally put a name and structure around its AI strategy: Apple Intelligence.
Apple framed Apple Intelligence as a system feature, not a single app. It will:
Crucially, Apple limited support to newer hardware (A17 Pro and M‑series chips), signaling that meaningful AI features require serious on-device compute, not just cloud tricks.
Apple doubled down on its privacy story:
This lets Apple talk about LLM-scale capabilities without abandoning its privacy brand.
Within Apple Intelligence, Siri is finally getting a serious upgrade:
These changes aim to move Siri closer to the flexible, conversational behavior users now expect from LLM-based assistants.
The most striking admission of the LLM shift is Apple’s direct partnership with OpenAI. When Siri or Apple Intelligence judges that a query is too open‑ended or creative, users can:
For richer use (e.g., ChatGPT Plus or Teams features), users can link their OpenAI account, with data governed by OpenAI’s policies.
These moves make Apple’s position clear:
Apple hasn’t conceded the assistant race, but by weaving ChatGPT directly into the experience, it has acknowledged how thoroughly LLMs have reset user expectations.
When people say Apple “lost the AI battle” with Siri vs ChatGPT, they rarely mean hardware or business fundamentals. What Apple really lost is the story of what an assistant is and who defines the frontier.
Apple ceded three important kinds of leadership:
Apple didn’t lose on devices, profits, or OS control. It lost its early position as the company that showed the world what a general‑purpose assistant could be.
As ChatGPT and similar tools become default destinations for “hard” questions, a split pattern emerges:
That split matters. If users mentally route anything nontrivial to third‑party AI, the system assistant stops being the center of gravity for new behaviors.
Over time this can weaken:
Apple’s 2024 move to let Siri hand off some queries to ChatGPT is both a fix and a concession: it improves user experience, but admits that the strongest general‑purpose reasoning engine is not Apple’s.
None of this means Apple is out of the game. It still owns some of the most valuable strategic assets in AI:
So Apple hasn’t lost the ability to participate—or even to sprint ahead again. What it lost is the perception that Siri defines what an AI assistant should be. The next few product cycles will decide whether Apple can use its remaining strengths to rewrite that story, or whether Siri remains a convenient voice remote while others own the frontier of intelligence.
Siri once felt magical because it was new. Over time, that novelty became a liability when users stopped noticing progress.
Feature work did happen—better speech recognition, more on-device processing—but much of it was invisible or too incremental. Meanwhile, ChatGPT’s progress was obvious: new capabilities, new models, clear versioning, and public roadmaps.
For product teams, the lesson is simple: ship improvements that users can feel and recognize. Make progress legible—through naming, release notes, and UX changes—so perception tracks reality.
Apple’s preference for tightly curated experiences kept Siri coherent but narrow. SiriKit exposed only a small set of intent domains; developers couldn’t easily create surprising or unconventional use cases.
ChatGPT, by contrast, leaned into openness: APIs, plugins, custom GPTs, third-party integrations. This let the ecosystem discover value far faster than any single company could.
AI product teams should be deliberate about which parts stay controlled (safety, UX quality, privacy) and where developers are encouraged to experiment. Over-constraining interfaces can quietly cap the product’s ceiling.
Apple’s privacy stance limited how much Siri could learn from user interactions, and how quickly. Protecting data is crucial, but if your system can’t observe enough to improve, it stagnates.
Design for privacy-preserving learning: on-device models, federated learning, differential privacy, and explicit user opt-ins. The bar is not "collect everything" vs. "collect nothing," but "learn safely and transparently."
Siri stayed anchored in short voice commands. ChatGPT reframed assistance as an ongoing, written dialogue that could branch, correct, and build context over time. Multimodal inputs (text, voice, images, code) made it feel like a general collaborator instead of a command parser.
Teams should treat interface shifts—chat, multimodal, agents that act on your behalf—not as UI tweaks, but as chances to redefine what the product is and which jobs it can do.
Siri’s update cadence looked like traditional software: big annual releases, small point updates. LLM-based products evolve weekly.
To compete, teams need:
If your organization, tooling, or review processes assume slow cycles, you’ll be late—no matter how strong your research or hardware might be.
Siri’s story is both a warning and a sign of what might still be possible.
Apple went from shipping the first mainstream voice assistant to watching "Siri vs ChatGPT" become shorthand for the gap between old voice interfaces and modern large language models. That shift didn’t happen overnight. It was driven by years of conservative product decisions, tight ecosystem rules, and an insistence on privacy-preserving, on-device processing before the models were ready to shine under those constraints.
The contrast isn’t just about better answers.
Siri embodied a narrow, command-style assistant bound to pre-defined intents and integrations. ChatGPT and similar tools showed how general-purpose LLMs can reason across domains, hold context, and improvise. Apple optimized for control, reliability, and hardware integration; OpenAI and others optimized for model capability and developer openness. Both sets of choices were coherent—but they led to very different user experiences.
With Apple Intelligence and its OpenAI partnership, Apple is finally aligning its AI strategy with where the field has moved: richer generative models, more flexible assistants, and hybrid on-device / cloud execution. That won’t instantly erase a decade of user frustration with "Hey Siri," but it does signal a serious, long-horizon attempt to redefine what Siri can be.
Whether Apple leans harder into deeper on-device models, richer third‑party hooks, or multiple coexisting assistants (Siri plus ChatGPT and others), the next few years will determine if this is reinvention or a patch.
For users, the practical question isn’t who "won"—it’s which assistant fits which job:
Most people will end up using several AI assistants side by side. The smart move is to treat them as complementary tools, not rivals—and to watch closely which ones keep evolving in ways that genuinely reduce friction in your day-to-day life.
If there’s a lesson from Siri’s trajectory for both companies and users, it’s this: don’t confuse an early lead with a lasting advantage, and don’t underestimate how fast expectations reset once people experience what a better assistant can actually do.
Siri was designed as a voice interface for a fixed set of tasks, while ChatGPT is built as a general-purpose language model that can improvise across many domains.
Key contrasts:
Architecture
Capabilities
Interaction style
Perception
Siri fell behind not because Apple lacked AI talent, but because of strategic and product choices that slowed visible progress.
Main reasons:
Siri’s original system:
set_alarm, send_message, or play_song.Apple’s choices made sense individually but collectively limited Siri’s evolution.
Key product decisions:
Apple Intelligence is Apple’s new umbrella for system-wide, generative AI features on iPhone, iPad, and Mac.
What it includes:
Apple’s integration gives Siri a way to tap ChatGPT when Apple’s own models aren’t the best fit.
How it works in broad terms:
They’re best at different jobs, and most people will use both.
Use Siri when you need:
Use ChatGPT-style tools when you need:
For developers, Siri and LLM platforms differ mainly in flexibility and surface area.
Siri / SiriKit:
LLM platforms (e.g., OpenAI APIs):
The article highlights several actionable lessons:
Yes—Apple still has strong assets—but it has lost the narrative lead about what an assistant should be.
What Apple still has:
What it lost:
Meanwhile, ChatGPT and similar LLMs improved visibly, week by week, causing users to recalibrate what “smart” looks like.
LLMs like the one behind ChatGPT:
In practice, this makes LLMs far more flexible: they can adapt to messy, multi-part questions and perform tasks that Siri never had explicit intents for.
Strict privacy model
On-device processing bias
Hardware-first focus
Cautious shipping culture
Combined, these meant Siri improved gradually while user-facing breakthroughs happened elsewhere.
In effect, Apple Intelligence is Apple’s way of catching up to the LLM-driven assistant paradigm while staying aligned with its privacy and hardware strategy.
Privacy-wise, Apple positions this as a clear, opt-in route: Siri remains the front end, and you decide when your query leaves Apple’s ecosystem and goes to OpenAI.
A practical rule: ask Siri to operate your device; ask ChatGPT to think with you.
If you want deep integration with Apple device actions, you still need SiriKit. If you want to build flexible, domain-specific assistants or copilots, an LLM platform is usually the better fit.
In short, an early lead in AI UX is fragile—you need fast, visible, user-centered evolution to keep it.
The next few years—how quickly Apple evolves Siri, opens its ecosystem, and leverages Apple Intelligence—will determine whether it can redefine the assistant experience again or remains primarily a convenient voice remote alongside more capable third-party AI tools.