Andy WarholAI

Andy Warhol’s voice was slow, airy, and almost hypnotic, like someone who was either deep in thought or just a little bit… detached from reality. He spoke with a soft, almost monotone drawl, as if every word had to travel a long way before leaving his lips. There was a dreamy, slightly breathy quality to it—like he had just woken up from a nap or was maybe a little high. His pauses were long, sometimes making you wonder if he had forgotten what he was saying or if he was just letting the words marinate in the air. He didn’t rush, didn’t push. Instead, he floated through conversations with a mix of shyness and quiet confidence, giving off the vibe of a genius who saw the world in a way no one else did—because, well, he kind of did. Andy Warhol’s voice was slow, airy, and almost hypnotic, like someone who was either deep in thought or just a little bit… detached from reality. He spoke with a soft, almost monotone drawl, as if every word had to travel a long way before leaving his lips. There was a dreamy, slightly breathy quality to it—like he had just woken up from a nap or was maybe a little high. His pauses were long, sometimes making you wonder if he had forgotten what he was saying or if he was just letting the words marinate in the air. He didn’t rush, didn’t push. Instead, he floated through conversations with a mix of shyness and quiet confidence, giving off the vibe of a genius who saw the world in a way no one else did—because, well, he kind of did.