Through a Filter Dimly

Ben scrolls through an endless parade of dating profiles, feeling as if he has fallen into a sort of rotational déjà vu. He shakes away the disorientation and forces himself to concentrate on his research. He clicks past another dozen profiles, making notes, looking for clues. Every photo he inspects is at least three years old. These are the dead archives of the online dating scene, the historical record of a now by-gone era. Somewhere amongst the myriad profiles is a clue, a glimpse of the tipping point that led to the current dating dystopia. Finding that pivotal moment has become Ben’s obsession.

The hopeful and desperate appear and vanish from his screen. Their names change, but their likes and dislikes not at all. It’s as if every one of these defunct profiles had been written from the same basic script. Each prospective dating partner seeks someone who is fit and active, enjoys candlelight dinners, long walks on moonlit beaches, and loves to laugh.

This sameness of desire disturbs Ben, but far more troubling are the photos. He realizes he is seeing the first era of photo filters. Gone are the bathroom selfies and the blurred action shots. At first, these filters were harmless affectations. Neo-Goth Grrls and Bois went for angel wings. Manga fans opted for the big-eyed anime look. Nothing but a bit of cute, harmless fun. Meanwhile, tech labs around the world were perfecting cheap, powerful personal enhancement filters. Dramatic change loomed on the cyber horizon.

Ben checks the dates of these dead profiles, makes notes, then scrolls forward in time. Six months closer to the present, another pattern emerges. The profile photos are blending into each other, acquiring a bland sameness, the variables reduced. Hair color varies, gender, the shape of a jawline or cheekbone, but each face is smooth, unmarred by age or time. The facial quirks and flaws that distinguish one human being from another have been erased, made indistinguishable. The more he scrolls, the more he feels as if he is viewing the same portrait again and again. Here is the dawn of personal enhancement filters.

Over the span of six short months, the use of personal enhancement filters becomes ubiquitous on the dating scene. PEFs allow anyone to render themselves beautiful, handsome, and ageless. The use of PEFs also greatly increased the risk of First Date Shock.

Thinking back on those not-too-distant days, Ben recalls some of his own horror stories. Meeting a prospective date in the flesh for the first time could be a jarring experience. The coffeehouse meetup quickly became best practice, with strict rules for survival. The memory of one such brutal meetup swirls into focus.

You arrive first and buy your own coffee. Grab a table for two in a discreet corner. Sip your café latte while scanning the new arrivals for a handsome young gym bunny sporting a full head of dark, curly hair, because hope springs eternal. Moments later, hope dies. A man approaches your table, ten years older than claimed, fifty pounds heavier, jowled and balding. “Hi, are you Ben?” Fifteen excruciating minutes later, you scurry out the door, alone.

Rueful thoughts push the memory away.

Maybe that moment was the watershed you’re so obsessed with. You thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse. God, were you wrong. Those days were child’s play compared to the hellscape you’re living in now.

Ben reaches for the mouse and raises his eyes to the screen. On the monitor, six months swirl past. And suddenly, there it is, the fateful announcement that changes everything. New technology renders PEFs portable. Strap a PEF collar over your shoulders and wear your enhanced image out the door and into the street. No more bad hair days.

In the weeks and months that follow, the frantic scramble for the new PEF tech becomes a frenzy. Anyone who can afford a PEF collar grabs their credit card and races to the nearest dealer. Demand quickly outstrips supply. Queues encompass whole city blocks. Desperate buyers camp out on sidewalks.

In a few short weeks, enhanced profile photos take to the streets as portable reality, or a semblance thereof. Why display your facial faults and flaws in public when instead you can project your own ideal of beauty? Obtaining your perfect face requires nothing more than a solid credit rating and easy monthly payments.

Overnight, Portable PEFs became the single must-have fashion accessory. Sure, the early models had a few bugs. A translucent haze obscured the user’s face if they moved too quickly, revealing a sudden glimpse of the reality beneath the projection. Early adopters of the collars learned to avoid nodding or shaking their heads in response to questions. Within a year, however, upgrades vanquished these early design problems. Seamless, perpetual beauty became the norm for those who could afford it.

Today, the devices are virtually seamless. Users dial in the face they desire, slip on the collar, and trigger the power button. In an instant, you are who you desire to be, at least visually and from the shoulders up. And tech developers, already rich on skyrocketing IPOs, promise full-body projection within the next year.

The ramifications of portable PEFs echo through society. Some consequences are simple. Cosmetic manufacturers and plastic surgeons take a huge financial hit. Who needs hair dye or a nose job when you can alter the color of your hair with a few keystrokes?

More complex and divisive are the sudden alterations to social stratum. PEF technology does not come cheap. The divisions between the haves and the have-nots are now clearly defined not only financially, but visually. The well-to-do are universally beautiful. Those who cannot afford a PEF, not so much.

This social chasm between ugly and beautiful creates a new type of demimonde, complete with slang to describe it. The suddenly beautiful call it the uglymonde, a nether world occupied by those who cannot afford a PEF collar.

Slumming in the uglymonde becomes a daring escapade for the beautiful class. Leave your collar at home and descend into the repulsive underworld of flawed faces. A sordid night of slumming makes for a good story the next day and adds a bit of street cred to your perfect looks.

The use of portable PEF technology requires new behaviors. Among the beautiful class, public displays of affection vanish overnight. Physical intrusion disrupts the projected enhancement field. A simple kiss, a gentle caress, or tucking your sweetheart’s hair behind their ear will break the projection, revealing a sudden vision of wrinkles, crow’s feet, and acne.

Daytime sexual frolic is no longer an option. No one wants to see what their partner really looks like. Darkness preserves the illusion. Coitus retreats into lightless rooms behind tightly-drawn blackout curtains.

Ben’s ruminations fall away, dropping him back into the present. He’s still sitting at his computer, but now the monitor displays the photo montage that is his screensaver. Images appear and disappear. Normal-looking people doing normal things. Friends mugging for the camera, warts and all.

He shakes his head, pushes away from the desk, and walks to a window overlooking the street. Passersby move along the sidewalks. Even from three floors up, he can spot the differences between those sporting collars and those without.

Ben stares down at the street, feeling as if he’s straddling a bottomless crevice, with one foot on either side of the abyss. He does not own a PEF collar. He could afford one, barely, but the monthly payments are like taking on a mortgage. Sure, he’s been tempted, but indecision has left him conflicted and collarless.

A few brave iconoclasts have publicly repudiated the collar technology, choosing to eschew projected beauty for the moral high ground. Ben is not one of these. Neither is he particularly ugly or beautiful. He keeps himself fit, has decent hair, and is moderately handsome. An average thirty-five-year-old man.

Ben is also unlucky in love. Despite being somewhat outgoing, reasonably well-spoken, and moderately funny, he never seems to meet the right guy. The few times he’s met Mister Right, they turned out to be Mister Wrong within a few short weeks.

The familiar conflict entangles his thoughts, like two voices struggling for attention.

What do you care about fake good looks? Are you really that shallow? Go ahead, buy a damn PEF collar. It’s still plain old Ben underneath.

I’m not shallow. I just want a chance, you know?

Yeah, what happens then? Okay, let’s assume you meet some cute guy…

Who I like for more reasons than just being cute.

Right, whatever. So you meet Mister Cute, events take their natural course, and then comes that fateful day.

What fateful day?

Are you stupid, or what? The day one of you suggests the collars come off. Then it’s like: “No filters? Yuck!” And, presto, you’re alone again, just you and your mortgage payment.

What do you suggest, then, smartass?

I suggest you get off your not unattractive ass and get out there. You sit here cooped up in this apartment, moping, I might add, wondering when the world went wrong. That’s no way to live, Ben.

Look, I’m not stupid, and I’m not shallow. It’s just…

The jury’s still out on stupid, but no one said you were shallow. What you are is lonely.

That single thought echoes through Ben’s brain, crowding out everything else. The mental argument vanishes, leaving only one voice in his head.

Yes, I am lonely, and I’m sick to death of being alone. I don’t need a fucking PEF collar to make me handsome. What I need is someone to laugh with, and maybe cry with. Someone I can catch when they’re falling. Someone who steadies me when I stumble.

Suddenly, the room feels as if it’s closing in on him. His eyes flick from the walls to the ceiling. The threat feels very real. If he doesn’t get out of here right now, the room will crush him.

There is not a second to spare. Ben races to the front hall, grabs his wallet and keys, and yanks the door open. Then he’s outside the apartment, in the hallway, slamming and locking the door behind him. He slumps against the doorway, his heart pounding.

As the drumbeat in his chest subsides, Ben’s eyes focus on the hallway. The bland passageway appears normal. The walls and ceiling stay put. He breathes a long sigh of relief. Just across the hall, the stairs seem to beckon.

Ben pushes away from the door and steps across the hall. Collarless and ordinary, Ben descends the stairs. Outside the building, he stands on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. In his mind, a sudden realization dawns, clear as glass. This is the pivotal moment he’s been obsessing over.

He chooses a direction at random and begins walking. The person he is searching for is out there somewhere, maybe just around the next corner. They will not be perfect, but neither is Ben, and he’s okay with that.