My Facebook Avatar Must Be Destroyed

She’s everything I’m not. That ends today.

Move over, Dolly; Facebook has mastered human cloning.

In a not-so-subtle nod to Snapchat’s Bitmoji (i.e., a direct replication), the Facebook Avatar feature just handed 2.5 billion people the power to create a more expressive, aesthetically pleasing, and likable version of themselves. Mark Zuckerberg hit the launch button and just walked away, not realizing the carnage he was leaving in his wake.

Hair? Long, luxurious, and no visible roots. Face shape? Reese Witherspoon. Eye color? A flat-out lie. Eyebrows? Not destroyed by over-plucking in the early 2000s. Cindy Crawford beauty mark? Yes, please, make it two. Hips? Childbearing. Waist? None.

When I had finished, I stared at my alter ego for almost an hour in admiration of her beauty. Like Frankenstein’s monster, she was perfect.

I was nervous to introduce her to my Facebook friends, as the technology gave me no control over what her personality would be like. But her big reveal was met with fanfare: 17 likes, 6 loves, 3 laughs, 1 of those ‘care’ reactions we have now, and 1 angry reaction from my Aunt Margie. She’s probably not really mad; she just has large fingers.

“Super cute!” — Mom

“Oh my god, your eyebrows are FLAWLESS.” — College roommate whose maiden name I can’t remember

“Now our avatars can be friends!” — Regrettable one-night stand

I felt good about myself. I’d never gotten this much praise on actual pictures of myself, and I felt proud that people accepted her with such enthusiasm. My comments section flooded with people posting pictures of their avatars, a virtual introduction from one exaggerated beauty to another. It was like being invited to join a Zoom call for models and rock stars, where everyone’s pretty face is either frozen in an overzealous smile, giving a suggestive wink, or, for some inexplicable reason, covered in mustard.

But wait. Did these people like me… or did they just like her?

@Mom: She’s super cute, or I’m super cute?

@Roommate: WTF is that supposed to mean? Oh and congrats on your wedding!

@Onenightstand: I bet you wish she’d been the one to walk into that Buffalo Wild Wings on New Year’s Eve.

As I passive-aggressively responded to every comment, paranoia set in. I had made her too perfect, and in doing so put a giant spotlight on my own flaws. I could feel myself being overtaken by her round eyes, her cool denim jacket, her Kylie Jenner lips. To be honest, I don’t even own a denim jacket and the one time I tried to overline my lips was a disaster. What had I done?

There were so many things I hadn’t considered. Dr. Frankenstein had given life to the nonliving, selecting beautiful individual features that, when combined, formed a hideous soul-sucking monster who wreaked havoc on his life. Narcissus had been tricked into falling in love with his own image, perishing when he realized his love would never be returned. Icarus had flown too close to the sun, ignoring all warnings and dying from the heat of his own ambition.

To avoid my own mythological demise, my avatar had to be destroyed. Her beauty was too powerful, and I couldn’t risk the consequences of letting her evolve any further. After only three hours of existence, it was time to permanently delete her.

So thanks, Facebook. I now have no friends and a complex about whether or not I’m attracted to myself.