Digital Body Snatcher

The problem with real “it” girls is the possibility of scandal. Everyone champions authenticity, but no one wants to field the backlash after your cover girl has a problematic tweet dug up from 2011. A girl built by an agency, forged in the design department, has an extremely low margin of fuck up. This was the elevator pitch Jason, founder of the legendary Dent Agency, used to present his latest pet project to the team. Eventually, it was how Dent successfully sold the first “robot-influencer” to the world’s biggest brands. This was exactly the kind of groundbreaking creative work I had always dreamed of being a part of as a designer. 

Even being in the room as Jason first explained the concept was electric. Miquela, as the robot influencer was affectionately named, would change everything about the realm of social media influencers. There was no detail of his brainchild that Jason had missed. Her hair would always be done up in tight space buns, a shape much easier to manipulate in photoshop than curly lochs. Her age would be 23, bridging the gap between Millennials and Gen Z. She’d have slight imperfections, like a big gap between her two front teeth, so as not to feel too pristine or fake. The only thing he had not settled on was who would provide the body for the puppet’s head. It was that question and my complete lack of a social life that lifted me from agency nobody to an indispensable member of the creative team faster than I could have ever imagined. 

Most everyone else had already left the office, but I was stuck at my desk designing a 65 slide deck. With my lack of experience, it was slow going. Gini, the agency’s creative director, slunk up to my desk with the stealth of a cat on the prowl. When she said hello I nearly fell out of my swivel chair. Her stern and flat German accent only added to the nerves. 

“You’re not doing anything after work are you? I need your help with something.” Gini said.

My only date was this deck and I knew I could not say no to the first favor my new boss asked of me. 

“Yes! I mean, no I don’t have plans. I can help!” I answered in an overly high pitch that sounded nothing like my actual voice. 

Gini explained I would be Miquela’s body double for some test shots. When I asked why they didn’t just animate her from head to toe she answered me in bullet points, 

“Time. Money. Authenticity.” Gini placed a short NDA in front of me to sign, “just in case.” 

Sensing my hesitation, Gini explained, “You’re Plan B, only until we figure out something better.” But nearly two years passed and they never figured out Plan A. 

At first, it was a wonder to watch Jason spin the story of Miquela in pitch meetings. Using humorous tangents he would sell clients the dream of a brand ambassador who could do no wrong; who did not have an expiration date. Gini took his cues with precision true to her German roots. She would seamlessly jump in and make a concise comment about unprecedented efficiency and control over talent. Visions of acclaimed campaigns danced in our clients’ eyes. We were giving them the most cost-effective, safe option for casting their campaigns. Jason always closed with the hard data. Investing in a robot-influencer simply had an astronomically lower rate of scandal than some humans with free will. Miquela could only do what we programmed. Jason and Gini flowed easily off of one another, their script so finely tuned that it came across as a brainstorm in motion. The idea of replacing the real with someone synthetic ironically appeared to be a natural idea. Clients often felt like they were witnessing a momentous light bulb moment happening in real-time and reveled in being included on the ground floor for the future of influencer marketing. By the time we hit the numbers slide most clients were already sold. When these meetings were over, everyone patted themselves on the back. However, there were moments that stung, like when a client pointed at my legs in a picture of Miquela at the beach and said, “I love that she has cellulite. Young women will find her so relatable and brave for showing it off.” Those jabs were quickly swallowed by the exciting sprint with which we worked on building Miquela up. 

After two years the little stings started to feel more like chronic pain. My LinkedIn job title said “Junior Designer”, but all I’d come to be was a flesh and blood coat hanger for Miquela’s fabulous life. I was assigned more “Miquela work” than actual design tasks and I could feel my degree rotting on the wall of my parents’ house. Tending to the robot influencer began to put into sharp contrast everything Miquela had that I did not. In the beginning, I thought of her as a muddled amalgamation of myself and a million other girls living in New York City. Then I realized it was my image that dimmed as hers crystallized. 

Miquela put herself up in the city’s most glamorous hotels. I lived in Bushwick with three roommates. Miquela had a boyfriend, gorgeous and cast from a slew of indie boys trying to cut it as male models. His name was Jess and he spent more time at the McCarren skatepark than runways. He was beautiful and tolerated my presence with disaffected boredom. Miquela and Jess had a slew of pictures documenting their relationship: dates nights, cooking together, cuddling during movie night. There was a picture of Jess’ arms wrapped around me, kissing Miquela’s cheek. His lips did not even need to touch my actual face to create the effect in post-production. It was the first time I had been touched that intimately in months. Bella Hadid and Anna Wintour could be counted amongst Miquela’s latest followers. I could only chalk mine up to my aunt and the bodega guy who’d promised me a free six-pack in exchange for giving him my handle. She even had a Frenchie, my dream dog. Someone on the strategy team saw the breed was trending and paid a friend $100 a day to borrow the dog. At least I got to hold it for pictures.

It felt like Miquela was occupying the space in this city that had been mine to claim. She was experiencing the best fashion, clothes, food, culture, and men that the city had to offer. It would have been no surprise if I came home one day to find that my apartment locks had been changed, my social media accounts scrubbed, and my friends with no memory of having ever met me. Not being able to receive real credit for Miquela’s collaborations was mildly annoying. Living professionally as Miquela’s shadow as I gave my body, personality, and special interests to her was the real kicker.  

***

Two years into our experiment and it was time for Miquela to make her first major editorial debut in The Cut. Other than posing for her coverage, my job was to make sure that Miquela looked natural yet flawless, and that all evidence of my face was covered up. For her first major editorial, it was decided Miquela would wear a pensive look with a slight, approachable smile. The slightly upturned corners of her lips were meant to say, “Come hither into my world.” After hours of staring at her face on my body, it looked more like a sneer to me. Her confidence read as cockiness and I could almost hear her whisper, “I have everything you have ever wanted and I am not going anywhere.” 

I stopped staring into the screen and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands until I saw stars. If I had begun to argue with the imaginary girl on the screen, it was probably time for a break. 

My phone buzzed. Jason was FaceTiming me. This time of night was when his work mania typically hit a fever pitch. 

“She’s not unique enough!” Jason dove right into things. 

“Good evening Jason,” I replied. I could hardly believe that there was a point in time when I would have killed for 5 minutes of this “creative genius’” time. 

“She doesn’t have that certain...thing. She needs a thing!” He went on. 

“We could give her a new piercing? Maybe bangs? An extra arm if you really want her to stand out.” I leaned back in my chair, getting comfortable for a classic Jason rant. 

“Be serious! It’s not about her physical look! I’m worried that we’ve been focusing too much on her appearance, and not enough on who she is, what she does. I worry she has no substance. It’s true she’s meant to be a walking billboard, a blank canvas for brands. But I’m worried she’s going to come across as a bit vapid. It’s not enough for IT girls to just be pretty and trendy anymore. They need depth. Even the robot ones.” Jason vented

I absorbed what Jason was saying and tried not to take it as a personal affront to my own “vapid” life. 

“Okay...so you’re saying we should get her involved in philanthropy? Like a good old-fashioned socialite?” I asked

“God no, she’s not a sorority president! You’re not getting it. I’m going to dial Gini in.” Jason sounded frustrated. 

Gini joined the call and listened to Jason’s self-made problem. 

“Miquela needs a new, cool hobby to commodify.” Gini translated Jason’s huffs and puffs. 

“Exactly! I knew you would understand.” He said

“We could take her in the DJ direction. Hire someone to ghost-mix some tracks for her, drop it as a TikTok sound, and watch it go viral.” I suggested

“No, Jess is already a Soundcloud rapper. Too much overlap there.” Jason whined. 

I looked around my room trying to pick out another bit of me I could strip away and layer onto Miquela’s paper mache being. My eyes settled on the jewelry crafting supplies scattered at the corner of my desk. Looking back at me was the last piece I’d finished, just something fun for a friend. It was a pair of dagger eyes embroidered on two miniature fabric hoops. What’s another sacrifice to her? It was late and I wanted to get Jason off the phone so I could finish my work. Before I could stop myself the world tumbled out as if possessed by the smirking CGI girl on my screen. 

“Miquela can design jewelry?” it slipped out. 

Jason and Gini paused which meant they were actually considering my idea and discussing it telepathically. 

I continued, “Almost every Gen Z / Millennial cusp with a considerable online presence is trying to start their own business. E-commerce is easier than ever to set up. Plus, it gives her that highly coveted Girl Boss element.” I clapped my hand over my mouth, sure that Miquela had taken control of it. I’d never spewed that many marketing buzzwords in my life. I collected myself, “I actually have made enough jewelry...for fun...to start an Etsy store. We could use what I’ve already done to get started.” 

“This could work…” Jason thought it over. 

“We’ll have to roll out some jewelry content on her Instagram this week if we want to get ahead of the article drop,” Gini added, practical as ever. 

“It is at the intersection of art, fashion, and entrepreneurship...Are your pieces any good?” Jason asked

“Yeah well they’re kind of a mix between-” I started

“You don’t sound confident, but it’s all we’ve got to work with right now. Send Gini your three best pieces to shoot. For visuals think, ‘elevated Depop store by a FIT kid with generational wealth.’ I’ll have the account team plan a soft launch announcement via Instagram and the Shanghai team will code a quick e-commerce page.” Jason hung up without pausing to see if we’d caught all that. 

The sporadic rhythm of Jason’s panic attacks was the backbeat of the striptease that continued to give layers of myself to Miquela. He freaked out and I gave in. This game of dress-up had gotten out of control, but I felt like I could not leave. They clearly needed me. 

***

The article came out the same day I saw the line of models waiting in the agency’s lobby. I stopped by Gini’s desk on my way in. 

“What campaign are we casting for today?” I asked

Gini shifted in her seat, not meeting my eyes, “Miquela. She’s going to do an athletic-wear campaign. We need someone with a more…” She looked me up and down, “...toned build.” Gini then rattled off a list of to-do’s that sent me running back to my desktop to complete. 

In between tasks I checked coverage on Miquela’s big article. Everyone was talking about her, and if they’d never heard of her they definitely knew who she was now. A strange mix of pride and resentment spiraled in my head. I buried myself in work to tune it out. 

When the last of the models left our office, Jason called me into his. He was in high spirits, practically levitating above the surface of his office chair. I wondered what high-profile project we’d be prepping Miquela for next.  

“Always an exciting day when we have so many beautiful people in the office!” He exclaimed. I nodded in agreement. 

“Gini told you why they were here?” He asked me. 

I nodded again. 

“Yes, well Miquela’s article was a bigger hit than even I could have imagined. My inbox has been flooded today with congratulations and brands dying to have her wear their frocks or hock their subscription services. The agency is going to be very busy. We need to grow. An entire department just for our Miquela.” Jason beamed. Then he leaned forward like he was going to tell me a secret, “We’re going to have to take things in a new direction. I need someone that can be Miquela’s full-time model. It won’t do to have you splitting your time between work and Miquela.” Jason said

As much as Miquela’s shadow haunted me, the idea of being completely off of a project I had worked so hard to be a part of did not sit well with me either. 

“Miquela is my job,” I said. 

“And that spirit is exactly why it has been such a joy to work with you! But now we need to take her to the next level. She’ll need her own PR manager, community manager, and motion designer.” Jason explained.

“I would love to study under someone and learn motion design. I think that would be a great next step for my portfolio!” I would be okay leaving Miquela behind if it meant honing my craft. 

“And I would love for you to fine-tune those skills too. However, because we need to invest so much in assuring Miquela’s future success...I can’t afford to compensate you and a motion designer. And it wouldn’t be right to halt Miquela’s growth for the sake of one person, would it?” 

My stomach dropped as I realized that Jason was gently walking me toward the edge of a professional cliff. In his erratic, roundabout way, Jason was informing me that my time at the Dent Agency was complete. I had officially been elbowed by someone that did not even exist. And yet, her future was brighter than mine. 

Months of unemployment later I sat in yet another mediocre interview. It was for a job that I would have passed up instantly years ago; an agency that specialized in the Pharmaceutical field. The offices were as drab as the content they put out, but my rent and my future were on the line. 

It took only 15 minutes before my interviewer reached the dreaded question that had brought my other interviews to a screeching halt. 

“Can you tell me about this gap in your portfolio? You worked at Dent, a major agency, for about 2 years and don’t have much design work to show for it.” The interviewer raised his eyebrows at me. 

I had always prided myself on being a woman of my word; someone that kept her promises. But I could not keep making excuses about prolonged illnesses, family emergencies, and slow workflow. The NDA be damned, Miquela was not going to steal one more paycheck from me. I broke and told the interviewer everything about my parasitic relationship with the robot influencer. 

When I finished I was sure that my cheeks were burning red and the interviewer was looking at me in disbelief. 

“Wait, this Miquela?” He held up an ad on his phone of Miquela holding up a bottle of some sort of pill, “We used her for an Advil campaign!” He chuckled to himself. 

I sunk into my chair. I could not escape her reach. 

“Wow. That is a heck of a story. I had no idea that’s how you guys made her.” He gave me a sad and sympathetic look, “Look, despite all that I can’t hire you for this position. You simply don’t have the experience we’re looking for.”