We live in an age of Instagram-filtered regulators, algorithms that warp anatomies in the pursuit of a supposedly ideal perfection marked by the reigning fashion dictatorship. The look is no longer achieved with a costume to hide the flaws of love handles and make-up to smooth wrinkles, but with the ones and zeros of an artificial intelligence that produces masks according to the supposed designs of the majority. The Metaverse was this: a place to hide flaws through avatars sculpted not by hard training of weights, but by lines of code created by other programs. Fear came that Skynet or the Matrix would control the world, but did not impose their dominance, but was cheerfully accepted for fear of presenting our true body.
