March 2, 2023 - 4:08pm

Once, augmented reality (AR) filters offered by social media platforms were playful gimmicks, merrily inviting users into a virtual dress-up box. AR filters work by superimposing a computer-generated effect on top of a real-world image, usually one’s own face. Why not see yourself with puppy ears? Why not give vomiting rainbows a try? 

Yet, steadily, AR filters have morphed from a harmless novelty into sophisticated, real-time editing software that seamlessly layers onto the user’s face without a glitch, even in live videos. Given the chance to exert absolute control over our online appearance we seized it, and are now awash with the faintly eerie images that result: unblemished doll’s skin, inhuman Bambi eyes. 

But in February, TikTok released an advanced new AR filter called Bold Glamour that was met with a wave of negative comments from users. Previously, if a user passed their hand over their face while using a filter, it would glitch and reveal itself. Bold Glamour is a different beast: whether a user prods their artificially plumped lips or rubs a sultry doe-like eye, it maintains its illusion. Dismayed TikTokers have labelled it “dystopian-level terrifying” and “psychological warfare and pure evil”, with fears that younger people especially will not realise others are using the filter and feel themselves deeply lacking as a result.

At school, I was the unhappy captive of many a lengthy assembly discussing airbrushed models, among fears that such images harmed our self-esteem. “Remember, girls,” a teacher would plaintively say, holding a magazine cover featuring a woman with impractically long legs, “this is not reality”. It is plausible that having partly computer-generated glamazons looming out from adverts may warp one’s sense of what is normal and attainable, so what about when it is a perfect version of one’s own face that gazes out, implacably, from the screen? A version of ourselves that can never be replicated in a mirror, or even in the eyes of those who love us. 

AR filters were released in the halcyon days of 2015, when fears about social media’s impact on mental health prompted the same eye-rolling as concerns that violent video games might lead to more school shootings. But now, gripped by a teen mental health crisis, social media looks increasingly culpable.

A study of over 10,000 14-year-olds in the UK found that social media use was related to poorer body image and self-esteem. The same study found moving from two to five hours of daily social media use was associated with a doubling of depression rates for boys. For girls, the rate tripled. For anyone thinking young people are just too sensitive these days, the teenage suicide rate has increased by 58% since 2010 for American teens aged from 15 to 19. Meanwhile, the number of American girls aged between 10 and 14 hospitalised for self-harm increased by 188% between 2010 and 2020. 

As it becomes clearer that we have allowed social media to create, and ourselves to inhabit, an online ecosystem that does us and our children demonstrable harm, being made to feel inadequate by a perfect cyborg version of my own face is a bridge too far. The backlash against Bold Glamour is a heartening signal that I’m not the only one who thinks so. Say no to the filter.