“The bottom line is it’s a satire of this ageist technology and insane beauty standards through these artificial intelligence apps,” they said.īut the meme’s embrace of both camp ridiculousness and vapid emptiness feels reminiscent of the ways parts of queer culture celebrate a sort-of performance of extremes, whether it be over-the-top drag, reclaimed limp wrists, or even language.Ĭrucially, most of the fun for the LGBTQ community involves being aware of the artifice of this performance, as well as the extent to which outsiders - from straight people to corporate brands on social media - then try to participate.Įven the word “yassify” - a derivation of the term “yaaass queen,” which has roots in 1980s ball culture but went mainstream in 2013 thanks to Broad City and a video of a Lady Gaga fan - is an example of this: something that started as slang but has since morphed into popular nonsense that many queer people would now probably never say in real life. “Technology like this has a creepy way of making it so uncannily realistic that it makes people uncomfortable. I think there’s a conversation to be had about how unhealthy that culture is,” said Adams.

Here, the FaceApp has just turned the volume up to 100 so the subjects now sit in a sort of social media uncanny valley. We’re used to seeing women channeling this overstylized glamor on magazine covers and in Instagram influencer posts.

With lips plumper than a Kardashian, contouring better than Adele’s, and a complexion that has been smoothed over more than Calista Gingrich’s on FaceTune, each yassify photo looks cartoonishly ridiculous - but also strangely familiar. If all of this sounds absurd to you by now, that’s kind of the point.

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