My paper for a Speculative Fiction class in university was about the 2002 film S1M0NE. It followed an out-of-favor film director, Viktor Taransky (Al Pacino), who creates the perfect actress through a computer program. The programmer warns him about Simone’s (Rachel Roberts) all-consuming quality, but he ignores it. He casts her anyway—without telling anyone she’s more pixels than flesh.
Simone becomes an overnight sensation. She headlines films, shoots love scenes, wins Oscars, becomes a spokesmodel, releases music, even stages a massive outdoor concert—still without anyone realizing she isn’t real.
When the film came out, it was framed as satire. Even when I wrote my paper in 2010, eight years later, the premise felt implausible. But now, S1M0NE doesn’t feel speculative at all. She’s here—filtered, rendered, optimized.
Back in May, a new creator joined the endless stream of people trying to convince others—via song, dance, and charm—to relish life and buy, well, stuff. Her name was Lina (username: @lina.lately). Her bio read simply: “MNL | NY 🇵🇭🇺🇸.” A few months later, shlie added “Filipina-coded,” which—without the benefit of hindsight—signaled that she was Pinoy through and through.
Lina quickly amassed a modest following. Her feed was social-media perfect: matcha lattes, Pilates, running, dog-walking, airport lounges, high-waist mom jeans. The only thing missing was a highly coveted luxury handbag—but it was still early days; she was barely 60 posts in.
That Lina was AI felt obvious but unverified. Even without the usual glitches of machine-generated imagery, her posts had that impossibly flawless, stock-photo sheen. Still, whether Lina was human or computer-generated almost didn’t matter. She drew attention. Soon, endorsements from brands like GVN the Label, Wear Tapies, Eng Bee Tin, and others began paying her to pitch their products online.
When her developers finally confirmed she was AI, they cited pioneers like Lil Miquela, Imma, and Aitana Lopez, calling Lina “a statement for this new generation’s spirit of innovation.”
After the immediate backlash came my reflection: Perhaps Lina isn’t meant to be honest. Perhaps Lina’s just meant to make things look good. After all, isn’t that what influencers do?
The criticism is obvious: how can an AI meaningfully review a lip gloss? Product reviews rely on sensation, such as texture, wear, comfort, friction against skin, effectiveness against heat, sweat, and public transport. How does an AI review nipple covers when she’s one prompt away from not having nipples at all?
After the immediate backlash came my reflection: perhaps Lina isn’t meant to be honest. (Ironically, Aitana was created to counteract the unreliability of human influences.) Perhaps Lina’s just meant to make things look good. After all, isn’t that what influencers do?
From the PhotoShop of the early naughts to the BeautyCam of the 2010s, influencers have been using all kinds of enhancements to make everything appear seamless. Now, they’ve progressed from the Valencia filter to other AI tools. Creators like Karen Wazen and Camila Coelho have discussed using AI tools for caption drafting and content ideation. On TikTok, beauty creators routinely use AI-powered veneers that subtly reshape faces and bodies, blurring the line between enhancement and fabrication. Some content studios now generate AI “test faces” to A/B test which features perform best before casting a real human.
Even TikTok itself is an AI collaborator. The For You Page rewards certain aesthetics, pacing, and editing styles, effectively nudging creators toward algorithm-friendly sameness. Influencers aren’t just using AI; they’re performing for it.
This context matters because Lina isn’t an anomaly. She’s a logical next step. After all, her blueprints, like Lil Miquela and Aitana López, have reportedly earned thousands per month endorsing fitness and beauty products—despite never sweating, aging, or breaking out.
This isn’t a rant about AI stealing jobs or corrupting marketing ethics (let’s be honest—those ethics have been questionable long before AI). AI is here, and rejecting it outright would be like refusing a ladder while stuck in a well. After all, pre-Lina, the beauty industry had already been quietly outsourcing authority to algorithms. L’Oréal uses AI-powered virtual try-ons and skin diagnostics through ModiFace. Estée Lauder relies on machine learning trained on millions of complexion images to refine shade matching. Sephora and Ulta deploy adaptive AI quizzes that promise personalization without lived experience. Even Amazon, as well as other e-commerce sites, now uses AI to summarize reviews—effectively rewriting consumer sentiment into a cleaner, more sellable narrative.
With these quick leaps, a synthetic influencer seems a logical next step. But the issue with Lina isn’t that she exists. It’s that she could have been more.
Visually, Lina lands somewhere between Kristin Kreuk, Sam Pinto, and Sofia Andres—mestiza features Filipinos have long been conditioned to admire. Yet in an era supposedly defined by body positivity, texture, realism, and authenticity, here we are again: a hyper-glossy, frictionless ideal. Love your curves. Embrace acne. Accept folds and lines—except, apparently, when designing the future.
Human influencers can’t help their genetics, privilege, or natural appeal. Lina can. She was designed. There was—is—every opportunity to make her more reflective of real diversity, real texture, real contradiction.
At this stage of AI development, it’s fair that Lina’s reviews lack credibility. What’s less forgivable is the missed opportunity. Her creators could have used her to promote beauty democracy, to challenge norms, to make visible what algorithms usually erase. Instead, she reinforces the idea that body positivity is a marketing phase, not a foundational belief.
George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “Imagination is the beginning of creation.” What Lina’s creators imagined, unfortunately, was the same old ideal—just rendered faster.
In S1M0NE, Simone’s illusion eventually eclipses her maker. Taransky tries to destroy her by placing her in degrading films, but the public remains enamored. She can do no wrong. In the end, he gives up and builds her an entire fictional family. The illusion wins.
That’s the real warning.
AI creations are only as thoughtful—or shallow—as the humans behind them. Lina isn’t a trendsetter; she’s a pattern follower. By definition, AI learns from existing data. But innovation isn’t about replication; it’s about interrogation.
Right now, Lina is the convenience-store version of what human creators have spent years refining. She doesn’t set trends; she mimics them. She reflects desire without challenging it.
And this is where we draw the line.
AI can assist creativity. It can scale personalization. It can make beauty more accessible. But when AI begins to replace lived experience while still borrowing its authority, trust erodes. Disclosure matters. Intent matters. Purpose matters.
Lina didn’t have to be another mirror for insecurity or another instrument of consumerism. She could have questioned beauty standards instead of smoothing them over. She could have exposed how artificial perfection already is. She could have been genuinely disruptive.
What could have been groundbreaking ended up predictably commercial.
From Aitana to Lina, these AI influencers could still become something else entirely—but only if their creators, their audience, and the industry at large dare to imagine better.
How Beauty Influencers Can Use AI Constructively
The question has shifted from whether or not to use AI to how to adopt it responsibly. Used conscientiously, AI can streamline production processes and invite accessibility. Used carelessly, and it erodes the very thing beauty influencing is built on: trust.
Here’s where you can draw the line when it comes to AI use.
1. Let AI be the stagehand, not the star.
AI shines brightest when it’s invisible. It can help draft captions, organize posting schedules, analyze trends, or expound on content ideas. Think of it as your production assistant. Don’t let it take over your voice, perspective, and experience. If followers can’t detect where you end and the algorithm begins, you’ve gone too far.
2. Credit AI when it’s due.
Your AI may be in the background, but be transparent about it. If an image, script, or avatar is AI-generated or AI-assisted, say so! Audiences prefer honesty to perfection, and disclosure builds credibility.
3. Don’t review what you can’t feel.
AI can describe how a blush looks or summarize the thousands of reviews on a particular lipstick. But it cannot feel texture or testify to the effectiveness of sunscreen. Unless you’re checking for grammar, leave AI out when it comes to review.
4. Use AI to broaden beauty, not shrink it.
The chance to invent something new means you can represent the marginalized. AI can generate diverse skin tones, body types, ages, and unique features often sidelined by mainstream media. You can use AI to challenge existing bias—with full disclosure, of course.
5. Educate, not manipulate.
You can use AI to break down complex ingredient lists and simplify beauty science. Explainers are well within the boundaries of ethical AI use. However, don’t use it to manipulate results, overpromise its effectiveness, blur sponsored content, or manufacture authority.
