Delightful.
She hadn’t believed the app could work, at first. It was supposedly able to instantly judge how fashionable your outfit was based on a single photo. For a laugh, she’d lain her jeans and a favourite t-shirt out on the bed and given it a shot. After a moment, it had pinged and told her they were a 2 out of 10. When the numbers flashed onscreen, she’d actually felt a little disappointed… Not that she really cared.
Still, she tried again. And again. And again. Pulling clothes out of drawers and flinging them on the bed only to be disappointed by a sad little ping and a 2 or even a 1. But she’d always thought that hoodie was awful anyway. Hadn’t she?
And then she got a 3! She squealed with glee, so proud of that bright pink t-shirt and the skirt she never wore. But it was still too low, the app reminded her. She could do better. She had to do better.
And she did. The next day, she went clothes shopping for the first time in so long she couldn’t even remember. The app was just full of good ideas, suggestions for lingerie and shoes and all manner of accessories. The little black cocktail dress she brought home netted her a solid 4 on its own, 5 when she added in the matching black heels, bra, and panties. She wondered if the app could see her underwear and she giggled. The app knew everything.
That was a month ago. Or maybe two. She wasn’t very good at keeping track of time and stuff anymore. That cocktail dress was long gone - she didn’t even sleep in anything less than a 7 now. She spent her days swanning in and out of clothing stores, trying on all manner of outfits and snapping photos in the changing rooms, in search of the catchy little jingle that would herald the perfect glowing number 10 on the screen.
And then the app would ask for permission to use her location and she would say yes, because the app always knows best. And then she would wait.
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Well, that was a little longer than originally intended. I think I might be able to stretch that out into a full story at some point.