Freedom™ Tastes Like Everyone Else

Freedom looks terrific on paper: you’re “free” to pick from 136 nose shapes, inflate your lips until they resemble two rebellious croissants, and swipe through eight dating apps before breakfast. No aesthetics police will stop you in the street asking, “Excuse me, are those hips smuggled or home-grown?” The mall beams with neon possibility; every boutique serves identity à la carte. Roman Bridge Nose with a side of Sculpted Cheekbones? Coming right up. Square jaw, laser-etched abs, and a “Self-Made” sticker? Enjoy. But stroll past three store windows and notice the punch-line: each mannequin looks exactly like the next. Freedom feels more like an all-you-can-clone buffet—take whatever you want, everything is sprayed with the same influencer-flavored glaze.

Scroll a little farther. Here comes “Be Yourself!” in forty designer fonts—immediately followed by a crash course on How To. We’re told to be unique, then handed an IKEA manual for uniqueness: use Filter 7, tilt your head 12°, hashtag #woke&blessed. The algorithm hums beneath our selfies like a stage mom, whispering, “That wrinkle costs three likes, darling. Lose it.” Individuality dies by a thousand presets.

Dating? Freedom means infinite matches—a finger-flick carnival. Yet after swiping through more faces than a traffic camera, you end up choosing the first semi-acceptable profile just to escape decision vertigo. It’s like standing in front of a drive-thru menu the size of Kansas and finally blurting, “Whatever’s ready—just feed me.” Choice overload starves the appetite it promised to satisfy.

If the Devil popped up today, he wouldn’t bother with a shiny apple. He’d flash a two-for-one coupon on Brazilian butt lifts and 80 percent off jawline contouring. And God? He wouldn’t kick us out of Eden; He’d lean on a cloud, doom-scroll our stories and ask, “Kids, honestly—having fun yet?”

Truth is, I miss the days when a big nose was just a family heirloom, not a moral emergency. When lips hadn’t met ten cubic centimeters of hyaluronic acid, and being “average” didn’t trigger a five-step panic plan. Unlimited freedom has turned into a fire hose on full blast; sometimes you’d rather splash in a small, muddy pond you actually recognize.

So, dear Almighty Cloud-Moderator, if You’re still up there rating our highlight reels, maybe slip a little old-fashioned restriction back into the code—just for laughs. A sprinkling of “no” reminds us who we are beneath the Botox and borrowed hashtags. Because this turbocharged Freedom™ keeps mass-producing mirror versions of the same person, and even Your omniscient thumb may soon struggle with face ID. If perfect liberty means another carousel of swollen lips and five-day trends, hand me a forbidden apple. I’d like to remember what my own flavor tasted like before the menu exploded.