If we trade humanity for perfection, we risk losing the very thing that makes influence meaningful: the glorious mess of being human

By Viiveck Verma

In an era where authenticity is currency, it’s ironic that some of the internet’s most influential personalities aren’t even real. Virtual influencers, computer-generated personas operated by teams of designers, marketers, and AI engineers, have begun to dominate digital platforms once ruled by human content creators. They collaborate with brands, appear in fashion campaigns, promote social causes, and amass millions of followers. But as their presence grows, so too does an urgent ethical debate: What does it mean when influence is no longer rooted in lived experience, but in carefully simulated narratives?

Troubling Questions

The phenomenon of virtual influencers isn’t new, but its current sophistication and scale are unprecedented. Lil Miquela, arguably the poster child of this movement, emerged on Instagram in 2016, posed as a 19-year-old Brazilian-American robot model, and has since partnered with major brands like Prada, Samsung and Calvin Klein. Her carefully curated persona of activist, fashion icon, and artist presents a veneer of relatability and edge. And it works. She’s not just accepted, she’s adored.

But that adoration raises troubling questions. Who is accountable when a virtual influencer peddles unrealistic beauty standards, misrepresents a marginalised identity, or expresses political views? Behind these digital avatars are corporate teams, overwhelmingly homogeneous and profit-driven, pulling the strings.

When a virtual persona speaks about racism, sexuality, or mental health, as many now do, it isn’t an expression, it’s a strategy. And while some argue that any message supporting positive social values should be welcomed, even if manufactured, one must pause to consider what’s lost in the translation of lived experience into a marketable aesthetic.

Audiences must know who is behind the avatar, what they stand to gain, and what boundaries exist between fiction and influence

The deception, however benign it might appear, has real-world consequences. Audiences, especially younger ones, form emotional attachments to these characters, believing in their stories and admiring their choices. But these narratives are fabricated with commercial intent, not emotional truth.

A virtual influencer doesn’t suffer anxiety, face discrimination, or endure body dysmorphia, yet they can simulate all these experiences with persuasive visual storytelling and eloquent captions. It’s a powerful illusion, and arguably, a dangerous one. Because when empathy is manipulated rather than earned, the boundaries between solidarity and spectacle blur.

Creator Economy

Moreover, there’s an insidious impact on the creator economy. Human influencers, already subject to the exhausting demands of algorithmic visibility, are now competing against tireless, flawless, and controllable digital counterparts who don’t age, err, or demand fair compensation.

Brands, ever eager to mitigate risk, see virtual influencers as the perfect ambassadors; they don’t get embroiled in scandals, they always stay ‘on message’, and they don’t ask for creative freedom. In a way, they’re the dream employees. But that dream comes at the cost of real labour and artistic voice.

From a cultural lens, virtual influencers also offer a troubling glimpse into the commodification of identity. Avatars are often styled to appear racially ambiguous or ‘diverse’, adopting features, slang, and aesthetics from Black, brown, and queer communities without any of the attendant histories, traumas, or systemic struggles.

When a white-led company creates a Black-presenting avatar to speak on Black Lives Matter, what we’re witnessing is not allyship but appropriation in digital drag. It’s exploitation dressed as inclusivity, a performance of progressivism without accountability.

Ethnic Edge

India, too, is not immune to this trend. Virtual influencers have begun emerging in the Indian digital ecosystem, styled with an ‘ethnic edge’, speaking Hinglish, celebrating Diwali with lehengas and ring lights, while promoting fashion, phones, and fintech apps. But in a country where caste, colourism and gender bias are deeply entrenched, the arrival of influencers who can be endlessly modified to suit aesthetic or brand-friendly standards is not just disconcerting — it’s dangerous.

If we begin to embrace these pristine simulations over the flawed, complex realities of human creators, what happens to representation that actually challenges societal norms rather than just dressing them up?

Of course, one could argue that all digital culture is, in some sense, curated fiction. Human influencers, too, project idealised versions of themselves. But there’s a crucial difference: lived experience. A human posting about their mental health struggles or their journey as a trans person brings a truth rooted in personal history, however curated the medium.

Behind the Avatar

A virtual influencer doing the same is performing a script, created not to express but to influence, to mimic relatability while remaining untouched by its consequences. This isn’t a call to ban virtual influencers or demonise innovation. On the contrary, the digital realm is a space for creative experimentation, and virtual characters can offer new forms of storytelling, satire, or fantasy. But when they are placed in the same category and market as human influencers, the rules must change. Transparency is non-negotiable. Audiences must know who is behind the avatar, what they stand to gain, and what boundaries exist between fiction and influence.

Perhaps the most pressing challenge is not technological, but ethical: How do we ensure that the growing power of virtual personas doesn’t further marginalise the human voices that are already struggling to be heard? How do we design digital futures that value authenticity not as an aesthetic, but as a principle?

As the line between real and virtual continues to blur, we must be vigilant in protecting not just the integrity of platforms but the dignity of those who inhabit them. Because if we trade humanity for perfection, we risk losing the very thing that makes influence meaningful: the imperfect, vulnerable, and glorious mess of being human.

(The author is founder and CEO, Upsurge Global, co-founder, Global Carbon Warriors and Adjunct Professor, EThames College)