Golly Bitmoji Willikers
Today began like most lazy Saturdays have this fall. I set the alarm for a little before eleven knowing I’d hit the digital snooze button once or twice, delaying the inevitable by embracing my seven layers of covers (a sheet, a light blue comforter, a dark blue comforter, a Yankees fleece blanket, an afghan covered with a lighthouse, an afghan covered in pink and white hearts, and a powder blue fleece blanket) beneath the ceiling fan and fighting off the painful urge to wet the bed.
After removing my Edible Arrangements mug of cold black coffee from the fridge—“I don’t think this mug’s been washed since October,” I thought to myself as I scowled at the paint-like blobs stuck to the side—I settled in for my waking routine: taking vitamins, hanging ten on the web, and listening to music. Despite having my phone nearby, I typically sign into Gmail on my laptop and leave my digital mailbox open until I return to my bed layers sixteen-ish hours later.
Sue had emailed a request to order some off-brand rhinestone Jibbitz since my Prime account entitles her to free shipping. Unsure of which color she wanted, I texted her for confirmation, which initiated an anomalous afternoon of frequent texting. (We typically text twice, maybe thrice, daily.) Due to Sue’s obsession with Bitmojis, along with her outdated iPhone that scrambles lengthy texts into “choose your own adventure” paragraphs, we both attach one Bit to any text longer than a sentence or two.
Since Sue uses the app and I don’t, I’ve saved all my favorite Bits she’s texted me in the last few years. I inquired about the Christmas-themed Jibbitz she got in the mail yesterday (attaching a Bit featuring her in a Santa hat biting her knuckle and looking at a pair of white Vans with the caption “DAAAMN DANIEL!”), mentioned Al Stewart’s eighteen-minute song “Love Chronicles” knowing she likely wouldn’t play it (Bit of her in reading glasses holding a newspaper with the caption “Sorry, I wasn’t listening”), and told her, “Check ya layturd” (Bit of her viewing her phone screen as she sits bug-eyed on the toilet). She replied with a billboard featuring her Bitmoji character in ponytails with I <3 U beside her face. During the Michigan/Ohio State game, FOX went to commercial accompanied by a Twenty One Pilots song, prompting me to send a Bit of her dancing while sporting a yellow SpongeBob tee shirt.
“I love that all your Bits are of my varying looks (different outfits, hair, etc.)!” Sue replied. “It’s like flipping through a photo album: ‘Oh yeah, I remember that one!’ And watch out cuz Christmas Sue is coming again suen!” She included a Bit of her on a swing with the sun shining in the background and the caption “Memories.”
“So true!” I responded. “Like watching our little SueBit grow up throughout her years trapped inside the phone.” The Bit I included featured the same one of her on the swing but wearing a seasonally appropriate bunny suit that she sent for Easter a couple years ago.
“So…Bitmoji’s holiday/Christmas outfits suck this year. Maybe they’ll add more; we’ll see! But I changed my shirt to maneki-neko and put on pants (it’s cold outside!). What do you think of my hair? It’s similar to when I have 2 little ponytails but not totally. I wanted to change it up & that’s the closest I found.”
You may be wondering why the ponytailed blonde appears to be in brownface; Sue insists on representing her well-earned tan in emojis and Bitmojis. She refuses to allow her picture to be shared online—I witnessed her decline to appear in a family reunion photo where I smiled beside her aunt and uncle, her fearful of where the picture would be posted online (and who would see it)—which makes Bitmoji the most authentically inauthentic way for her to have an e-identity. Would some high school nemesis Photoshop her into a gangbang or QAnon rally? She doesn’t know, which is exactly her point.
Two of my closest friends have only seen her in photos I’ve shown them for a second or two on my clutched phone. I recently texted them both that I’d finally be sharing a rare candid of Sue in the nude prior to sending an image of her potato skin-colored feet in Crocs decorated in Jibbitz. Sue is the most visible enigma: she looks so authentically akin to her Bitmoji characters in real life but unless you have a perfect memory, you won’t recall the day she wore her hair down while sporting a pink tank top and jean shorts. (Oddly, she’ll recall the day because what she wore helps trigger her situational memories.) For a woman who owns the fact that she lives like a thirteen-year-old, Bitmoji couldn’t be a truer way to express herself. She deserves an audience larger than her contact card.
Whether she’s displaying her emotional reaction to the ten-minute version of “All Too Well” (SueBit grimly huddled in a corner by a wall), joking about my obsession with pretending to answer a phone call by holding a banana (SueBit slipping on a peel), expressing happiness (SueBit dancing with a friendly hot dog), or attempting to shock me (SueBit inexplicably wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving! from a wheelchair), I’m always smiling.
Despite her encouragement to join in on the fun once I got a new phone, I feel like I’d be encroaching on her imagined world, one I’m happy to share merely as a witness. How would she react if I sent Adamoji, covered in hair except for his bald head, in the nude about to snuggle under his seven layers of covers for the night? After split seconds of intense debate, I bet she’d attach one of herself with a blank expression accompanied by a sarcastic caption: “WOW. I LOVE THAT.” As Kermit the Frog, someone much realer than Sue will ever be, might say: It ain’t easy being screen.