He Called Me Ugly Until I Turned Off The Filter Chapter 01
I was flat broke, so I started livestreaming on Rippl just to stay afloat.
Terrified of scaring viewers away, I cranked the beauty filter to the max — chin sharpened to a razor point, eyes ballooned like saucers.
My very first Live Battle paired me with the guy I’d dated online for three years.
“Babe — isn’t this the online girlfriend you told me about? The ugly one?”
My ex smirked, the girl in his lap giggling along.
“No wonder she never showed her face. Even a filter this heavy can’t save her.”
“Thank God I dumped her when I did.”
“Hey — if you kill the filter and you’re ugly enough to make me cuss on air, I’ll drop twenty Golden Waves on you for a nose job fund!”
Chat cheered him on. “UGLY GIRL TURN OFF THE FILTER LMAO” flooded the screen.
I needed the money. I clicked the button.
Dead silence.
The smirk froze on his face.
“…What the hell? She’s a ten?”
…
I’d believed I was ugly for as long as I could remember.
In preschool, the photographer put me front and center for the group shot, said I had delicate features and a photogenic face.
I went home and cried all night. I thought he meant I looked like a fox.
In middle school, a girl told me my eyes had a pretty upward tilt — “cat eyes, so flirty.” I went straight home and cut my bangs down to my eyelashes.
In high school, a boy slipped a love letter into my locker. I assumed it was a prank and dumped it in the trash.
Grandma Eleanor used to say, “Willow, honey, you got the good genes in this family.”
I thought she was just being kind. It only made me feel worse.
So for three years, I dated Ethan Pryce online without ever turning on my camera.
Back then he wasn’t the million-follower streamer he is now. Just a guy with a nice voice and single-digit viewers.
When his live scripts flopped at 2 a.m., I stayed up rewriting them. When trolls called him boring, I taught him how to fire back at trolls and keep the banter flowing. The first time he got a paid gift, he sent me a wall of exclamation points.
He said, “Willow, when I make it big, I’m going public with you.”
I asked, “You’re not scared I’m ugly?”
He said, “I’m in love with the person, not the picture.”
I believed him.
Then he made it big.
Built his whole channel on the “devoted long-distance boyfriend” brand. Followers rolled in.
On the night he hit his first million, he went live and announced his new girlfriend — Tara Hollen.
Tara was a sweetheart-type streamer. Round eyes, pointed chin, delicate nose, a tiny crooked tooth that somehow made her smile cuter.
She curled into his lap and cooed, “Babe — what about that online girlfriend who wouldn’t show her face for three whole years?”
Ethan laughed in front of half a million people.
“Ancient history.”
“Any girl who won’t turn on her camera is either a train wreck or a total catfish.”
Tara covered her mouth, giggling.
“Poor baby — three years talking to some catfish who almost tricked you into meeting up in real life.”
Ethan bent and kissed her forehead.
“Thank God I bailed in time.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t lash out.
Because Grandma was sick.
Queens Community Hospital was calling about an unpaid balance. My landlord had slid another final rent notice under my door that morning.
My checking account had $27.60 left.
I didn’t have time for heartbreak. I had to go live.
Before I hit start, I sat in front of the mirror for a long time.
The girl in the glass had skin like porcelain, upward-tilted eyes, a straight, prominent nose, thin lips, an expression that looked cold when she wasn’t smiling.
One glance and I was already sick of her.
I dragged every slider to the max.
Jaw slimmer — 100.
Eyes bigger — 100.
Nose smaller — 100.
Chin sharper — 100.
Skin smoother — 100.
On screen, my face turned into a pale, pointy caricature — eyes bulging, chin practically stabbing through the monitor.
I exhaled. Much better.
Five minutes in, a dozen viewers trickled in.
The chat started rolling:
What the hell is this filter goblin.
Sis, if a filter this heavy can’t save you, IRL must be a disaster.
Wrong channel, bestie — paranormal is two clicks over.
I apologized, deadpan.
“Sorry, folks. Born ugly. Please bear with me.”
Chat lost it.
I was about to shut it down when the system popped a random Live Battle invite.
I fumbled and hit Accept.
Next second, a face I knew filled the other half of the screen.