Even before the Bird Box challenge became a thing, I knew I’d never have survived in Sandra Bullock’s post-apocalyptic nightmare.
It’s not because I couldn’t navigate the world blind. (If I go without a pair of glasses for too long, that happens anyway.)
It’s not the fact that a mysterious demonic being would constantly be waiting for me to open my eyes, so it could torture me with my worst fears. (I’m living in the Age of Trump, I think I can handle anything that claims to be more frightening than that.)
No, I wouldn’t survive in the world of Bird Box because of one simple, genetic flaw: my cheekbones.
More accurately, my lack of cheekbones.
You see, these chipmunk cheeks, the kind squirrels store their nuts in, the kind old ladies love to pinch when you’re young, these babies would spell death for me sooner than any invisible apparition.
They’re too puffy, too pillow-soft to hold up a blindfold for any prolonged amount of time.
They’re too bulbous, too balloon-shaped for any tattered piece of cloth to mold to my face without creating gaps, gaps where sunlight could peek through, gaps any supernatural creatures looking to harness their power of induced suicide could easily take advantage of.
But worse than all that is knowing that these cherubic choppers that I’ve detested my entire life would never measure up to the unforgiving perfection of Sandra Bullock’s jawline.
Is there a jowl in the history of cinema more suited to donning a blindfold for 124 minutes of screen time? Those cheekbones are cliffs from which I’d happily jump to my death. They could carve stone, cut glass, slice enemies with corporeal bodies.
Bullock’s beautifully-sculpted visage would make Michelangelo weep tears of joy. Her pronounced nose, that wide forehead, and chin that is perfectly-pointed make my own facial features, which can most accurately be compared to a lumpy, undefined mass a la the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, even more disgraceful in a world without sight.
The monsters wouldn’t need to show me my worst fear. I’d be living it every day, knowing that when those blindfolds went on, Bullock would be rocking her makeshift safety-wear like she was on the damn red carpet and I’d be left red and sweaty, constantly adjusting my face scarf, cursing my ancestors and drowning in shame.
Just take me now, creatures.