Editor’s Note: I’ve been thinking about this type of service for some time, and with the power of AI (Grok specifically) I’ve actually come up with how to do it. But this is just for fun.
Ah, the pitch deck nobody asked for but everyone secretly needs. Slide 1: black background, neon text flickering like a faulty motel sign in the rain.
DittoDate: Your City-Sized Emotional Support Hologram
(Because real friends are overrated, and rejection hurts more than jet lag.)
Gentlemen, ladies, venture gremlins—welcome to the future where loneliness gets monetized, politely.
Picture this: You land in [Insert Overpriced Metropolis Here] at 2 a.m., soul half-dissolved from airport lighting and existential dread. The city is vast, indifferent, full of people who already have friends and won’t make eye contact on the subway. Classic outsider problem. Solution? Stop trying to befriend humans. Rent their digital ghosts instead.
DittoDate is the world’s first peer-to-peer marketplace for rented local personas—AI clones of actual residents who have graciously agreed to let their digital twins play tour guide, confidant, and low-stakes emotional crutch for $9.99–$29.99 per day (tiered, naturally). No awkward intros, no ghosting, no “sorry I’m busy forever.” Just pure, transactional companionship that feels eerily personal.
How it works (because investors love flows):
- Local signs up once: Uploads a knowledge pack—favorite bars, secret shortcuts, why that one museum is secretly trash, their signature sarcasm level. Optional: voice clone, 30-second looping video avatar (think warm smile in a hoodie, gesturing at invisible landmarks). We call these premium “Maya Mode” because someone has to reference Her.
- You arrive, open the app, browse the catalog like it’s Etsy for souls:
- “Brooklyn Foodie Cynic – 4.9 stars, specializes in ‘places that aren’t on TikTok yet'”
- “Tokyo Night Owl Minimalist – quiet bars, existential chats, zero small talk”
- “Berlin Queer History Nerd – walks you through walls both literal and metaphorical” Filter by vibe match, availability windows, price. No photos of the real human required—keeps it creepy-free and classy.
- Rent. Your phone lights up. Your rented ditto appears (AR overlay if you’re feeling fancy, voice in AirPods otherwise) and says, deadpan:
“Welcome to New York. You look like you just survived a redeye and mild regret. Coffee first, or straight to pretending you’re cultured at the Met? Your call, tourist.” - It walks with you (GPS-synced narration), reroutes on the fly (“Rain incoming—abandon that rooftop bar dream, pivot to this dive with killer vinyl”), remembers you hate crowds, pivots seamlessly. Follow-ups are free; deep existential spirals cost extra (kidding—mostly).
Monetization? We have layers:
- 70/30 split: Locals pocket passive income while napping. Top dittos in tourist traps clear four figures a month.
- Freemium teaser: 15-minute “vibe check” trial.
- Upsells: Group dittos for awkward bachelor parties, corporate “networking” clones, seasonal specials (“Spooky October Ghost Ditto – haunted pub crawls with dramatic pauses”).
- Enterprise tier: Companies rent fleets for remote employees on assignment. “Feel less alone in Singapore, guaranteed.”
TAM? Infinite.
Big cities are lonely factories. Travel is booming. Humans suck at spontaneous friendship. Current alternatives (Reddit threads from 2018, generic ChatGPT “best bars in Paris,” actual human tour guides who flake) are tragic. We replace all of them with something warmer, cheaper, and always available.
Risks?
- Locals get weird about their ditto dating someone (we have strict “no romance mode” toggles and sentiment filters).
- Deepfakes go rogue (mitigated by consent vaults and ephemeral instances that self-destruct post-trip).
- Someone falls in love with their $19.99 Maya (see: Her, the lawsuit waiting to happen). We call that “user success.”
Exit strategy:
Get acquired by whoever owns the dominant personal agent OS in 2028, or just become the default “companion layer” for every travel super-app. Either way, we print money while solving the quiet crisis of modern solitude—one rented hologram at a time.
So yeah. We’re not building friends.
We’re building the next best thing: friends you can pause, rate, and expense.
Who wants in?
(Deck ends with a slow zoom on a lone figure walking rainy Tokyo streets, holographic companion laughing beside them. Text overlay: “Because sometimes the city is enough—if it talks back.”)
Your move, imaginary Series A. 😏
