The camera’s red eye blinks. I’m a statue in lingerie, a goddess of Wi-Fi. My bio says ‘sultry,’ but my inner monologue is pure sitcom. Am I supposed to seduce the blinking light? Is this a spiritual experience or performance art for lonely souls? The first tip is a mere whisper, a digital crumb. A user types, “Smile for daddy.” I do, a grin so wide it hurts. This is absurd. I am a tech-savvy seductress, a philosopher in thigh-highs, debating the meaning of connection with a man whose username is ‘LonelyGuy_47.’ I lean in, whisper something deep about the shadows and the light, about the hunger we all share. He sends a rocket ship emoji. My existential crisis is worth $6.99. I’ve monetized the void. This is commerce, dear diary. It’s deep, it’s sensual, and it is, without a doubt, the most beautifully ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. Let the show begin.