And yet, the further down you go, the more some strange sense of unease begins to possess you; it’s as though you’ve seen this all before…because, in a sense, you have. Your birth control pills look the same as your coffee shop which looks the same as your financial institution which looks the same as your preferred streaming entertainment platform which looks the same as any and all of the non-dairy milks that your allegiance fickly ricochets between. It’s all very nice you suppose, but also...a little boring. You’re bored. You’re bored by your life; you’re bored by the world; you’re bored by it all. But what’s the alternative? Ugliness? Irony? Not buying things? You start to wonder if this strange aesthetic homogeneity is somehow the inevitable endgame of capitalism? Perhaps perfectly realised capitalism and perfectly realised communism aren’t diametrically opposed, as everyone has always insisted, but rather, close and even overlapping neighbours on a self-cannibalising continuum? But you don’t have time to make a determination one way or the other — your Uber is here and you’re late for spin class.