A while back, the Internet started advertising this hoodie to me. Every screen I looked at, there it was. It has a geometric design that makes your abdomen look like an infinite, gaping hole—and that is fine, but I was confused. The Internet knows me really, really well.
It knows what music I should be listening to.
It knows that
I’m a nudist I have occasionally searched for documentaries about nudist colonies, because when I was a kid that was a thing.
It knows that I like avocados and that I don’t want to die.
It understands my primordial fashion instincts.
It even overheard a quiet in-person conversation between me and my sister about whether Pepto-Bismol is for diarrhea or constipation.
It knows that I need to know what Brian has for dinner every night, even though I do not know who Brian is.
It knows that I enjoy seeing celebrities who have aged terribly, because that will protect me from such a fate.
It knows that I’m still tempted to get these shoes, even though the last time I bought shoes from this store they sent me a shower cap instead.
So why—why—was the Internet so sure that I needed the vortex hoodie?
I decided to trust the algorithm and take the plunge. I purchased the hoodie.
And, even though it is not my style (sorry, Internet), I can’t deny that the hoodie would make a really cool death shroud. People can look down at my casket, into the abyss.