For the past thirty minutes, I have been sitting at an overrated hipster cafe in the heart of the trendiest and shabbiest part of Los Angeles trying to log on to a painfully slow wireless connection. I’m parked alone at a table on a secluded back patio covered in big, leafy trees gently rustling in the spring air. I feel both casually frustrated and aggressively serene. In the past half hour, an arbitrary internet thingie has captured my Facebook profile, my Instagram handle, my favorite type of donut and my shoe size. Now, this six-dollar cup of watered down chai tea that tastes more like mouthwash is probably going to cost me my identity and my Costco membership.

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