You work on the Adidas and Colgate campaigns in bed, then fine-tune the copy for Dash Stain Remover: “Bad news, guys—this promo is for girls only.” It’s you who’s writing this. You studied the philosophy of language, la Societè du Spectacle, the ability of monkeys to figure out other monkeys’ intentions. And then instead of getting your PhD, you began to work for your professor’s private enterprise, researching viral marketing and analytics and buzz. Everything seemed to fit. Now, in bed, after a deep but complicated sleep, after an early afternoon nap in the deserted apartment, you work. You write: “There are so many campaigns for boys out there, but with this product, it’s the ladies we’re targeting first, because they’re the ones who do most of the chores.” (You are La Sposina. You’re the protagonist in a bourgeois story that concerns me only tangentially, which I’ve been asked to observe. I honor you, I may even like you.)