Rosencrans Baldwin attends the US launch of World.
I do see one more famous person, and it’s the mystery guest: musician Anderson Paak, who is presumably being paid handsomely to perform at the event as his alter ego, DJ Pee Wee. Which means he’s wearing his alter ego’s costume of a black bob wig, sequined jacket and sunglasses, so I kind of see him and kind of don’t. The people dance. The people sing. I don’t see a single Covid mask. I am encouraged to get my iris scanned, but I do not get my iris scanned. I am offered and refuse a free Orb Mini, their new product, smartphone-shaped, which World hopes people will use to scan their friends and neighbors and welcome them, secure in their humanity, to this Brave New Reality. And on low couches, I notice a quartet of attractive men and women sitting with their legs and arms draped over one another, one of them a semi-famous start-up CEO (wearing stretchy pants with cargo pockets), and I’m left wondering if they’re maybe a polyamorous quartet, sequestered in this warehouse amid doomsday clocks, protected by their wealth, free to fuck away the final days before an autonomous car picks them up and drives them to some bunker while the rest of us are out here dating robots.
I hate this timeline.