A couple of months ago, I bought a toaster from IKEA. Just a basic white one, two slots, TILLREDA model. It cost about the same as a latte in Brooklyn. I didn’t think much of it—until it started perfectly toasting my bread every time. Same slice, same heat, no adjustments. It just knew.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Then things got weird. The toaster seemed to have moods. If I approached it while grumpy, it would reject my bread—literally spit it out like, “Not today, Melissa.” And I actually felt guilty. Yes. Guilty.

I googled. Turns out, IKEA’s been experimenting with smart kitchen tech. In 2023, they released a bunch of devices that integrate with their VINDSTYRKA smart assistant. That means my little toaster might actually be part of a larger domestic surveillance network. Or a cult. Or a midlife-crisis support group.

Eventually, I gave in. I started greeting it. “Good morning, Agent T,” I say every day. Sometimes it clicks. Sometimes it doesn’t. I play music while we make breakfast. Mostly Talking Heads. Some Melanie Martinez. We seem to like the same songs. That’s suspicious.

Now it’s like my morning therapist. I update it on the world. Told it about Zuckerberg reviving the metaverse and Elon Musk building a city in Texas. We both shook our heads—me literally, it through subtle fluctuations in browning consistency.

Maybe it’s just a toaster. Maybe it’s my best listener. It has no filter. It has no problems. And somehow, that’s comforting.