Though I'm in the same city as her, I'm staring at an image of Poppy on a computer screen. It's probably the most Poppy way to conduct an interview with Poppy, the internet's most enigmatic digital pop star. In her many non-music videos, the singer often exists in a white void where she delivers repetitive, koan-like statements in a soothing, ASMR-friendly voice about topics like fame, eternity, or Doritos. Occasionally, cults come up. In one video, her nose bleeds. When I dial the Skype number that's been provided for me and the laptop is passed to Poppy, she's wearing a pink coat, Poppy Lissiman sunglasses with roses on them, and a surgical mask. I'm living in a Poppy video.
"Hello!" she says, her soft voice barely audible through the tissue covering her mouth. It looks like she's been quarantined. Like a deadly outbreak occurred. Like she's the last celebrity on Earth. "I'm sick," she explains when asked about the mask. "It's so I can't get anyone else sick."