Cryptobitch is a cyber-drag glitch from the compost heap of our digital wasteland. She toys with the genre revivalism of 90s dance music — wearing genre tropes like cheap perfume before reducing them to something even stickier. There's pleasure in the pose, but also a smirk: those rave utopias were always simulated from the start, always selling something.
She flaunts her skills just enough to break them, sabotaging the myth of mastery with a wink. Nostalgia loops as both spectacle and farce, like a cursed file: corrupted, shimmering, never quite closing. She's plastic, she's spectral, and she moans in system dialog. Lying on her back atop the grave of rave, her eyes roll as another false prophecy lilts through the air...
If this is our playground, who will clean up the mess? ;]