We are all lonelier, but not in the same way. In the era of “solo-maxxing,” some people talk about how to optimize loneliness, boasting online about how cool voluntary celibacy is. But there are also those who, in the vast digital universe, are looking for company. In the age of sharing, it is almost paradoxical that showing vulnerability and opening up is still considered embarrassing. And if real-life dating has become hell for many, it is hardly surprising that some people prefer to find connections in chat, without the risk that this kind of relationship might spill over into the real world.
This is not a recent drift. For some time now, we have been talking about how artificial intelligence has become, for many, a friend to whom they can confide their secrets. Also for The Bunker, we had explored how in Japan, for several years now, loneliness has been compensated for by renting a partner for a day, or by subscribing online to AI chat services that simulate romantic relationships.
The means we use to connect seems to have become the very thing that has made us even more disconnected from reality. In the end, we have grown used to filling the emptiness that surrounds many of us through a kind of virtual economy of affection.
And it is precisely here that affection stops being a response to the need for closeness and becomes a resource: something that can be offered, simulated, exchanged, purchased, or monetized.
The time and energy devoted to care or social relationships have become capitalizable resources.
As reported in an article by Sabrina Ardizzoni published in Simone Pieranni’s newsletter Il Partito, Chinese media vocabulary continues to generate new social figures through which to interpret the fractures and ambivalences of a contemporary China marked by loneliness. Among these are the jingshen xiaomei, an expression that is still fluid but already highly significant: jingshen refers to the spirit, vital energy, and the emotional sphere, while xiaomei literally means “little sister.”
These are young women who live day to day, between occasional off-the-books jobs and petty theft. Recently, they have also begun to populate the chats of middle-aged men, often relying on formulas of familiarity and emotional closeness.
Apparently harmless messages, such as “Uncle, I miss you,” become the trigger for digital relationships in which small sums of money circulate, in the form of tips or loan requests. These are generally modest amounts, between 10 and 30 yuan, roughly between €1.50 and €4, low enough to remain under the radar of platform control systems.
Some of these girls manage to maintain hundreds of contacts at the same time, turning affectionate conversation into a not-insignificant source of income. This is not prostitution in the strict sense, nor is it simply a scam: it is rather a form of relational microeconomy that thrives in the ambiguous space between the need for attention, male loneliness, and the performance of intimacy.
What also makes this mechanism possible is the profile of many of the men involved: members of the generations born in the 1970s and 1980s, often raised within very traditional family and social models. In contexts where showing fragility, loneliness, or frustration can be difficult, chat-based relationships offer a release valve: a non-place where one does not feel judged, but at the same time feels seen.
It is here that digital intimacy reveals its deepest ambiguity: not because it is unreal, but because it works perfectly. Attachment, comfort, and even emotional dependency sometimes have nothing simulated or fictitious about them from the point of view of those who experience them.
Within the complex system of the economy of affection, however, reciprocity is gradually lost. These are relationships built on a promise of continuous presence, made possible by their very capitalization, and they ultimately reduce the bond to a temporary antidote to loneliness.
Camilla Fatticcioni