I n his short story “The Enemy Within,” cultural critic Chuck Klosterman describes the ordeal of a woman who is hauled before an anonymous panel to answer questions about her boyfriend’s television-viewing habits. The questioners tell her they noticed he was now watching shows with more characters who were transgender, female, and black and wanted to know whether he had been watching these shows for the right reasons.

“We have reason to believe your boyfriend is Fake Woke,” they tell her, accusing him of watching these shows so he can brag about it on social media — right viewing habits masking wrongthink.

This scenario, while entertaining, is a twist on what’s more likely to happen — streaming services expressing concern that you are not watching enough of the right programming.

Until now, it was extremely difficult for television networks and cable providers to determine who was watching what. Broadcasting was a one-way street; the signal was sent to your house and ratings had to be discerned by people filling out viewing journals and sending them back. (Thirty years ago, I was sent an envelope containing two quarters and a letter asking me to take part in a viewing survey; I refused, but I kept the envelope as a collector’s item, and by my calculation it is now worth approximately 50 cents.)

But in the streaming era, your television is now watching you as much as you are watching it. The internet makes viewing a two-way street; somebody, somewhere always knows what you’re watching and for how long.

And with the corporate move toward social justice, it is only a matter of time before your streaming services begin chiding you for watching the wrong things. You might get a reminder that you’re not consuming enough content featuring disabled or minority characters, or notices alerting you to the fact that you are watching far more NBA games than WNBA games. Perhaps your cultural diet would be healthier if you watched more PBS and fewer cooking-contest shows; your television might soon let you know.

Regardless, someone, somewhere now knows both everything you are watching and how you are watching it. Did you blow through three straight docuseries about serial killers over one weekend? Netflix knows. (And in the future, so, too, may the local authorities.)

When watching the movie No Hard Feelings, did you pause the scene in which Jennifer Lawrence runs on the beach stark naked? Someone in the streaming-services tech department has a record of it. If you’re someone who watches exclusively LGBT content, a cubicle rat at the streamer’s corporate headquarters might know something about you that you’re not even yet willing to share with your friends and family.

Of course, this snooping isn’t the sole domain of television. Have you forgotten about that New York Times article explaining that eating a lot of cheese won’t make you thin, or the one in which you learned that some men like to wear high heels? Well, if you’re an online subscriber, the Times almost certainly remembers that you read them. And that information feeds algorithms and shapes content delivery, meaning you are being read by your newspaper as much as you are reading it.

Naturally, music apps aren’t immune to user-data collection. Had Spotify or Apple Music existed in the 1980s, who knows how many black-eyeliner-clad kids would have been sent to counseling based on their infatuation with The Cure?

This concern over our machines watching us isn’t hypothetical. A few weeks ago, the New York Times reported that several automakers were using onboard apps like OnStar to share driving data with insurance companies, allowing them to charge more or less based on how suddenly you brake, how fast you drive, and other factors. Some car owners were completely unaware that their driving style was being monitored, assessed, and sold to third parties. In fact, the reporter who broke the story later found out that her car was spying on her as she was reporting the story. (Shortly thereafter, GM discontinued the practice of automobile snooping.)

This constant online monitoring of our consumption habits is everywhere, including our more physical activities. If you order takeout meals using a phone app, the app tracks everything you’ve ever ordered and how many “points” you’ve accrued. (At one point, I had over 30,000 McDonald’s dollars, which I think is enough to purchase an actual Mickey D’s franchise.)

An Illinois woman just sued Target alleging that the big-box store collects biometric data on shoppers in violation of state law. According to the lawsuit, Target will identify shoppers using a face scan, then use that information to follow them around the store, logging the items they’re shopping for. (If this is a plot to get people to shop more online, it may work — although snooping on customers is even easier on a website.)

And you may recall the story of the woman who bought a matching Fitbit heart monitor for her boyfriend so they could share workout data, then checked the app and realized he was getting quite a workout at 4 a.m. — with another woman.

If you bought a household appliance lately, you’ve realized that plugging it in is just the beginning of the journey. Your new stove, dishwasher, or washing machine comes with a request to download an app and create an account with the manufacturer. There is some convenience in this; for instance, I can begin preheating my oven without the burden of having to get up, walk over, and press buttons. What is this, 2018?

But, of course, everything one does on the app is logged somewhere. Some person or computer knows when I am heating up a frozen pizza, turning internet-enabled lights on or off, or putting in a load of wash. These apps are literally airing my dirty laundry. (With the rise of artificial intelligence, it is only a matter of time before my coffee maker begins a torrid affair with my air fryer.)

Complaining about all this silent surveillance may be a lost cause given how much people want other people to know about them. In light of the amount of personal information people divulge on Instagram and TikTok — and who knows what will come next — privacy concerns seem quaint.

It is now barely possible to go about one’s life without someone, somewhere, keeping track of our activities and choices. We have become our browser histories.

But if you don’t want to hear me gripe, don’t worry about it. I can always have a talk with my toaster.