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Last week, American Psycho author Bret Easton Ellis revisited his character Patrick Bateman, telling Town & Country that present-day Bateman would be "wearing a Yeezy hoodie and teasing girls on Tinder." With that in mind, here's how a chapter out of 2016's version of American Psycho might read.
Abandon all hope ye who enter here is written in this woman's Tinder bio. She's not particularly great looking in her picture, but she's wearing a form-fitting Givenchy dress, clutching her Céline tote like she can't afford another one, and the words read like a challenge to me. She's undeniably a hardbody, so I pull my iPhone 6S out of my Nike Tech Fleece joggers, the most comfortable and fashionable sweatpants money can buy, and turn on the front-facing camera to take a selfie.
I aim the camera down at my toned body, which looks even better than normal thanks to the workout I did this morning. I look down at the Apple watch on my wrist, equipped with an Hermés strap because the leather supplied by the tech company wasn't nearly supple enough; regardless of how much Aesop Resurrection Aromatique Hand Balm I applied, it chafed my skin.
The rectangular metallic screen recounts my two-hour long workout this morning: One 30-minute session at SoulCycle, where model Kendall Jenner showed up and watched me nail those perfect tap backs. This was followed by 45 minutes at CrossFit, which I need to do to tone my core, chest, traps, and deltoids, and finished off with 45 minutes of running intervals of six-minute miles and four minutes of light jogging. At the workout's peak, my heartbeat reached a pace of 190 beats per minute. Now, according to my Apple Watch, it's at 38, which is similar to that of Olympic-level athletes.
I hold the camera at exactly a 60º angle and two inches above my eye line in order to capture the perfect image. I smile just enough to reveal the dimples in my face and flex my core to show off my ab muscles and snap the picture. I pull up the FaceTune app on my phone to blot out an unfortunate appearance of some acne that appears to have developed overnight. Otherwise the picture was perfect. I scroll through the most recent pictures on my phone: Thirty of them were almost perfectly identical selfies to the one I had just taken, eight were taken from the front row of the recent Calvin Klein show featuring singer Lady Gaga, while 12 others depicted unspeakable horrors.
I decide that this most recent picture is still the best and send it to the woman with the taunting Tinder bio. I‘m not even that interested in this woman, but as I go to send the selfie off I am suddenly drenched in a cold sweat. I push my hair back into its exquisitely mussed shape and feel a bead of sweat roll past my temple and onto my lip, stopping just short of the recently applied Tom Ford Hydrating Lip Balm. My thumb is shaking over the button that would send this off to Alexa. What kind of stupid fucking name is Alexa anyway? There. I sent it.
The sweating doesn't subside and I grow more anxious in the moments after sending the picture, even though I know she won't get back to me right away. To calm my nerves, I get up from my Tempurpedic mattress, shuffle my feet into my Gucci kangaroo fur slippers, which I had seen on A$AP Rocky, and walk over to my living room. I relax into my Eames lounge chair and connect to my home theater system with Klipsch speakers through Bluetooth. I go to my curated playlists and start to play Kanye West's 2013 album Yeezus.
Yeezus is not one of West's most beloved albums, but was well-received by critics when it was released. Music review site Pitchfork said in its review, "All of these unlikely choices demonstrate how cohesion and bold intent are at a premium on Yeezus, perhaps more than any other Kanye album." The album deftly mixes industrial, acid house, and Chicago drill music and incorporates styles from Detroit as well as his own hometown. The result is an angry album that is one of my personal favorites in West's discography. Album climax "Blood on the Leaves" samples Nina Simone's "Strange Fruit" and tells the story of West trying to balance his relationships. Many saw it as a way for West to try and exorcise his previous sins through music as he got married and had his first child.
Halfway through the song, my Apple Watch buzzes to notify me of a Tinder message. Alexa responded and wants to know what I am doing tonight. How desperate. I tell her I have a reservation at Hakkasan, but my date just fell through so I am, luckily, available— a lie, but since I know the maître d' it won't be a problem to get a table.
She says that would be great and I tell her I can pick her up in two hours. I sort through my closet and pull out a long black shirt by Rick Owens that reaches halfway down my thighs. I pull the shirt over my naked back while stretching it and tugging at the neck a little, a trick I learned from an interview West gave to GQ magazine. Next, I slide my Yeezy Season 1 hoodie off its wooden hanger and onto me. I pair this with Balmain biker jeans, perfectly cuffed at the hem, and a pair of Turtle Dove Yeezy Boosts on my feet. The shoes were notoriously difficult to get and I smashed my phone after Adidas's Confirmed app broke down. I ended up buying this particular pair for $1,500 on eBay the day they were released.
After getting dressed, I called an Uber black car to make my way to Alexa's. She gets in the car, Céline tote in hand.