ESQUIRE: When I think about your collaboration with Tiffany & Co., the first thing that comes to mind is the heart-shaped sunglasses that Alexandre Arnault posted on Instagram. You revealed those sunglasses last June saying, “You would know that I’m engaged to Tiffany. This is just the start of the many things we’ll be doing together.”
PHARRELL WILLIAMS: Those sunglasses are special. Generally, jewellery and accessories are must-have items in my style. That’s why I really enjoyed the process of working on that project. Thanks to the love those sunglasses got, we were more excited to release Tiffany’s new Titan collection. I’m close friends with Alexandre Arnault. So, getting the opportunity to create the Titan collection with Tiffany was an honour, and I’m thankful for it.
ESQ: What did you want to express with the designs at Tiffany, and was there anyone or any incident that inspired that?
PW: I’m very inspired by water. The design of this collection and the name “Titan” were inspired by Poseidon, who is the king of Atlantis (a fictional city under the sea) and the ruler of the sea. “Atlantis” is also the name of an area in Virginia Beach where I grew up. Also, titanium was named after “Titan”, and you can call it “titan” for short. It is also a name that emphasises our use of black titanium, which we used in this collection to physically embody the beauty of the colour black.
ESQ: I think it was a great idea to pair yellow gold with black titanium, and it felt fresh to me.
PW: [The reason for that was] because it is different from tradition, and something unheard of. We wanted to make something beautiful yet different at the same time with this collection.
ESQ: You’ve even mentioned that “jewellery is the punctuation mark of a person”.
PW: Jewellery makes a person. We even remember a person by their jewellery. I can never forget the ring that Slick Rick wore a long time ago. I remember trying to look for the same ring he wore.
ESQ: There was a dinner party hosted in New York to mark the launch of Tiffany’s Titan collection. Please tell us more details about that party.
PW: I was really happy that my friends and family came and supported me. That was the first time I saw other people wearing pieces from this collection. I was able to give life to this collection while working very closely with Tiffany’s in-house design team, and it’s such an honour to lead Tiffany into a new generation. It was at the New York flagship store (which looks down into Central Park). Launching the collection there made it feel like everyone came back and got together in their hometown.
ESQ: There was a Tiffany Wonder party in Tokyo recently.
PW: Firstly, I love Tokyo. It’s one of the cities I love, and the food is amazing. It was great to be able to celebrate 187 years of Tiffany in Tokyo.
ESQ: How would you describe the style of this collection in one word? And tell us why.
PW: People. That’s because everything I create is for the people. It doesn’t matter what your gender, race, ethnic group, or anything else are. I hope people of different classes can wear this collection.
ESQ: I recently checked out your collection “Son of a Pharaoh” which you put up for auction on the auction site JOOPITER, which was launched a few years ago. Everything was great, but the BBC Varsity Jacket was especially interesting. It was an item that expressed a politically correct message in a very cool way.
PW: I really love that jacket. Women are our future. I think it’s important to use one’s art or platform to spread love and talk about injustices. Ultimately, it’s because we are all people. I’ll also be launching a very interesting auction on JOOPITER this coming autumn during Frieze Seoul. I don’t want to say much about it now, but I’ll be revealing more details soon, so look out for it.
ESQ: You’ve been active for over 30 years. How have you been able to stay on the front lines of trends for such a long time?
PW: That’s an interesting point. It’s because I’ve never put in much effort into trying to stay afloat of the trends. I just do what I think is right. I’m also lucky to have worked with interesting people from designers to artists, musicians, and all sorts of other geniuses. I’m learning from them every day.
ESQ: I’m curious as to how you would differentiate something good from something bad.
PW: We can never know what is good, or what people can relate to. You just have to feel that it’s right. Whenever I’m creating something original, or whenever I’m pushing myself to do something that nobody else has done before, that’s when I create "something good". Nobody might like what I created, but we have to be prepared for that!
ESQ: Have you ever thought about how you make that distinction? For example, when I asked you earlier “What is good?”, you could either prioritise your personal preference when doing music or fashion, or you could consider the preference of the consumer.
PW: I try to look through the consumer’s point of view as much as I can, because I’m also a consumer. I think about how I can make it practical, or how the final piece can improve my life or help me live a better life. That’s the criteria I use when making decisions.
ESQ: What do you ultimately consider to be “good”?
PW: “Good” is such an interesting word. Why do we not say “great”? But at the same time, there isn’t a singular definition of “good”. Something might be “good” but might not change your life. Or “good” could be just a feeling. But if you don’t have true passion or sincerity, or if you’re trying hard to get “something good” without knowing why you’re doing it, then that attempt will fail. What sets you apart from others is what makes you special.
ESQ: What does creativity mean to a creative director?
PW: I have three roles. The first is to be a student, the second is to share the code, and most importantly, the third is to help others. Every season, we have to start from the beginning and expand the codes, which are the elegant tailoring, comfort, resortwear vibe, the basics, and of course the dandy. At the head of it, my role is to give energy (to the people I’m working with). But if I’m not able to create something charming, none of these have any meaning. I speak through my vision and through the amazing talents at our Maison.
ESQ: In a previous interview with Vogue, you described a creative director as a “love movement” and someone who “commands 2,500 soldiers”. I know that The Love Movement is also your favourite album by A Tribe Called Quest, but to be honest, I don’t understand that figure of speech.
PW: “Love Movement” or “LVers” for short was inspired by the slogan of my hometown Virginia, which goes “Virginia is for Lovers”. The work that our team at the Maison and I do is one part of the strong “LVers” community that we created, and at the same time it’s for the community. The reason I likened it to commanding solders, is because I lead 55 departments and 2,500 skilled artisans at our Maison. It means that my role in this place is to lead and direct. Our work has to be in harmony, and my role is to make sure everyone moves as one. And the basis of all our work is love.
ESQ: How did the slogan “Virginia is for Lovers” come about?
PW: I think it started from an ad or a billboard inviting people to come to Virginia for their honeymoon. But the slogan is true. There are all types of love in Virginia. It’s full of communities and families everywhere.
ESQ: Hearing that reminds me of the Princess Anne High School Varsity Jacket that you put up for auction. It’s clear that it’s an important piece that explains your identity.
PW: Princess Anne High School is the name of the high school I went to in Virginia Beach! I really love that place, and it’s a place that has a lot of good memories. Coming from Virginia is very important to me and to who I am now. Whenever I have the chance to show that Virginia holds a special place in my heart either by representing or mentioning the place, I’ll take it. Creating the Princess Anne High School jacket was a tribute to my hometown.
ESQ: For someone who has only lived in Korea, it’s hard to picture Virginia as clearly as I can picture New York or LA. What kind of place is it?
PW: It’s a really cool place, and it’s my pride. People might underrate us, but you cannot find the history or the culture we have in Virginia state anywhere else! I love being close to the water and get a lot of inspiration from water. Being close to the water helps me feel safe.
ESQ: You really love Virginia. What about making Pharrell’s Virginia, just like Donald Glover’s Atlanta series?
PW: That’s an interesting thought. But I’m not sure if Virginians would want a show created about them. If you want to watch a cool programme about Virginia or want to hear about the lives of people in Virginia, there is a documentary series called Voices of Fire about Virginia’s choir group with the same name. It’s amazing how much talent they have. The choir is led by my uncle Bishop Ezekiel Williams, who is an inspiration to many people, and you can catch it on Netflix.
ESQ: As someone who loves honky-tonk, the Louis Vuitton Autumn/Winter 2024 show was very impressive. I’m curious about the reason why you interpreted Western American outfits in the collection.
PW: I wanted to reference my personal journey from my hometown of Virginia to Paris. I also wanted to tell the story of Western America, which is also the origin of workwear. Workwear evolved from denim which the first cowboys wore. I wanted to tell the story about this inherent history and express the origin and evolution. The story is told as is in the code of this collection. I’m very proud of that collection. From the buckles to the engravings, we didn’t miss a single detail. Simply put, we elevated every element you can think of up a notch.
ESQ: Will you consider interpreting American kung fu culture from the '70s and '80s in future works? I think it would suit you well.
PW: Kung fu and martial arts in general are very interesting. It’s a sport that requires a lot of strength, agility and patience. It’s almost like dancing. This sport is a type of art. It’s something I could consider!
ESQ: What do you think is your greatest asset right now?
PW: I will forever be a student. I love learning from others, and I get inspired by others every day.
ESQ: It’s interesting that you said “student”. What kind of student are you?
PW: I’m a student who observes well and asks a lot of questions. I want to know what happened here and there. I’m curious about how something I’m seeing is being made and why it’s made. We need to keep having curiosity. It’s the best way to learn about ourselves and the world around us.
ESQ: Is there a personal treasure that you’ll never put up for auction no matter what?
PW: There are so many! You mentioned the Tiffany heart-shaped sunglasses at the beginning of this interview. I will never put that up for auction, because it marked the beginning of my beautiful relationship with Tiffany.
Photography: Hyea W. Kang
Fashion Editor: Yun Wonghee
Styling: Matthew Henson
Grooming: Johnny “Cake” Castellanos at H.Q.E
Tailor: Alice Chastel Mazin
Production: Bae Woori
Art Designer: Kim Daesup
Styling Assistant: Marine Gabaut
Translation: Astrid Ja’afarino
Animation: Joan Tai
Giorgio Armani, the man, is a living legend. Speak the name to anyone at all, even one who is completely out of the fashion loop, and it’s highly unlikely that they’ve not heard of him. After all, the Armani name is now associated with luxury products that run the gamut from suiting to underwear, from home furnishings to hotels, to chocolates and cosmetics even. It is a veritable Italian empire that has extended far beyond the confines of fashion, making it a truly remarkable success story.
This story began just shy of five decades ago, when Armani founded his eponymous brand in 1975 at the age of 41, after years of designing for other Italian brands. He tells us that he’s not one to “really suffer regret” about starting the business relatively late. “I’m very happy with how things have turned out,” he says.
It has been good indeed. In 2014, the Giorgio Armani Group acquired the entirety of the Armani Exchange brand after a multi-year partnership with COMO Holdings’ husband-and-wife duo Ong Beng Seng and Christina Ong that began in 1994. The Giorgio Armani Group now owns almost every facet of its business, while engaged in license partnerships for its beauty and eyewear divisions. It’s a feat to be relished. Rumours were abound throughout the decades of various companies wanting to own a stake in the Giorgio Armani empire, yet Armani held steadfast in maintaining full control at the helm.
At Emporio Armani’s Autumn/Winter 2024 menswear show in Milan, Armani took his bow in front of the set’s lighthouse, a spotlight illuminating him. He flashed the same charismatic smile he’s been giving at the end of every show for decades, except that now, he’s on the cusp of turning 90 (on 11 July, by the way). It’s quite a sight to behold, that in the darkness of the show space, Armani’s presence felt like it filled the entire room—that’s how you know you’re looking at a legend.
ESQUIRE: What is an average work day for you?
GIORGIO ARMANI: That is hard to say as every day is different. My days are full, very full, but I like them like that. I follow a strict routine that affords me the time and space to work in a concentrated way, and this is what makes me happy.
ESQ: With fashion having gone through various changes and challenges in the past decades, what keeps you inspired even after so long?
GA: I rarely lose my inspiration. Though when it does happen, I resort to my pillars, starting with my tried and true, and by doing, again and again, new inspirations begin to arise. My first and greatest inspiration comes from the world and from observing people. I have always accompanied social changes, providing an elegant response to real needs. That is what I continue to aspire to.
ESQ: You had no formal fashion education before starting your own brand. And now, we do see such creative directors at the helm of big-named fashion brands. Do you think a formal fashion education is not requisite to be a good fashion creative?
GA: For me the creative process is instinctive. I know what I am aiming for, and I know what I like and when I have achieved it. I also know when it is not right and how to correct it. I am not sure that talent and creativity have anything to do with formal training, but I am certainly not averse to people getting formally trained. Picasso, after all, was formally trained, and he used this as the springboard for his extraordinary innovations.
ESQ: Are there young designers out there who have captured your attention?
GA: There are some I am curious about, but I would not wish to single anyone out.
ESQ: In a recent interview with Business of Fashion, you mentioned, “I don’t feel I can rule anything out” when it comes to the future of the business, including an acquisition or an IPO. Do you think about the future or are you one to take things as they come?
GA: I am involving, in my plans for the future of the company, a team that can steer the ship. Because my approach has been so determinedly consistent and clear, it is not hard to see how we can maintain the right course. A foundation has been established, and I have very capable heirs and close collaborators who will lead Giorgio Armani into the future and ensure that what I have created lives on; that the Group is kept stable over time and consistently adheres to the principles that are particularly important to me and that have always inspired my work as a designer and an entrepreneur.
ESQ: Italian fashion brands, more so than others, are more interested in keeping their businesses privately owned. Why do you think that is so?
GA: Our culture in Italy is of a fashion industry that is full of family businesses—often with the founders or family members still actively involved. This makes it difficult to see how a group might be formed, as the instinctive position of a family business is to preserve its independence.
ESQ: The Armani brand—across the many different lines—has a consistently elegant persona. What does elegance mean to you?
GA: For me, elegance is a disposition of the spirit that is reflected outwardly, something profound that is echoed in a manner of dressing, but also in the choice of an object. It is a way of being—an innate gift that has a great deal to do with an ability to combine items of clothing and colours as well as to choose shapes in order to give life to one’s own style, a signature character and look which leaves an understated yet lasting impression.
ESQ: Is there a particular male muse in mind when you’re designing menswear?
GA: My father, who was always well-dressed in tailoring from that time.
ESQ: Navy blue is essentially an Armani colour. What drew you to navy blue as a colour of choice for yourself as well as now a signature of Armani?
GA: Navy blue is my go-to colour and daily uniform: a deep, vibrant colour that I find calming and that I have always loved. Blue is a great alternative to black, with all the neutrality of that hue, but with an added element in that it is a colour. It matches my personality—pragmatic and reserved—and focuses other people’s attention on my actions and words.
ESQ: Are you sentimental about the past?
GA: I am not a nostalgic person. Nostalgia leads you to dwell on the past, and from the point of view of a designer, it can be very dangerous: you forget to move on, to develop, to explore. That is why I am resolutely focused on the present and the future. I do value the past, as the present is always built on the lessons of the past. And I have fond memories of my life and my work, my friends, travels and achievements. But I prefer to focus on what I will do today and tomorrow. I live in the moment, and the moment to come.
ESQ: If you were to look back on your fashion career, is there a moment that stands out to you?
GA: Undoubtedly the first positive feedback when I was starting out; that was the moment I realised that I had made a solid contribution to liberating men and women from rigidity in the way they dress by offering clothes with simple, natural elegance, and achieving my vision. And then the various awards that were confirmation that my job was always going in the right direction. Dressing Richard Gere for American Gigolo opened up a world for me to work with cinema and allowed me to reach beyond Italy... as well as gave me notoriety, which culminated with the cover of Time magazine in 1982—these are moments I will never forget.
ESQ: You’re still going strong. Is retirement something that you’ve considered?
GA: I don’t think I will ever stop working because dressing people is my life’s great passion. I feel that I have so much still to do and I am genuinely as excited about getting to my studio every day as I was when I first started out all those years ago. In some sense, more so, as today there are fewer worries about whether I will be able to pay the bills.
ESQ: With your wealth of experience and knowledge, what’s one wisdom you’d like to impart?
GA: One life lesson that I have learnt is that for success, hard work is essential: talent is real, but I don’t believe that on its own it is enough to guarantee success. Work hard and possibly harder, believe in your ideas, work a bit harder, and you’ll get to the top. And even if you don’t get to the top, there is nothing to worry; being true to oneself is the best reward. Be yourself. Follow your passion. Stick to your beliefs. Dare to dream.
ESQ: At the end of it all, what would you like your legacy to be?
GA: The legacy I’d like to leave is one of integrity and commitment, of respect and attention to reality.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
When Victor Montalvo’s shoulders hit the floor, they glide. He’s a whirlpool, spinning round and round, pulling you closer with every impossible rotation. If you didn’t know better, you’d think the floor—not Victor—was revolving. He pivots from his back to standing on his head to a full 360 degree spin on the palm of his left hand.
This is the world-champion breaker’s signature move: the Super Montalvo. It’s cheeky, cocky, and a downright nuclear weapon that has made Montalvo the face of breaking (or breakdancing—the sport has enjoyed a rebrand since you originally watched You Got Served). In August, the 30-year-old will represent Team USA at the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris.
“I honestly don’t have rivals,” Montalvo tells me in a video interview a few months before he takes the global stage. And there’s not a hint of ego in his voice. The man hardly blinks, and his head is perpetually tilted ever so slightly to the side, sizing me up as if I were his next opponent. Pity the poor schmucks who have to face him in the Olympics.
Montalvo has earned his unmitigated confidence. In his career, he’s won every major international breaking competition in the world. He is the reigning gold medallist at the World Games, a two-time champion of Red Bull BC One, and the most recent winner of the WDSF World Breaking Championship. Quite simply, he broke breaking.
After a while, though, even winning felt repetitive. Montalvo lost the love of the sport . . . but that didn’t last long. “I already did everything I wanted to do in my breaking career,” he says. “I just got bored of it. It felt like a never-ending cycle. Same events each year, every year. Like, man, I want something new.”
When Montalvo heard that the International Olympic Committee (IOC) had added breaking to the slate, his passion was instantly reinvigorated. Another mountain to climb. Another nation to conquer. He remembers thinking, Perfect. That’s another goal I can achieve. His chances of taking home the gold medal are extremely good.
David “Kid David” Schreibman, a breaking legend and Red Bull commentator, recently told Rolling Stone, “[There’s not] another competitive breaker who is as consistent and has the full package.” Montalvo blends the Tasmanian Devil’s unhinged energy with Allen Iverson’s creativity. But for all of his aplomb, a win in Paris would mean more than just another hearty chuckle from his throne. He’s fighting for the survival of the sport itself.
Breaking is a little different today from what it was in its ’80s heyday. B-boys no longer crowd the street corners of the Bronx, where the sport originated. In the early aughts, Red Bull provided an upgrade by organising a competition among eight elite crews, who were fighting for a $4,000 grand prize. That paved the way for the global BC One event that Montalvo has won twice. Now the energy-drink company sponsors him.
Modern contests feature one-on-one battles on a dance floor—with each breaker taking roughly one-minute turns, trying to outperform their opponent. As in rhythmic gymnastics and figure skating, judges score their performances and announce a winner. In Paris, Montalvo will compete against 15 other international B-boys, all likely just as revved up as him. “It’s new, evolved, refreshed, and refined. I just can’t wait to showcase it at the Olympics,” Montalvo says of his sport. “They thought it was stuck in the ’80s. Hopefully we’ll change that.”
At the 2024 Olympics, breaking will be featured alongside surfing, sport climbing, and skateboarding—four events that IOC president Thomas Bach hopes will bring in Gen Z viewers. Still, breaking is only a guest in Paris. It won’t appear in the 2028 Summer Games in Los Angeles—the IOC made the decision before Montalvo could showcase his talents this summer. But if anyone can capitalise on this opportunity to convince the IOC to bring breaking to the 2032 Brisbane Olympics, Montalvo believes it’s him. Serving as an ambassador for his sport is a calling. “This is something that I never would’ve thought I would be, but I have to,” he says.
Breaking is in Montalvo’s DNA. In the ’80s, his father and uncle, Victor and Hector Bermudez, were big-time B-boys. The Bermudez twins helped popularise the dance trend throughout Mexico, performing across the country before giving it up and moving to the United States. Back then, you couldn’t make much money in the breaking world.
For Montalvo, it’s a whole new ball game. When he was just six years old, his father pointed at the screen as the family watched the breaking film Beat Street and said, “Look, I used to do this back in the day.” Montalvo burst out laughing. Bermudez wasn’t joking; he put on a hoodie and started “busting out head spins and windmills,” Montalvo recalls. “We thought, Wow, this is amazing.”
As the story goes, Montalvo and his cousin, who goes by Static, joined a crew in Kissimmee, Florida, at a time when breakdancing was big in the state. “I would sneak out of my house to go to different events around Florida, sometimes out of state, and [my father] would let me get away with that because I was doing something positive,” Montalvo remembers. “My dad was always on the sidelines. He supported me 100 percent. He tells me all the time, ‘I’m living my dreams through you.’ ”
The Olympics is an event in which tradition meets innovation, and according to Montalvo, that’s exactly what sets him apart from the competition. “I love keeping the tradition of breaking alive,” he says. “Your body is the instrument, and you’re bringing that instrument out.” He adds, “I love seeing people’s faces after they watch me dance. Like, God, this is so incredible.”
Speaking to Montalvo, you can tell that standing still is a burden. It’s easier for him to spin—to point his feet to the sky, stopping only to taunt his opponents with picture-perfect freezes. At the moment, he’s all smiles. More often, he’s smirking. “I understand the formula now,” Montalvo says of the road ahead. “Beat the system.”
Photographs By Laurel Golio
Three classics of the genre to watch before the sport’s Olympic throw-down.
“Style Wars is a graffiti documentary, but it’s really dope because it talks about the culture of breaking and just hip-hop in general.”
“The Freshest Kids is a documentary about the origins of breaking and what it means to be a breaker. Hopefully, after the Olympics, they’ll have a little breaking documentary. We need a new one for this day and age.”
“That’s a movie,” Montalvo says about the hip-hop film starring the famous Rock Steady Crew. “Watch that one.”
Originally published on Esquire US
In the age of AI, it can feel as if this technology’s march into our lives is inevitable. From taking our jobs to writing our poetry, AI is suddenly everywhere we don’t want it to be.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. Just ask Madhumita Murgia, the AI editor at The Financial Times and the author of the barn-burning new book Code Dependent: Living in the Shadow of AI. Unlike most reporting about AI, which focuses on Silicon Valley power players or the technology itself, Murgia trains her lens on ordinary people encountering AI in their daily lives.
This “global precariat” of working people is often irrevocably harmed by these dust-ups; as Murgia writes, the implementation and governance of algorithms has become “a human rights issue.” She tells Esquire, “Whether it was health care, criminal justice, or government services, again and again you could see the harms perpetrated on mostly marginalised groups, because that’s how the AI supply chain is built.”
Murgia takes readers around the globe in a series of immersive reported vignettes, each one trained on AI’s damaging effects on the self, from “your livelihood” to “your freedom.” In Amsterdam, she highlights a predictive policing program that stigmatises children as likely criminals; in Kenya, she spotlights data workers lifted out of brutal poverty but still vulnerable to corporate exploitation; in Pittsburgh, she interviews UberEats couriers fighting back against the black-box algorithms that cheat them out of already meagre wages.
Yet there are also bright spots, particularly a chapter set in rural Indian villages, where under-resourced doctors use AI-assisted apps as diagnostic aids in their fight against tuberculosis. Despite the prevalent sense of impending doom, there’s still time to reconfigure our relationship to this technology, Murgia insists. “This is how we should all see AI,” she tells Esquire, “as a way to preserve the world we know and believe in what we bring to it, but then use it to augment us.”
Murgia spoke with Esquire by Zoom from her home in London about data labour, the future of technology regulation, and how to keep AI from reading bedtime stories to our children.
ESQUIRE: What is data colonialism, and how do we see it manifest through the lens of AI?
MADHUMITA MURGIA: Two academics, Nick Couldry and Ulises A. Mejias, came up with this term to draw parallels between modern colonialism and older forms of colonialism, like the British colonisation of India and other parts of the world. The resource extraction during that period harmed the lives of those who were colonised, much like how corporations today, particularly tech companies, are performing a similar kind of resource extraction. In this case, rather than oil or cotton, the resource is data.
In reporting this book, I saw how big Silicon Valley firms go to various parts of the world I visited, like India, Argentina, Kenya, and Bulgaria, and use the people there as data points to build systems that become trillion-dollar companies. But the people never see the full benefits of those AI systems to which they’ve given their data. Whether it was health care, criminal justice, or government services, again and again you could see the harms perpetrated on mostly marginalised groups, because that’s how the AI supply chain is built.
You write that data workers “are as precarious as factory workers; their labour is largely ghost work and they remain an undervalued bedrock of the AI industry.” What would it take to make their labour more apparent, and what would change if the reality of how AI works was more widely understood?
For me, the first surprise was how invisible these workers really are. When I talk to people, they’re shocked to learn that there are factories of real humans who tag data. Most assume that AI teaches itself somehow. So even just increasing understanding of their existence means that people start thinking, There’s somebody on the other end of this. Beyond that, the way the AI supply chain is set up, we only see the engineers building the final product. We think of them as the creators of the technology, so automatically, all the value is placed there.
Of course, these are brilliant computer scientists, so you can see why they’re paid millions of dollars for their work. But because the workers on the other end of the supply chain are so invisible, we underplay what they’re worth, and that shows up in the wages. Yes, these are workers in developing countries, and this is a standard outsourcing model. But when you look at the huge disparity in their living wage of $2.50 an hour going into the technology inside a Tesla car, and then you see what a Tesla car costs or what Elon Musk is worth or what that company is making, the disparity is huge. There’s just no way these workers benefit from being a part of this business.
If you hear technologists talking about it, they say we all get brought along for the ride—that productivity rises, bottom lines rise, money is flushed into our economy, and all of our lives get better. But what we’re seeing in practise is those who are most in need of these jobs are not seeing the huge upside that AI companies are starting to see, and so we’re failing them in that promise. We have to decide as a society: What is fair pay for somebody who’s part of this pipeline? What labour rights should they have? These workers don’t really have a voice. They’re so precarious economically. And so we need to have an active discussion. If there are going to be more AI systems, there’s going to be more data labour, so now is the time for us to figure out how they can see the upside of this revolution we’re all shouting from the rooftops about.
One of our readers asks: What are your thoughts on publishers like The New York Times suing OpenAI for copyright infringement? Do you think they’ll succeed in protecting journalists from seeing their work scraped and/or plagiarised?
This hits hard for me, because I’m both the person reporting on it and the person that it impacts. We’ve seen how previous waves of technological growth, particularly the social media wave, have undermined the press and the publishing industry. There’s been a huge disintermediation of the news through social media platforms and tech platforms; these are now the pipes through which people get information, and we rely on them to do it for us. We’ve come to a similar inflection point where you can see how these companies can scrape the data we’ve all created and generate something that looks a lot like what we do with far less labor, time, and expertise.
It could easily undermine what creative people spend their lives doing. So I think it’s really important that the most respected and venerable institutions take a stand for why human creativity matters. Ultimately, I don’t know what the consequences will be. Maybe it’s a financial deal where we’re compensated for what we’ve produced, rather than it being scraped for free. There are a range of solutions. But for me, it’s important that those who have a voice stand up for creative people in a world where it's easy to automate these tasks to the standard of “good enough.”
Another reader asks: What AI regulations do you foresee governments enacting? Will ethical considerations be addressed primarily through legislation, or will they rely on nonlegal frameworks like ethical codes?
Especially over the last five years, there have been dozens and dozens of codes of conduct, all self-regulating. It’s exactly like what we saw with social media. There has been no Internet regulation, so companies come up with their own terms of service and codes of conduct. I think this time around, with the AI shift, there’s a lot more awareness and participation from regulators and governments.
There’s no way around it; there will be regulation because regulation is required. Even the companies agree with this, because you can’t define what’s ethical when you’re a corporation, particularly a profit-driven corporation. If these things are going to impact people’s health, people’s jobs, people’s mortgages, and whether somebody ends up in jail or gets bail, you need regulation involved. We’ll need lines drawn in the sand, and that will come via the law.
In the book, you note how governments have become dependent on these private tech companies for certain services. What would it look like to change course there, and if we don’t, where does that road lead?
It goes back to that question of colonialism. I spoke to Cori Crider, who used to be a lawyer for Guantanamo Bay prisoners and is now fighting algorithms. She sees them as equally consequential, which is really interesting. She told me about reading a book about the East India Company and the Anglo Iranian Oil Corporation, which played a role in the Iranian coup in the ’70s, and how companies become state-like and the state becomes reliant on them. Now, decades later, the infrastructure of how government runs is all done on cloud services.
There are four or five major cloud providers, so when you want to roll out something quickly at scale, you need these infrastructure companies. It’s amazing that we don’t have the expertise or even the infrastructure owned publicly; these are all privately owned. It’s not new, right? You do have procurement from the private sector, but it’s so much more deeply embedded when it comes to cloud services and AI, because there are so few players who have the knowledge and the expertise that governments don’t. In many cases, these companies are richer and have more users than many countries. The balance of who has the power is really shifting.
When you say there are so few players, do you see any sort of antitrust agitation here?
In the U.S., the FTC is looking at this from an antitrust perspective. They’re exploring this exact question: “If you can’t build AI services without having a cloud infrastructure, then are you in an unfair position of power? If you’re not Microsoft, Google, Amazon, or a handful of others, and you need them to build algorithms, is that fair? Should they be allowed to invest and acquire these companies and sequester that?” That’s an open question here in the UK as well. The CMA, which is our antitrust body, is investigating the relationships between Microsoft, OpenAI, and startups like Mistral, which have received investment from Microsoft.
I think there will be an explosion of innovation, because that’s what Silicon Valley does best. What you’re seeing is a lot of people building on top of these structures and platforms, so there will be more businesses and more competition in that layer. But it’s unclear to me how you would ever compete on building a foundational model like a GPT-4 or a Gemini without the huge investment access to infrastructure and data that these three or four companies have. So I think there will be innovation, but I’m not sure it will be at that layer.
In the final chapter of the book, you turn to science fiction as a lens on this issue. In this moment where the ability to make a living as an artist is threatened by this technology, I thought it was inspired to turn to a great artist like Ted Chiang. How can sci-fi and speculative fiction help us understand this moment?
You know, it’s funny, because I started writing this book well before ChatGPT came out. In fact, I submitted my manuscript two months after ChatGPT came out. When it did come out, I was trying to understand, “What do I want to say about this now that will still ring true in a year from now when this book comes out?” For me, sci-fi felt like the most tangible way to actually explore that question when everything else seemed to be changing. Science fiction has always been a way for us to imagine these futures, to explore ideas, and to take those ideas through to a conclusion that others fear to see.
I love Ted Chiang’s work, so I sat down to ask him about this. Loads of technologists in Silicon Valley will tell you they were inspired by sci-fi stories to build some of the things that we writers see as dystopian, but technologists interpret them as something really cool. We may think they’re missing the point of the stories, but for them, it’s a different perspective. They see it through this optimistic lens, which is something you need to be an entrepreneur and build stuff like the metaverse.
Sci-fi can both inspire and scare, but I think more than anything, we are now suffering from a lack of imagination about what technology could do in shaping humans and our relationships. That’s because most of what we’re hearing is coming from tech companies. They’re putting the products in our hands, so theirs are the visions that we receive and that we are being shaped by. That’s fine; that’s one perspective. But there are so many other perspectives I want to hear, whether that’s educators or public servants or prosecutors. AI has entered those areas already, but I want to hear their visions of what they think it could do in their world. We’re very limited on those perspectives at the moment, so that’s where science fiction comes in. It expands our imagination of the possibilities of this thing, both the good and the bad, and figuring out what we want out of it.
I loved what Chiang had to say about how this technology exposes “how much bullshit we are required to generate and deal with in our daily lives.” When I think about AI, I often think that these companies have gotten it backwards. As a viral tweet so aptly put it: “I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so I can do my art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so I can do my laundry and dishes.” That’s a common sentiment—a lot of us would like to see AI take over the bullshit in our lives, but instead it’s threatening our joys. How have we gotten to this point where the push is for AI to do what we love and what makes us human instead of what we’d actually like to outsource?
I think about this all the time. When it started off, automation was just supposed to help us do the difficult things that we couldn’t. Way back at the beginning of factory automation, the idea was “We’ll make your job safer, and you can spend more time on the things that you love.” Even with generative AI, it was supposed to be about productivity and email writing. But we’ve slid into this world where it’s undermining the things that, as you say, make us human. The things that make our lives worth living and our jobs worth doing. It’s something I try to push back on; when I hear this assumption that AI is good, I have to ask, “But why? What should it be used for?” Why aren’t we talking about AI doing our taxes—something that we struggle with and don’t want to spend our time doing?
This is why we need other voices and other imaginings. I don’t want AI to tell bedtime stories to my children. I don’t want AI to read all audiobooks, because I love to hear my favourite author read her own memoir. I think that’s why that became a meme and spoke to so many people. We’ve all been gaslighted into believing that AI should be used to write poetry. It’s part of a shift we’ll all experience together from saying, “It’s amazing how we’ve invented something that can write and make music” to “Okay, but what do we actually need it for?” Let’s not accept its march into these spaces where we don’t want it. That’s what my book is about: about having a voice and finding a way to be heard.
I’m reminded of the chapter about a doctor using AI as a diagnostic aid. It could never replace her, but it’s a great example of how this technology can support a talented professional.
She’s such a good personification of how we can preserve the best of our humanity but be open to how AI might help us with what we care about; in her case, that’s her patients. But crucially, her patients want to see her. That’s why I write about her previous job, where people were dying and she didn’t have the equipment to help them. She had to accept that there were limitations to what she could do as a doctor, but she could perform the human side of medicine, which people need and appreciate. This is how we should all see AI: as a way to preserve the world we know and believe in what we bring to it, but then use it to augment us. She was an amazing voice to help me understand that.
With the daily torrent of frightening news about the looming threat of AI, it’s easy to feel hopeless. What gives you hope?
I structured my book to start with the individual and end with wider society. Along the way, I discovered amazing examples of people coming together to fight back, to question, to break down the opacity in automation and AI systems. That’s what gives me hope: that we are all still engaging with this, that we’re bringing to it our humanness, our empathy, our rage. That we’re able to collectivise and find a way through it. The strikes in Hollywood were a bright spot, and there’s been so much change in the unionisation of gig workers across the world, from Africa to Latin America to Asia. It gives me hope that we can find a path and we’re not just going to sleepwalk into this. Even though I write about the concentration of power and influence that these companies have, I think there’s so much power in human collectivism and what we can achieve.
Also, I believe that the technology can do good, particularly in health care and science; that’s an area where we can really break through the barriers of what we can do as people and find out more about the world. But we need to use it for that and not to replace us in doing what we love. My ultimate hopefulness is that humans will figure out a way through this somehow. I’ve seen examples of that and brought those stories to light in my book. They do exist, and we can do this.
Originally published on Esquire US
At least once every year, a debut short-story collection comes along and gets under my skin. Last year, it was Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare, by Megan Kamalei Kakimoto, and the year before that, it was Bliss Montage, by Ling Ma. All these months later, despite reading thousands of pages since, I can still remember plot details from individual stories in those books.
In 2024, that collection is Beautiful Days, by Zach Williams—a subtle and speculative barn-burner that fans of Stephen King and Ling Ma will devour. Like the short fiction of Brian Evenson, the stories in Beautiful Days are about the horrors of encountering something completely unknowable in the course of everyday life, whether it’s the mind-warping experience of parenthood or the echo-chamber effect of the Internet and social media.
It opens with “Trial Run,” in which a Manhattan office drone is trapped in a skyscraper during a snowstorm that may or may not be real, with two coworkers who may or may not mean him harm. In “Neighbors,” which went viral in The New Yorker earlier this year, a San Francisco man tries to perform a wellness check on his next-door neighbor, only to stumble upon a scene he can’t rationally explain.
In “Wood Sorrel House,” new parents find themselves in an Edenic setting to raise their child but can’t remember how they got there. These stories wade into uncanny waters gradually, but others—like “Return to Crashaw,” featuring tourists who visit mysterious megaliths in the desert—embrace their pulp inspirations from line one.
Despite Stephen King’s You Like It Darker sitting on top of the New York Times bestseller list right now, some people in the American publishing industry see short stories as an endangered species—or at least as a genre that’s becoming harder and harder to sell. “I was writing for myself,” Williams tells Esquire. “I wasn’t thinking about the marketability of what I was writing. I was just thinking of what I could write best—and what I could finish.”
Williams grew up in the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware, earned his MFA at NYU, and now teaches fiction writing at Stanford University. Over Zoom last month, we spoke about writing short stories in an industry built to sell novels, getting fired from a Hollywood job for reading books under his desk, and why you might be reading more short stories than you realize. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
ESQUIRE: When did reading and writing first come into your life?
ZACH WILLIAMS: Video games were big for me in that regard. Myst and Riven were so immersive that I read the [spin-off] novels. Tim Schafer [game director of Grim Fandango] was also a really important writer for me. But I loved going to the library as a kid and reading Goosebumps and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark—and all those Time Life supernatural mystery books on UFOs and the Loch Ness Monster.
When I tried writing short stories in my early twenties, I think I just fundamentally didn’t have anything to write about, so when I graduated college, I moved out to L.A. and got an internship at Beacon Pictures. I got fired because all the interns showed up at this party one night where we weren’t supposed to be. After that, I worked as an assistant to the post-production coordinator on this Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony movie called El Cantante, and then I was the fifth assistant in Jerry Bruckheimer’s office during the Pirates of the Caribbean shoot—until I got fired for reading books under my desk when there wasn’t anything to do.
I got the sense that I wasn’t in the right place, so I taught middle and high school for twelve years. It was a lot like Mr. Holland’s Opus, where it was supposed to be this brief interlude while I figured out how to be a writer, but I did it for a long time and could only write in fits and starts. Once I got married and we had our first son, I finally felt like I’d been around long enough to write stories with a sense of urgency.
What drew you to short stories as opposed to novels?
In middle school, the only book I would ever reread was The Martian Chronicles, by Ray Bradbury. The idea of a novel-in-stories was really fascinating to me. A lot of my undergraduate creative-writing classes were focused on short stories just by virtue of the workshop format. For me, short stories have this very direct relationship with the subconscious. One idea that’s really exciting for a writer is usually enough to get a short story off the ground. Even the stories in this collection that I worked on for years, they all originated with one spark. I wrote two stories in [Beautiful Days], “Red Light” and “Neighbors,” right after these nights of terrible insomnia, where I was just lying in bed for hours and the ideas just erupted from my subconscious. They didn’t need to become sprawling projects.
Publishing a short story in The New Yorker is a holy grail for a lot of writers. What was that like for you?
It was a wild experience to have that be my first time in print. At NYU’s [MFA program], they have this agent meet-and-greet at the end of the year, and mine was virtual because of the pandemic. I wound up having a call with Claudia [Ballard at William Morris Endeavor], and she asked to see one of my stories after I gave her my elevator pitch for the collection. I sent her “Wood Sorrel House,” and she said right away, “I want to send this story to The New Yorker.” I signed with Claudia that summer, and then the editorial process at The New Yorker was unbelievable. Working with Deborah [Treisman] and her fact checkers and copy editors was a real education. They found all of these things in the story that I had lost the ability to see myself.
It must be hard to fact-check a story like “Wood Sorrel House,” which is set in another reality.
My favorite thing that came out of fact-checking “Wood Sorrel House”—I still think about it with such gratitude—is that outside the cottage in that story, there’s one of those turtle-shaped sandboxes. We have so much overlap in our background; is that a familiar thing from your childhood, too?
Yes, we had one in our backyard.
Perfect. So I had written that it was made by Playskool because that’s what I remembered, but no, they were made by Little Tikes. The fact checker discovered this, and I was so thrilled to get that correction.
Which story in this collection was the hardest to write and revise?
“Lucca Castle” was really difficult, and the other two that come to mind are “Ghost Image” and “Return to Crashaw.” I didn’t know what I was doing. I started things without knowing how long they were going to be. Every single story was a learning process for me. There is very little in this book that I did on purpose, because I was trying to write intuitively.
Why open the collection with “Trial Run” and close with “Return to Crashaw”?
There were times when I would try to think of this book like an album. I thought about how the stories sounded together in a musical way. “Return to Crashaw” just felt like an ending in the sound of the sentences and the language—and the way that there’s music on that last page. There’s also a sort of warmth to that story for me, whereas “Trial Run” is the total opposite. It’s dark and scary and claustrophobic and paranoid. I’ve always had “Trial Run” up front because there’s something about walking into that building in the snowstorm that felt like the start of something, in the same way that the music at the end of “Return to Crashaw” felt like an ending to me.
How can the short story make a case for itself in 2024? Big Five publishers have disinvested in short stories as a genre, and it seems like readers prefer novels.
So many of the best books I’ve read recently have been short-story collections or novels-in-stories. Jamil Jan Kochai’s collection from 2022, The Haunting of Hajji Hotak and Other Stories, has one of the all-time great short stories about video games in it. There’s also Out There, by Kate Folk; Bliss Montage, by Ling Ma; After the Sun, by Jonas Eika. Jonathan Escoffery’s book If I Survive You is fascinating to me, because it’s somewhere between a collection of linked stories and a novel. Cuddy, by Benjamin Myers, is told in four sections over the span of many centuries, around the building of this cathedral where St. Cuthbert’s body is buried. Other huge books for me in this regard are Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell, and A Visit from the Goon Squad and The Candy House, by Jennifer Egan.
My point is that some of the most exciting work I’ve seen in recent years comes from people who are working in shorter forms to different ends. A lot of them are technically short-story collections, but they don’t really make aesthetic sense without one another. My sense of these books is that the stories were written very intentionally to be part of one work, and I think that makes so much sense in our present moment. I could say something banal about attention spans, but it’s more than that. There’s something about the form of short stories and life on the Internet, scrolling and clicking, and the basic hypertextual experience of navigating the Internet. A book can contain many different worlds, too, without staying too long in one place.
It’s a vital time for the form. It’s equipped to do something that the big novel can’t, and there are a lot of writers doing really good work. But I’m not that smart about the necessities of the marketplace. I don’t know enough about how publishing works.
I think you’ve hit on something really interesting about the marketplace, though, which is that publishers are sometimes packaging (or maybe even disguising) short-story collections as novels-in-stories—and marketing long short stories as short novels!—in the hope that they’ll sell more copies.
I hadn’t quite connected those dots, but yeah, you’re right. There are a lot of books people are reading that contain these other forms.
Roberto Bolaño’s 2666 is often celebrated as the greatest novel of the century so far, but it’s essentially a collection of very long linked stories.
That’s true. I just read Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery and Other Stories for the first time a few years ago. The stories are all really different, but there’s this one repeating character who’s a dark and powerful figure. To me, there’s something really special and unique about the ability of a book that contains disparate things to link them in a way that strikes more than one note. When I was writing this book, I wanted to be aggressive about the variety of ideas that appeared in it. I wanted to just throw ideas out recklessly rather than take one thing and use it as the basis for a longer project just because that’s what you’re “supposed” to do. I wanted it to be a little riotous. A lot of my favorite collections of stories—or as you said, novels that contain a lot of little worlds—are doing that.
Why call this collection Beautiful Days?
The title comes from the story “Wood Sorrel House,” where the last line is “There will be beautiful days.” I had a different experience writing the book than people do reading it, because when I look at that story again, I feel like there’s a lot of prettiness in that story—the pastoral aspect of it with the lake and the forest and the mountains, and then also the bond between parent and child. There’s a lot of darkness in that story, but there’s some beauty in it, too.
I knew that I was writing a book with a lot of darkness in it, and one that was cynical in places. I started writing the stories when I was living in New York, so maybe there’s some of that big-city claustrophobia or paranoia, especially in “Trial Run.” I also think some of it comes from life on the Internet and being constantly glued to our devices, where my phone feels like a portal to a darker reality.
But all of these characters are trying to figure something out. They feel like they desperately need answers to big questions and they can’t get them, but they’re going to try—and in the trying, I think there’s a lot of hopefulness and redemption. These impenetrable mysteries are how the basic conditions of life feel to me. That’s what speculative fiction can do: help you set your sights more clearly on questions that are concrete in your life.
Originally published on Esquire US
No one could ever recreate what Gay Talese did for Frank Sinatra in 1966. They are and were respectively two great powerhouses in their own calibre, and nothing will come close to the written legacy presenting a fresh angle of not only the figure himself, but the culture he was embedded in.
Anyway, the premise here isn’t nearly the same. Lucien Laviscount isn’t unwilling to be interviewed, he merely seems really pressed for time. He doesn’t have a cold either. He just has a broken rib, though he didn’t quite specify how. It has been a crazy couple of days.
Friends, family, and associates were not involved in crafting this piece either. The only third-party accounts available are sifted from prior interviews with him. One particularly memorable (shoutout Fashion Magazine) for effusing such enthralment by his looks and charms that it’s borderline comedic.
The story often begins as a child model for David Beckham’s clothing line at Marks and Spencer, where the former athlete casually comments that the boy should try his hand at acting. It’s that demeanour that got Laviscount scouted for the campaign in the first place.
Laviscount rose to prominence in his teens through a couple of British dramas, strangely all taking namesake from locations—Waterloo Road, Grange Hill, Coronation Street. For international audiences, he plays Earl Grey (kudos to the writers) in Scream Queens and more notably, Alfie in Emily in Paris.
There’s his upcoming rom-com This Time Next Year and we would go on but this isn’t an IMDB page. Though it will be a pity to leave out that music video he did. Not appearances as a man-turned-werewolf in a Calvin Harris release, or a centaur-turned-man in Shakira’s recent hit; which if combined would probably make the rarest bingo card. No, it’d be fronting his own music in the most random 2012 club banger (for those interested, it’s “Dance with You” featuring Mann).
He has since come far. Now, the rumour mill churns of his Bond candidacy. The 32-year-old English actor takes this call from London, despite coming off a shoot in LA and his posts showing him last in Miami. After the call, that very evening, he’ll jet off to Cannes for the film festival.
He does wish, fully acknowledging it’s not something he should say, that people would work on the weekends. Perhaps then, Mondays wouldn’t be so swamped. He is possibly the poster child for “If you love what you do, you never work a day in your life”. It’s not a mantra he recites, but it does surface as a running theme in previous coverages.
He actually just flew in from Antigua, where his professional bodybuilder father is from, and where he has been based since the pandemic days. So really, it’s about managing four days of his life at a time. Anything after will be too much to cope with, but of course, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Once again reinforces the grateful-to-be-here vibe.
Laviscount is insistent that he takes nothing for granted. He’s really happy for everything that has happened in his life and grows with it. Besides relaying how he’s learning and getting a better perspective of what the world for him looks like and who he is now, he encloses another almost boilerplate statement about how you won’t be able to live where you want to if you live in the past.
Surprisingly, motivational one-liners and all, the actor doesn’t quite deem himself an optimist. Even though he strikes as the type to believe in the best of everyone, and resonates with uplifting shows like Acapulco; a tale of overcoming odds and achieving dreams. Even though in a similar vein, when most consider audition processes daunting, he finds excitement in bringing what he has to the table and putting his unique spin on a part that was never written for him.
Underdog trope aside, the notion of optimism was never an option to Laviscount. In his books, it would only mean the reality of the situation is not recognised. His feet are very much planted on the ground. Great things do happen... with hard work and conviction. In other words—in his words—you can’t be a real optimist unless you are a realist at heart.
If anything, he would brand himself as a realist, but ultimately he rejects being labelled. Like many thespians, he hates being pigeonholed. Which is why the actor wouldn’t want to be solely defined by his occupation. His penchant for creating—whether writing, acting, having a fashion brand, fostering an incredible space for people to learn, whatever form that takes—is something that will always be part of him.
He attributes his unquenchable thirst for exploration to the energy he has. Busy savouring a moment where he is confident in his abilities but on the other side of that same coin, advocating the pursuit of ambitions outside of one’s career.
At the minute, it’s interior design and architecture. It fills his Explore feed on Instagram. The interest probably stems from the aspect of building something visual yet tangible that can live beyond him. He then draws opposing observations between the art world and the industry he inhabits. How in the former, nothing is ever truly finished and there’s freedom to curate individual moulds. Whereas the latter may be equally subjective to audiences, but its course and result are commonly dictated by the opinion of one.
It would be like storytelling; where the storyteller gets to decide how the story is told. Where the reader’s perception is very much shaped by the hands of the writer. Would the license wielded by the author to weave an entirely verbatim-free narrative paint a balanced picture of fact and poetry?
In a delicious twist of irony, storytelling is one key concept Laviscount’s soul is drawn to. For a man who abstains from labels, it’s the sole identity that stays on his social media bio. In separate capitalised words, no less: Story Teller.
According to him, the tales don’t exist unless they are told. The massive appreciation he has for stories extends to people who are just as passionate about telling them. Capturing intrinsic moments of people’s lives and delving deep into their being are nothing short of magic and beauty.
In his yarn, Laviscount is on a continuous journey to discover what the best version of him will be. Navigating life and its many expectations, seeing through the good and the bad, acquiring a variety of experiences and influences with sheer wonder and wide-eyed amazement.
These could be politically correct answers. Or they could be genuine worldviews. Spoken sentences might be rephrased with a keen awareness that responses will be retold. Or they might purely be a reflex to remain neutral. As Laviscount maintains a consistent core, void of career cynicism and characteristically driven, the approach to be guided by inspiration and gratitude is how he aims to take on and run with whatever comes his way.
Or at least, that is how this story goes.
Photography: Philip Sinden
Fashion Direction: Asri Jasman
Art Direction: Joan Tai
Styling: Tanja Martin
Hair: Fluffy the Original Barber
Makeup: Charlotte Hayley Mcritchie Trujillo
Producer: Guoran Yu at APEX COMMUNICATIONS
Executive Producer: Even Yu at APEX COMMUNICATIONS
On-Set Producer (UK): Kate Zhu
Production Assistant: Kingvarit Vongchanphen
Photography Assistant: Jon Conway
Styling Assistant: Ania Egan
Retouching: Yang Liu
Fifty years ago, Stephen King published Carrie, a slim volume about a bullied teenager and the violent revenge she exacts on her high school classmates. Seventy-six books later, King is arguably the most famous writer in America. Through bloodcurdling novels like It, Pet Sematary, and The Shining, the author has carved out his place as the undisputed master of horror fiction. With more than 350 million copies sold and many of his books adapted for the screen (sometimes multiple times over), King’s dark imagination is a dominant force in American culture. Now seventy-six years old, he still writes at a brisk clip from his home in Bangor, Maine. His latest, You Like It Darker, is out now.
Fame is a pain in the ass. The older you get, the more of a pain in the ass it is. But you have to realise that it comes with the territory. It’s just part of what you do.
There’s this old Spanish saying: “God says, ‘Take what you want and pay for it.’ ” That’s the case with being famous.
I knew a lot when I was seventeen. But since then, it’s been a constant process of attrition.
You can’t think of writing as an adult pursuit or anything that’s important. That’s a good way to turn into a gasbag and start to think that you’re really fucking important. You’re not. You just do your work.
I have to work every day because I have to keep it fresh. If you take a few days off, it all starts to look kind of tacky—like an old campaign poster that’s running in the rain.
It doesn’t always work. I’ve got stories that just ram up against a brick wall. They’re in my right desk drawer. I don’t look in there.
If it’s a good review, it can be dismissed. If it’s a bad review, well, then that’s something you obsess over a little bit.
The important thing about failing is that it should always be a learning experience.
When I have a good idea, I just know. It’s like if you have a bunch of cut-glass goblets set up and you’re hitting them with a spoon. Clunk, clunk, clunk. And then one goes ding.
In every marriage, after the shine is off, then you get down to the serious work of building a relationship.
You can’t let the sun go down on your anger. These all sound like fucking platitudes. They become platitudes for a reason.
Be there for your kids. Say yes. Say yes as much as you can.
What would I tell my twenty-year-old self? Stay away from dope and stay away from booze. Because you have a tendency to go too far.
I’ve been in recovery a day at a time for a long time now. All I know is what works for me: staying out of the wine aisle in Publix.
They say that you don’t go to a whorehouse to listen to the piano player, and if you hang around the barbershop, sooner or later you’re going to get your hair cut. So I try to stay away from temptation.
I like to use my imagination. I like to go for walks. I dig the world in general.
Ten per cent of my tweets are political because every now and then, I just get so irritated about something. It doesn’t change anybody’s mind, but it’s good to be able to say it. In the meetings that I go to, we say, “You have to claim your chair.” Sometimes I feel like, yeah, I have to claim my chair.
There’s this saying that if you’re not a liberal in your teens, you don’t have a heart, and if you’re still a liberal in your twenties and thirties, you don’t have a brain.
I think that, actually, if you’re a liberal in your teens, you probably don’t have a brain. And if you’re not a liberal by the time you’re in your thirties and forties, you don’t have a heart.
If you ask what I learned from my accident, it would be: Number one, stay on the sidewalk. I was walking in the country, and the guy came over the hill and hit me.
Other than that, you learn about pain. But it doesn’t do any good, because you forget. The body has a way of forgetting the trauma. I suffered a lot, and the writing helped me because it took me away. That’s probably a healthy thing. You don’t want to live your life in a defensive crouch.
I can cook fish a thousand different ways, but I’m also one hell of a breakfast cook. I make a great cheese omelet.
I’d like to be known as somebody who died merry—who did his work as best as he could and was decent to other people.
I think what people will say is “This is the scary guy—the guy who wrote the horror novels.” But I’d like to be known as somebody who was just a decent human being.
Originally published on Esquire US
When it first staged in 2015, Hamilton was a portal into the interesting lives of America's found fathers. It was novel in its casting and musical infusion of hip-hop. Those outside of America, who were unable to catch it on Broadway or at the West End, were able to satiate their yen for the Tony Award-winning musical on the Disney+ streaming portal.
Now the touring production of Hamilton made its way to our shores. We follow the titular Alexander Hamilton (played by Jason Arrow) and his rise into the founding of America. We talk to Arrow, DeAundre Woods—who plays Aaron Burr, the "damn fool who shot" Hamilton—and Brent Hill, who plays the delightfully camp King George about Hamilton, their roles and the challenges of touring.
ESQUIRE: Given the popularity of Hamilton, how did you make the character your own?
JASON ARROW: At first, I did want to make the character fresh and put a slight spin on what was seen before by Lin but it did take a while for the team to come around to it [laughs]. Of course, it was my first professional leading role so I understand that trust needs to be built over time before drastic steps can be taken but I now feel like Hamilton is very much a sculptured version of what I originally wished for the part.
DEAUNDRE WOODS: This is a great question! As artists, we live and breathe to create. So of course, the first answer that comes to my head is "yes, I’ve made it my own as well as added some new insight". However, after being in this show for so long, I believe it is the material that has added new insight.
These characters, this story, the music, the ideas, the wisdom, empathy... they have changed us. It’s given us a sense of our place and purpose here in society as well as insight into the future. There’s something about revisiting the past and planning for the future that creates so much hope for many around the world when seeing this show. I hope what we give on stage is a representation of who we are as a people at our core and what we can be someday if we do it together.
Essentially, I wanted to add a lightness to the character within the first 15 to 20 minutes of the show to win the crowd over. This, of course, bleeds into the rest of the show as well. I reasoned that on Broadway, American patriotism carries Alexander a long way, in terms of, garnering audience support. In shows where, to most audiences, there isn’t a clear antagonist/protagonist arc, it’s essential to show all spectrums of humanity so that the audience can decide. That patriotic card does nothing for Alexander internationally so you have to approach it differently, but we got to that version eventually, which I’m happy about!
BRENT HILL: I’m just interested in playing the task of the role—which in this instance is playing a jilted lover who wants his betrothed to come back. [He needs to do this] without exposing any of his vulnerability or giving away [any] power, and the failure of that approach. With regards to portrayal, the strongest link for me at the moment is the satirising of egoically performative political rulers—subtly (or not so), perhaps of the orange variety.
ESQ: Were there any challenges when you were developing your characters?
JA: Trying to realise what this man looked and felt like when he existed in the 1800s. It’s so much easier creating someone who’s never existed because there’s no historical blueprint to go off. Whereas, with a show like Hamilton, there’s a tonne of literature to disprove your artistic choices!
So, research is important but also going off the historical version of the story paints is important as well. You can use [the past] as a basis but at a certain point, the show guides the narrative so you have to flow with that, not against it, regardless of history.
While of course, not getting too bogged down in the history at the same time. We can read and understand but [those who were alive back then aren't here today] so we can’t talk with absolute certainty about how [Alexender] was or acted. We just have to make him as human and as relatable as possible. If we do that well enough then it will feel authentic and that’s what truly matters.
DW: I’ve been fortunate enough to play several characters in the show when I started as a standby. Each comes with its own asks and challenges; specifically, Burr, who was physically challenging. The idea of being still, yet engaged is so interesting to me. It seems as though you’re just “waiting for it” when in reality this action is strategic. It’s brilliant and I love his arc. Before I booked Hamilton, Aaron Burr was my dream role. I’m so thankful to be playing the part today!
BH: Singing the same song melodically three individual times—which has a clever thematic point for our King George. He never quite changed his tune—and not mix up the lyrics in each appearance. A few holistic hieroglyphic memory approaches certainly help. (Also being able to sing full-tilt switch with thick-set heavy jewels on your head is more challenging than you might think!)
ESQ: Did you watch past shows of Hamilton's original staging or read the book that it's based on by Ron Chernow?
DW: Here and there, yes! I haven’t watched the Disney+ version in a while, but I’ve caught a few clips scrolling on YouTube and am still blown away by the work that was done to create this phenomenon. We’re standing on the shoulders of giants!
BH: Watched the filmed theatrical version when it came out—was very moved. We were fortunate enough to meet Ron earlier this year; his knowledge on all things A. Hamilton is insurmountable.
DW: I have indeed read the Chernow which is absolutely brilliant (still can’t believe [Lin-Manuel Miranda] had hip-hop running through his head when reading that). And I’ve also read [Fallen Founder: The Life of Aaron Burr by Nancy Isenberg] that is quite fascinating. [Aaron Burr] should have his own musical!
JA: I watched Disney+ and read the Chernow biography, but mostly I studied how early life shapes humans. That’s what I got lost in—the psychology of what would happen to someone who, essentially, was left to their own devices at such a young age. That drastically shapes their identity and persona.
For example: Alexander had no family growing up and had to work very early on, which can create a dependency on that job for security in later life. It stands to reason that he had a terrible love life later and is dependent on his one constant: work and career.
ESQ: Are there any concerns when you are touring Hamilton?
DW: They are far and wide. First, there is the upkeep of your mind and body. Staying in shape vocally and physically goes a long way when having to do eight shows a week! There’s also the sacrifice of time spent with your family and friends. It takes a lot of discipline to be consistent in this industry, but at the end of the day, it’s so rewarding! And we’re making a lot of dreams come true which is worth all the challenges that come with it.
JA: Acclimatising to new environments. The slightest difference in temperature, humidity, air quality and time zone can really affect your ability to perform in a show. It does seem like it’s easy but there is a lot of daily work that goes into putting on a show. We have a team that does it all to get us to where we need to be which helps us as we travel.
BH: Space affects performance. Humidity is a challenge, not just for body temperature regulation for three hours, but also for the voice to be able to produce a clear tone. We’ve all gotten exceedingly expert at landing in a place and finding the most nourishing options to enable the workload.
JA: Humidifiers, misters, dehumidifiers, to name a few, whatever we need to help us they do as much as they can to cater for which we are extremely grateful for!
ESQ: What do you want the audience to take away from Hamilton?
DW: We enjoy and welcome feedback from the crowd! Politeness has its place at the dinner table but when you're watching the show, leave all your manners at the door. Come to have a party, a celebration of the magic that is theatre and art.
BH: We can only go as far as audience energy will allow.
JA: As much as the show is known to be about American politics and its foundations, that's only used as a vehicle in the show. The heart of the story has a very human centre and is focused on themes and issues that we all face in life. It shows us that even these bold historical figures we tend to remember with such grandeur had some pretty blinding shortcomings and struggled to achieve their goals and desires.
The struggles of love, life and family are hugely present in Alexander’s character arc, you just have to pull on those threads to watch it unravel. See why this man, although hugely successful, did fail himself and his family at times.
Hamilton is showing at Sands Theatre until 9 June, 2024
In recent years, Singapore has become well-established as one of the world’s top export markets for watches, boasting some of the world’s most engaged enthusiasts and collectors. As interest in horology continues to blossom here, it is inevitable that tastes develop beyond superficial interest in the usual top manufacturers. It is only natural that an appetite for vintage timepieces and independent watchmakers is burgeoning. In recognition of the increasingly diverse tastes in Singapore, Ali Nael and Nelson Lee began the Singapore Watch Fair (SWF), with the goal of helping establish Singapore as a regional hub for watchmaking and collecting. Since founding the Fair in 2017, it has grown, mirroring the island’s growth as a watch export market: from initially being the watch component of the luxury festival Jeweluxe to becoming a standalone event, supported by the Singapore Tourism Board (STB) and Resorts World Sentosa (RWS).
This year’s event, taking place at Resorts World Sentosa from 2-6 October, is set to build on the success of last year’s, with both STB and RWS continuing their support. Focus-wise, SWF will also continue to heavily feature independent watchmakers, whilst featuring more appearances from top manufactures, amongst other displays of watchmaking savoir-faire. Watches will remain the central attractions but this show is not just for collectors; there will be something for everyone as SWF demonstrates how and why beautiful watches are central to Singapore’s cultural landscape.
In our recent chat with festival director Nelson, he reflected on the story of SWF thus far, and the new experiences attendees can expect to look forward to at this year’s edition.
Nelson Lee: Yes – especially one that is able to bridge the geographical distance between Switzerland and the region – not just in terms of bringing watchmaking expertise to Singapore, but also being able to gather regional interest in one place. There have been stellar examples of such events in the past, but there hasn’t really been one that is consistently held on an annual basis.
Moreover, given how Singapore has cemented itself as a top export market for Swiss watches, there definitely is local demand for such events to be held in Singapore, which last year’s SWF proved. So, it wouldn’t be so much that the world needs another watch fair, but more that the region needs an annual watch fair in Asia to look forward to each year – one that caters to local interests, and that is able to form a point of convergence for the best of horology and devoted aficionados in the region.
A key focus of the SWF is that we’re always looking towards the future – this underlines our commitment to showcasing a variety of independent watchmakers every year, which stems from our belief that these independents represent the future of watchmaking, for instance, Krayon and L’Epee 1839…
Nelson Lee: To begin with, I believe it’s only in the past five or so years that widespread interest in independent watchmakers and vintage collecting has begun to solidify and take off. As with the rest of the world, the value and appeal of watches only really entered the mainstream consciousness during the COVID period of socio-economic volatility. In the years since, tastes have only developed and diversified to include appreciation for the fine work of independent watchmakers. The SWF has always mainly focused on independent watchmakers and vintage collecting – areas where we felt demand was concrete, and a platform on which we could showcase how far watchmaking has come, and how it could develop, through the juxtaposition of timeless vintage pieces with the finest craftsmanship and avant-garde innovation that contemporary watchmaking has to offer.
In terms of practicality, it was only in 2023 that we were able to secure the support of a second key partner, Resorts World Sentosa. Even then (and the support of STB since 2017), despite the fact that we are more motivated by passion than by profit, the cost factor is not something that can be easily ignored.
Nelson Lee: In 2022 and 2023, the panel discussions spotlighting women who collect watches – conducted by TickTock Belles’ Stephanie Soh and Deborah Wong, amongst others – proved to be very popular. We see this as a reflection of change within the collectors’ demographic – where women are now keener to create a space for themselves in what is a traditionally male-dominated sphere, so we’re definitely retaining that and bringing more engaging perspectives from our female collectors.
Besides the various watch panels and plenary sessions, we’re also looking to ramp up the interactivity of the event: through new, on-site, immersive audio-visual driven launches and dinners, as well as a new interactive activity driven by watch expert Carson Chan, perhaps better known on social media by his IG handle @watchprofessor.
In terms of a more hands-on experience, there will also be a strap-making workshop conducted by master craftsmen, which we hope will highlight the innovation and intricate craftsmanship of an oft-underrated aspect of watchmaking.
We are also looking to bring in two more established international watch manufacturers, to add a different dimension to the craftsmanship and innovation expertise that the independent watchmakers will bring.
For more on the 2024 edition of Singapore Watch Fair, click here.
ESQUIRE: We’re told the spring 2024 collection is inspired by Singapore. Can you tell us more about that and why Singapore in particular?
VICTOR SANZ: Every season, the design team and I sit down and we look for a destination to become our muse. We’re always looking at things that have a cultural relevance—we saw that Singapore was one of the first places to open their doors to the world again. We started focusing into Singapore and realised that everything that’s happening here is in line with what we’re doing as a brand. The idea of balancing heritage with modernity; embracing technology but not abandoning where your roots are; of balancing this world of architecture and progression, but also supporting the environment and nature.
We then started to really dive deep from a cultural standpoint: How are the people living here? What are they doing? How are they doing this? We were inspired by places like Sentosa where we kept seeing these beautiful images of the sunsets. Then the shutters in the market streets with these bright colours of contrast, and they felt very spring to us. We also looked at buildings like the Art Science Museum where it’s a very modern building, but feels very natural and very organic at the same time. So from there, we started building our colour palette and the collections like Asra, where you can see this idea of a soft structure, which continues on to even within the Alpha Bravo series.
ESQ: What are some of the newer innovations you have devised for the collection that you’re proud of?
VS: We continue to bring new innovations every season. There’s a continuous partnership with McLaren and we were able to introduce a new chapter with the Extreme collection where we did these welded waterproof bags. Obviously, Asra, our women’s collection, and of course the 19 Degree series, which was born as a travel collection, but we were figuring out how do we continue to expand this 19 Degree design language into day-to-day uses? This 19 Degree Aluminum minaudière that I carry has a really simple detail. I can just rotate this element and I can put a shoulder strap on there. It becomes now that same archetype of 19 Degree but in a crossbody. And we’ve done a backpack as well. You’re going to continue to see these types of products evolve. We’re kind of pushing in all these directions and always looking at things from the lens of technology and luxury, and always ensuring that we’re bringing something new to our core customer but also bringing in that new customer as well.
ESQ: TUMI is also known for its Alpha Bravo series but there seems to be a more conscious decision to move away from just luggage and into a more lifestyle space, with a golf collection as well as Asra. Is this something that we can expect more from the brand?
VS: Absolutely. I mean, I would say we’re not moving away from the travel side. What we’re doing is we’re continuing to enhance our portfolio. Our biggest muse is the customer. We look at the lifestyle that they’re living. How are they evolving? What does their day-to-day look like? What does it look like when they’re at work? What does work look like for them? What happens post-work? And the more we begin to evolve the world we’re in, we’re bringing products that are enhancing their lives. That’s why you’re seeing things like the golf collection. We see our customers being increasingly engaged in golf and how it’s a new way for them to connect with their friends and peers. It’s a great opportunity for us to bring the very best of what we do at TUMI to a type of collection like that. Additionally, we’re doing fragrances now—we have seven fragrances in the line—eyewear, the crossbodies, women’s products, engaging in the world of sport… It’s really about evolving the brand for our customers.
ESQ: You talk about the customers’ lifestyles when designing for these lifestyle-specific items. Is the design approach slightly different from the travel series, or is it the same?
VS: When we started looking at products that may be more geared towards lifestyle—or what we call the more fashion-forward type products—one aspect where we’ve evolved as a brand, I think at times, is that aesthetics weren’t viewed as a feature. We’ve changed that thinking where aesthetics are a feature. If you feel good or confident about what you’re wearing, you perform better. With a collection like Asra, the thought process was how do we create something that’s very easy and that doesn’t look like it’s burdened with all this extra functionality, but the functionality is there? Similar to even this 19 Degree minaudière. It’s a very simple crossbody, but on the inside, it has a removable leather pouch that magnetises to the back so that when I need to pay for something, I open up the minaudière and I have my money and cards ready to go. Maybe in the past, we’ve had the mentality of always leading with function. Now, the beauty is part of the function.
ESQ: I’m curious to know, because when you talk about the minaudière and having that extra element inside, how many prototypes do you go through before you’re done with editing?
VS: It can depend. I wish I could say we do it once and it’s great. But it can be anywhere from three to upwards of 10, depending on how complex the functionality is. For example with the 19 Degree Aluminum backpack, we spent a lot of time making sure that when you push in the leather monogram patch that the front pocket would pop out. We also spent a lot of iterations where we’re opening up the backpack so that it stays perfectly balanced when opened. Typically, we like to do about at least three prototypes because the other part is test-wearing. And we test-wear everything. A lot of times when I’m travelling, I’m travelling with prototypes because if something’s going to fail, I’d rather it fail while I’m using it so I can fix it.
ESQ: I remember from our previous interaction in Hong Kong in 2019, where you explained how the handle of a TUMI luggage is shaped like a strawberry for better ergonomics.
VS: You remember? This one! (points to the telescopic handle of a luggage nearby)
ESQ: Yeah. It’s one of the things that, if it weren’t pointed out to me, I wouldn’t have necessarily realised it. Have you come across customers who have pointed out nuances like that in your designs?
VS: It’s a really interesting thing. People don’t notice good design because it just works. That’s the goal. It sounds a bit ironic, right? You spend so much time, energy and thought into it, and when a customer uses it, it just becomes kind of back-of-mind. But when something is poorly designed, that’s when you really, really take notice. That’s why we spend so much time really analysing the details—testing, feeling and going through these motions where they just need to feel and work so right that you don’t even notice them. From a design and creative perspective, it makes me quite happy when people say that something feels or works right. But, hey, very good memory. I’m very impressed.
ESQ: It’s definitely a takeaway that has stuck. Now, on to collaborations. The way TUMI approaches collaborations is perhaps quite different from its contemporaries. With TUMI, there seems to be a preference to collaborate with more lifestyle-driven partners and artists as opposed to say, a fashion brand or streetwear. Why is that?
VS: TUMI has always been looking at a wide breadth of people to collaborate with. We’ve collaborated with fashion houses like Missoni, athletes, jewellery designers, artists etc.. For us, it’s always been about people that are very true to who we are as a brand. But also we’re looking beyond into that future customer, right? I’m going to collaborate with people that are multifaceted, that people can relate to and understand. There’s a future-forward thinking for the brand as well. So this is why we’re always kind of looking at it through our own lens. There was a time when everyone was collaborating and you didn’t know what the hell was happening—every week was another collaboration and everyone just got very caught up in this hype. For us, we’ve always held true to what we feel is authentic to us. How do we connect with them? And then how do we support them on their mission? It’s never really been about wanting to collaborate for hype sake.
ESQ: And now we have brand ambassadors being announced every week. You mentioned how the customer is the driving force behind designing at TUMI. But when it comes to brand ambassadors, do they also influence you as well? Or are they more of like a manifestation of the TUMI customer?
VS: When we started getting into brand ambassadors, we were looking for people who embody the truth of the brand. When we started with Lando Norris, not only is he a fantastic F1 driver, but he’s also this hungry, young athlete who’s starting his own businesses and establishing himself. The same thing with Son Heung-min—an amazing, established Asian athlete within a European team, which is also quite international and it poses its own challenges. It was this amazing storyline that connects with us. As we were starting our journey within this new women’s category with Asra, we thought about having an ambassador who embodies not only who we are about but also this new customer. Mun Kayoung is an amazing person to begin with and she’s so humble. We’re saying that we want that type of aesthetic and that type of strength to come through to our products.
It’s always a challenge to find that perfect connection, but so far, we’ve been quite lucky to have people that love the brand. When we start having conversations with them, it’s very, very authentic. They travel with the brand and that always makes it very, very easy to kind of make everything happen.
ESQ: It seems very organic.
VS: Absolutely. You’d be surprised how many times we sit down, and they’re like, “Oh yeah. I’ve been travelling with TUMI for 12 years, 10 years...”
ESQ: This is a bit of a throwback to 2019. When asked what were some of the best things about being a creative director at TUMI, you said, “It’s amazing to dream an idea and have it come to fruition.” Has anything changed since then?
VS: Yes. It’s still amazing to be able to dream something and bring it to fruition, but I think what’s changed is that the dreams now are becoming ever more vivid. It almost feels like there’s an endless sense of possibility. In 2019, I would never have imagined I’d be sitting here showing you this 19 Degree Aluminum minaudière and backpack. To be able to see the brand and customer base continue to grow but also being able to still push the brand in different directions, that’s been fantastic.
ESQ: You’ve been at TUMI now for more than 20 years, which is insane to think about.
VS: You’re telling me!
ESQ: I just want to know, what keeps you inspired?
VS: Every day I walk in, I have an amazing team. We have people on that team who I’ve worked with for the past 20 years as well as people into their first year, and every day, we are constantly pushing ourselves. I was up at 1:30am this morning on a call with the team in New York working on a project for the future. We’re talking about the smallest of details, but with the intensity of it being the next biggest collection. And that’s what really kind of continues to feed this creative energy. We want to make a difference with the elements that we put in. And I get to work on just some of the most interesting products. I’m very humbled and blessed to have had 20 years. I mean, just like that, it’s been 20 years. And you and I have been on a journey now for exactly five years. Who would have thought?
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Geoffrey Mak is no stranger to excess. For several years, the Chinese American art critic lived in Berlin on and off, enjoying the city’s rave culture, its queer scene, and a wide variety of drugs. He attended glamorous art fairs and openings, parties thrown by artist collectives and trend forecasters, and worked at becoming a writer. He recognised the fact, though, that within the rarefied social circles he frequented, he and others were all playing types. “I was never sure which side of the counterculture I was expected to perform,” he writes in his new essay collection, Mean Boys: A Personal History, “art critic, ad man from New York, technogoth turning looks at the club, or a foot fetishist with a kink for golden showers. I just knew that once I located my role, my ‘character,’ it was important to deviate as little as possible.”
During the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic, Mak experienced his second psychotic breakdown in the span of three years, then flew back to his parents’ home in California to get help and try to heal. Yet the psychiatrists he saw couldn’t help much—they weren’t sure how to diagnose him due to his drug use. “As a junkie,” Mak writes, “I was hard for psychiatrists to take seriously, so in turn I didn’t take them seriously.” His life slowed down from the 120-140 beats per minute that characterise techno to a far more sedate pace that felt more like boredom than peace. But when Mak began attending Alcoholics Anonymous, things started to change, and he found in the programme a different kind of intensity—one that helped him. He also began to find his way back to Christianity, which he’d grown up around (his father is a minister) but had abandoned due to the evangelical persecution of LGBTQ+ people. Amid that return, he also took on a frightening project: reading and writing about the manifesto of Elliot Rodger, the perpetrator of the 2014 Isla Vista killings.
Mak Zoomed with Esquire to discuss how he wrote Mean Boys, the complexity of empathy, returning to his faith, and more. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
ESQUIRE: In your author’s note, you share that you had an audience in mind when writing these essays—your friends. Friendship and its complexity is also a recurring motif within the book. What did writing for your friends allow you to do or feel as you wrote?
GEOFFREY MAK: I think writing to friends guarantees an intimacy in the very premise of the work. When you’re writing to a friend, you often want to please them, make them laugh, or interest them. Friendship is as difficult as any kind of relationship. Sometimes with the writing, I was trying to comfort; sometimes I was trying to entertain; sometimes I was trying to win back or draw someone closer to me. That’s not always the case; there are so many ways to write.
You might write to be understood or celebrated. Of course I want those things too, but I think what I really hope for is intimacy. There’s a very radical and kinky intimacy that I can have with complete strangers [through the writing]. I started a lot of these essays as Facebook notes, and I never thought they would be in a book. Now there are all these strangers reading these pieces of writing I’ve done over the years. I think it’s really cool.
One of the main threads of the book’s title essay, “Mean Boys,” is the psychology of the mass shooter. You do a close reading of the Isla Vista shooter Elliot Rodger’s manifesto and come to empathise with him—you never condone his actions or claim to understand them, but you empathise with aspects of his frustration, anger, and angst. What was it like, taking on this project?
Difficult. When I started writing “Mean Boys,” I didn’t know where it was going. I started with very simple pattern recognition: I saw a Lacoste logo in radically different places [such as photos of Norwegian mass shooter Anders Breivik] and I wondered, Why? I thought it was going to be a short essay where I just wrote about that.
And then one thing led to another, and Rodger came into the essay. We were almost the same age, and I remembered the story so intensely. I was like, Well, I can’t write about Rodger if I don’t read the manifesto. But then when I read it, there was a major discovery, which was that Rodger cared about status more than he cared about sex. I realised I needed to drop everything I was doing and follow the thread. He was just obsessed with being popular. The discovery for me was that status is not the same thing as class and identity. Rodger was half white, so he had that privilege; he was also a trust-fund kid with a lot of inherited wealth, so he had class privilege. But it didn’t translate into status. His life’s wound was that it didn’t happen the way he was told it was supposed to happen. When I discovered this, I needed to redo the whole essay.
What was your reasoning for titling the book Mean Boys?
Early on in the “Mean Boys” essay, I was writing about my brother, who’s a little bit shy and has a lot of social anxiety but is always cracking jokes. I write about him and his high school cohort and that wonderfully bitchy line where he was like, The only reason why you got elected to student government is because you’re my brother. It’s probably true! When I showed him the part about him for the first time, he was like, This is so interesting—you’re writing about mean girls except they’re mean boys. From then onward, I knew that needed to be the title. As I was working through the essays, the title took on a life of its own. I was thinking of how “mean boys” codes as queer, and how when Elliot Rodger uses the term, it’s referring to the bullies at school.
I think the “mean boy” is kind of a sexual figure. It’s complicated, and throughout the book, I’m trying to mine these sometimes queer or sadomasochistic forms of desire that are an extension of violence but also protect us from violence. Who the mean boys [of the book] are is kind of up for debate. One of my friends read it and then said to me, “I don’t think there are any mean boys in here.” Another friend said, “I think there’s only one mean boy in the book and it’s you.” What he meant is that the mean boy gets to write about everything, brings out all of these flaws in other people, and gets to have the final say.
You said the term “mean boys” is queer coded, and I agree, but—why, actually? What about it is coded queer?
The surface reading is that I take the title from Mean Girls, this beloved comedy of just bitchy girls at the lunch table, and imagine bitchy boys there instead. That’s a kind of queering. But for queer men—I think when we’re boys, we grow up attracted to something that is also physically dangerous. Maybe this is going to change in upcoming generations. I obviously didn’t go to school during the era of marriage equality, so when I was young, I desired boys, and if that desire was known, I could get beaten up, ridiculed, shoved into a locker. Desire was never divorced from fear and danger, so these were braided intensely together at a young age.
I mean, it’s mysterious how these things work, but that primal memory of wanting something that I’m afraid of.... [In the book] I write about sadomasochistic fantasies and queer intimacy later in life, and these things have a long lineage and a long life in one’s imagination and fantasies, and to restage childhood feelings of desire in the bedroom is a way of confronting it. But yeah, I do think the title “Mean Boys” makes me think of high school and the locker room and watching boys undress before PE and being so terrified that they would catch me looking.
So-called mean boys have the cachet that allows them to be mean without suffering social or status-related consequences. Do mean boys have an outsize effect on culture?
The looming mean boy over all these essays is Trump. Trump was so distressing to me: watching him wield power in this way, exerting and reinforcing power through meanness. The whole world was watching this! When a child sees things, the child repeats it—were we all going to repeat this? Was this going to be a new age of cruelty?
I do think that mean boys—some of whom aren’t even male—do kind of control the culture. With the art-world section in the title essay, I wanted to really counteract that in a way. I looked at people who are in power in this world, such as Wolfgang Tillmans or Anne Imhof or this anonymous artist that I call L, and I drew out moments of generosity in their portrayals, trying to depict a kind of power that didn’t rely on meanness, that brought out and reinforced generosity.
Sometimes we write an ideal that doesn’t yet exist, but once we write it, it does exist, and then it shapes the world. I think capitalism conditions us to think that this is the only reality, that we’re all in competition and we’re all climbing a ladder and we have to kick down the people beneath us. I think human nature is not inherently a scarcity mindset, not inherently competitive, not inherently greedy. I think it’s inherently generous, and I wanted to bring out those moments in some of these portraits.
You mentioned Rodger’s obsession with status, and in “Mean Boys” you articulate the complexity of that idea—how it’s impossible to prove or describe, but it’s nevertheless felt and acknowledged and recognised. You realise that the problem of status is political but has no political solution. How do you think we should deal with it—individually or collectively?
I think we need to talk about [status] as real. It was a painful, irreducible reality in Elliot Rodger’s life that really drove him to go where he went. Some people like to call [status] social capital, but it’s not a resource; there’s no gold standard of status. It’s unlike class and identity. It’s entirely relational, which makes it so chaotic, so slippery. But we need to start talking about it. We need to believe it’s real.
I’m always suspicious of someone who believes in the equitable distribution of identity, privilege, and capital, but they totally don’t believe in the equitable distribution of status. What if we lived our lives a little bit differently, attuned to the more equitable redistribution of status? I don’t know if that means Trump won’t get elected, but it’ll shape our personal lives. That’s all we can do. I present religion and art not as a solution but as a response to status. They don’t make the problem go away but respond to it on its own terms.
Another theme in the book is your slow return to Christianity but from a much more radical mindset than the Christianity you grew up with. Do you consider yourself a Christian now?
I do. I take it quite seriously. I don’t go to a church, but I have close Christian friends, some of whom are among the best theologians in the country. In Calvinism, there’s this concept of irresistible grace, where the grace is so urgent in your life that you just slide into it. It almost overpowers your will. It kind of felt like that [for me].
A couple of things happened. One, my father really just showed me what a Christian was capable of—the capacity for love, the refusal to close the book on what he was, who he was, and what he was capable of. This persistence of inquiry and learning and really radical humility. I mean, my father is so cool; if my father is this kind of person and he credits Christianity, then that’s something I want in my life. Second, I think most leftist radical queer people would like Christianity a lot if they simply found the right stuff. It’s actually out there: liberation theology, queer theology, the wacky stuff that ties together ancient early Christian apathetic theology with queer theory from the eighties and notions of the apocalypse with Lee Edelman’s No Future. I really gravitated to this stuff, and I found that I could find Christian traditions and theologies and histories and thinkers who grappled with the most important topics of my life.
Many of your essays revolve around the various kinds of excesses you took to when you were in Brooklyn and Berlin’s artistic milieus. Later, during your process of going through the AA steps, you come to appreciate the small mundanities—the beauty that can be found in paying attention to the same things over and over again, like the discovery to be found in the minor shifts of a techno loop. You hint at this coming change early in the book when you write that you found out “where the road of excess goes. It leads to nothing.” Clearly, your sensibilities changed over the years. How much of that was sobriety? How much was simply time passing?
Sobriety is a new way of looking at the world and also a reorientation of time. My sponsor, at the end of each day, would tell me to name three things I did that day for others. One of them was I always unloaded the dishes, period, with no expectation of reciprocation. It’s funny; it took Alcoholics Anonymous to teach me how to make my bed. I wasn’t somebody who did that, but my sponsor was like, You need to learn to make your bed every single morning. And I got into the habit, and now I do. These rituals that drove me really insane [at first] were a way of fastening attention onto the daily, the forgettable, the unremarkable.
Where do you feel that you are now in terms of your understanding of excess and mundanity? Do they have to be at odds?
I just finished this great book, With My Back to the World, a poetry collection by Victoria Chang, and it’s all about Agnes Martin’s paintings, which are just grids. I find these paintings devastatingly beautiful, and the collection is about how after the death of [Chang’s] father, she turns to these grids and finds freedom, love, and beauty in them.
I see [the simultaneity of excess and mundanity] in Agnes Martin’s paintings, like Night Sea. It’s this vast expanse of blue, and the grids are laid in gold foil. So you have this total indulgence and then complete austerity. I think this is a visual metaphor of many, many things in all of our lives. I think about the hours before my grandmother died, the hours I spent at her bedside, and I would feel so guilty checking my watch to see how much time had passed, because inadvertently I was asking, So when’s she going to die? I was bored out of my mind. It was excruciating; she wasn’t doing anything. But were those some of the most flagrantly beautiful and treasured hours of my life? Absolutely. No question about it.
Originally published on Esquire US
It is always interesting acquainting with someone for the first time, celebrity status notwithstanding. Largely because you never know which version of them you're meeting. No one maintains an utterly identical self while meandering through the varied seasons of life.
I would like to believe it's a good moment in Justin H. Min's timeline to meet him. He's not quite a household name yet, but it's more than fair to say he's on the better side of fame. Most would predominantly know him as Ben Hargreeves aka The Horror or his alternate self, Sparrow Number Two from The Umbrella Academy. Hardcore fans may even recognise him from his stint with Wong Fu Productions.
At this juncture, we're discussing his latest release on Disney+, The Greatest Hits. The premise takes relatability quite so literally. Ever felt like listening to a particular song transported you back in time? It actually does for female protagonist Harriett, for whom the act has now become an obsessive plan to potentially undo her lover's ultimate death.
Min plays the new man Harriett encounters, whose existence inevitably forces her to make that fateful decision. A choice (no spoilers!) he still doesn't quite know if he would have made the same way, despite heavy contemplation.
"It's a movie about the exploration of grief, and I was grieving a friend that I lost when I received the script," he shares. "It's amazing that I can do art that resounds with me on a very personal level, often at a very specific time in my life the last few years."
Not one with dream genres in mind, the only litmus test Min has is the emotional connection to the material that comes his way; because why would you put your heart and soul into something you are not passionate about?
One character that naturally surfaces is Ben from Randall Park's Shortcomings. If actors enjoy playing roles vastly apart from themselves to have a distinct divide, the highly-flawed and insecure Ben was terrifying for Min.
"The joke when I talk about him is that's who I was before therapy," he chuckles lightly, "He did feel so close to me in many ways that it was very vulnerable. Other characters I could hide behind different qualities that make up the person, but this felt raw sharing a lot of my own brokenness."
Ben, who finds his source in Adrian Tomine's graphic novel of the same name, feels unnervingly like someone you might know in real life. Which begs the question: exactly which traits did Min see in himself most?
"He has a strong sense of what he likes and doesn't. His taste in movies is very elevated, and yet he is unable to produce the kind of art that he loves because he's paralysed by his own perfectionism," Min says, explaining a similar revelation in his early aspirational phase, "You have to be willing to put yourself out there, do the work required to build a portfolio and hopefully reach where your taste and your art aligns."
Experience also puts crappy shows in a new perspective. "We can all watch and say it's so bad but we don't know how many things were needed to work out perfectly for it to be done right."
Min agrees that actors often only have the script—a fraction of the final product—to gauge; the execution you can only hope for the best. "That's why when I see a movie now and dislike it, I have so much more compassion than I used to."
However, one special script did make him cry. Not a cinematic singular-tear-down-the-cheek, but unapologetic sobbing on the plane.
"First of all, I would disclaim that by saying some of that was due to altitude," he clears his throat semi-sheepishly and grins, adding that he's not one to cry much but later discovered that heightened sentimentalism during transit is universal. In his defence, this theory has been widely supported by several psychiatric articles and reported stats.
See, the thing about After Yang (which if anything, you should watch solely for that rad dance break at the beginning) is not your typical robot flick. We don't just mean because it's an A24 starring Colin Farrell.
"Majority of android films and TV is always about the robot wanting to become human, and the thing I was so moved by was that Yang was so content being a robot. So content with serving his family and found so much reverence and dignity in doing his duty."
"It's kind of that Asian immigrant mentality that I think really struck a chord. The idea that my parents have no other joy than to see their kids succeed, you know? That's why a lot of immigrant parents move to America, for their kids to have a better life."
Min trips on his words for a split-second and continues, "I thought about my parents and it broke my heart because I want more for them? My mom owned a [dry cleaning business] for 20 years, my dad worked at a supermarket and they were just perfectly happy doing that. Anything to keep our family afloat; for my brother and I to have a future."
It's beyond evident that family and his Asian roots are dear to the actor's heart. Presented the hypothetical chance to access anyone's memories the way Yang's was, there wasn't much hesitation.
"I love my parents and they've been so great, but as much as we try to meet each other where we're at, there's always gonna be a fundamental disconnection because of the difference in where we were born and raised," he muses.
"There's also seeing your parents as this sort of omnipotent superheroes who are always there to take care of you and don't really have ambitions and feelings of their own. I think navigating my mom's world through her eyes could give me that much more empathy for her as a human."
Besides that instance where we as children awaken to the fact that our parents knew us our whole lives, but we perhaps only know them for half of theirs, there were other aspects the movie confronted him to consider more critically.
"The ever-evolving question I'm constantly ruminating on is: If I ever have kids, what part of my Asian identity would I want to pass down? Would I go as far as Korean New Year traditions? I don't even know enough myself to feel like I can accurately teach them… so there's no easy answer."
Still, it doesn't matter whether his Asian identity is at the forefront of his acting. It's as much fun to deep dive into the dialogue as it is simply left as a subtle nod. Min is content to work with the people he admires, participate in discourses about said work and is at peace with current circumstances.
Witnessing peers that he entered the industry with leave; the opportunity to sustain a decent living post-pandemic post-strikes; doing what he loves without countless side jobs as he used to, is in itself, career success.
It's surely been a roller coaster ride since cutting his teeth on The Umbrella Academy, which sees its culmination this August. To summarise, that's going from recurring character to series regular; from bidding the cast farewell to screaming in his Toronto apartment when he read the secret new script that brought him back.
"And before Netflix, no one was dealt fame in such rapid ascension. Even with the biggest stars, you were watched all around the globe in a gradual rollout. Whereas now you're instantly in 190 countries with millions watching. I don't think enough people talk about how crazy that is."
These days, catching a break between press tours and role-prep, Min has retreated to his happy place—alone in nature.
"I've been slowly ticking national parks off my list," he recounts the most recent being Arches National Park, but Redwoods is one he finds himself returning to. "There's something about the grandeur of those trees that just makes me feel so small in the best way possible; and acknowledge that these ‘huge problems' in my head really aren't that big of a deal."
Success on an individual level though, is something he ponders long to define.
When Colin Farrell called you beautiful, I proffer, gaining a merry burst of laughter.
"Exactly, such a core memory in my life now," he humours, referring to the very first time the two met. On a serious note, he goes, "Sounds cliché but living more authentically. By that I mean figuring out more about myself, my values and hopefully learning to live by them."
Who would the authentic Justin H. Min be?
The man who was once less confident and perchance a little more self-centred, or the one before me; who carries an open, positive energy that you can see why he resonates with crews and audiences alike. Who was previously a photojournalist, but whose fascination with the stories of others persists in his curiosity towards mine through the two-way conversation that the interview eventually became.
The actor who resolved from the onset to have his middle initial be present in his stage name because he feels tethered to his Korean identity. Yet was not aware of what "Hong Kee" means (he's convinced it was a phonetic preference his parents had rather than significant symbolism …but he's going to check with them after this).
The child of immigrants, who recalls Celine Dion's It's All Coming Back To Me Now as one of three albums playing in the car on family road trips. Who abides by the culture that surrounds him, who reflects on essential truths when in the forests and in the air; to imbue its amalgamation in his craft, and one day, in his children who would look back and wonder what the world was like through his eyes.
Photography: Art Streiber
Fashion Direction: Asri Jasman
Art Direction: Joan Tai
Styling: Oretta Corbelli
Producer: Cezar Grief at COOL HUNT INC
Grooming: Aika Flores at EXCLUSIVE ARTISTS using SKIN 1004 and ORIBE
Styling Assistant: Alessandra Mai Vinh
Location: Downtown LA Proper Hotel
