And then a guy in a white tuxedo jacket walks in, and even after Schuman introduces him, there are definitely some people who don’t know who the guy in the white tuxedo jacket is or what he does for a living, which is funny, because the guy in the white tuxedo jacket is Kanye West. Kanye is late. In addition to the jacket, Kanye’s wearing a tan scarf. A gold-and-diamond grill flashes on his bottom front teeth. He’s got a four-man video crew with him, but they hang respectfully back; all things being equal, it’s a fairly subtle entrance, Kanye-wise. What’s interesting is that once he’s seated—next to Terron Schaefer, executive vice president and chief creative officer of Saks—Kanye goes quiet for a minute, forks up straccetti from a plate that has materialized before him as if teleported there, and chews it meditatively. He’s listening. Apparently the genius switch actually does have an “off” position, or at least a dimmer. How many times a year is Kanye in a room where he’s not the center of attention, not counting those moments when he’s in a room with Jay-Z or Oprah? Five times? Three? This is proof that on some level Schuman has actually altered the polarity of the universe, that he can create a room where this is the case, where being Luciano Barbera is as important as being Kanye West.
…
“I was saying completely off-the-wall shit,” Kanye tells me on his way out the door. “Just shit that nobody believes in but me.” He asks not to be quoted on any of it, then tells me, “Scott gave me my first opportunity to be photographed in a different light than the normal rap way. So anytime Scott does anything, I don’t care where I am in the world, I’ll be there.”
—
Obviously, as the kind of irredeemable fan who will find a way to fit Kanye into any piece of writing that is in any way related (which made my Bon Iver analysis in 2008 look very prescient in 2010 though!), I am drawn to this passage of this excellent Sartorialist profile in GQ. But in addition to liking this because hopefully it means that Alex Pappademas has a similar Kanye fixation and because of all the fantastic details about this scene, I find this really interesting for what it shows about Kanye that I think is important and that a lot of people fail to appreciate: namely, that Kanye wants so badly to be seen as more than just a rapper, and he has largely made it possible for rappers to aspire to do this in a society that is pretty quick to put any type of black performer in the box of “rapper” and be done with it. I mean, beyond all the rap thinkpiece points to be made about the ASAP Rockys and Drakes of the world, I can personally say that Kanye’s blog (circa 2008) is what led me to the Sartorialist and its associated fashion world. And that has (through subsequent avenues of interest and blah blah blah) probably had some effect on how I see myself and my own understanding of masculinity, etc. So this is one reason why I, personally, like Kanye West a lot. It is pretty cool that he has this relationship with the fashion world, even if a lot of people take it as a joke (which, whatever, a lot of currently prominent designers were also a joke when they started, and, also, it’s not like Kanye doesn’t have something to fall back on). And this profile sheds a little light on that. Also, I feel like the Sartorialist portraits of Kanye are seriously iconic images, but that’s just my opinion.
Finally, outside of the Kanye stuff, I’ll add that I really liked this profile, and it is fantastically written, and that you should read it. As much as I really liked that Chris Evans GQ profile last year, I’ve gotten a little tired of their go-to method of celebrity profiles that are about the process of profiling someone, so it’s nice to read a profile that is just really really well-written (like, a couple of head-turningly great paragraphs, as well as just really nicely structured) and that does a wonderful job of laying out the conflicts surrounding the Sartorialist’s status. So yeah, anyway, I didn’t mean to write that much about this, but I really liked this profile.
