My Afternoon with Patrick Bateman’s Cousin

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The following is an excerpt from a piece originally featured on The Style Con:

“You got anyone you can set Vance up with?”

I’m sitting on a set of patio furniture likely worth more than what I make in a year, basking in the unadulterated sun that this mansion’s 80 sprawling acres of land provides. A drop of sweat slides down my torso to settle near my waist. I look at Vance. I look at his friends. I consult my mental Rolodex of girls I hate enough to set up with this person.

“No.”

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Never Fall in Love with a Street Style Star: Part 2

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The following is a piece originally featured on The Style Con:

The bar’s in Williamsburg, occupying an odd slice of an intersection separating a handful of Polish delis, a denim shop, a decrepit video store that supposedly sells coke. It’s a local spot, a nice enough place with open windows and pretty terrible food. You wouldn’t commute out here specifically from Manhattan, and that’s why when I look up at our newest addition to the group, my mouth unattractively wrapped over the end of a fish taco, and see Henry O’Toole standing there in his three-piece suit and his raggedy beard, my blood slows to a crawl—heavy, leaden, resigned to yet another awkward three hours of my life.

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