We’ve joked over the years about whether Mama Kris was slowly reshaping Kylie in Kim’s image — like a 2.0 version for when Kim got tired — but never has it felt truer than in this photo. (It backfired, of course, when Kylie got pregnant and retreated from the public eye right after Kim got robbed and also decided to slow it down… but then again, Kylie is also, as this story posits, possibly the richest of the Jenndashians, with the most successful company. So Kris’s master plan may work out just fine.) I have never seen Kylie’s angles play so eerily like they are Kim’s, from her body to her cheeks to her chest to her nose. As if they are just churning out cookie-cutter people now, and she was the last one off the assembly line. I don’t intend that to be unfair to Kylie; I actually feel some sympathy for her. It cannot have been easy being born into a family that needed more cast members, you know? But I wonder who she would’ve been if she were not so clearly New Kim. A strategy that didn’t work out so well for New Coke.
It’s interesting that the headline near Travis is “American Hostage,” because he does look like he’s there against his will. The story is… not GQ’s best work. It’s terrible. The writer and the article both want us to believe Kylie and Travis are this hipper-than-hip, slicker-than-slick power duo, but the entire seemingly unintentional undercurrent is that Travis is super disconnected from all this and so they have to sell hard. Per Kylie:
“For sure, I know he doesn’t like the attention. That’s why we just go the extra mile to keep our relationship super private, or like, if he has events or something, I won’t come. Because I want him to do his own thing. I want him to be him. I don’t want it to be Kylie and Trav. If people don’t ever see us together, that’s okay with me, because we just do our thing.”
This feels like hilarious spin to me — the idea that if we never see them together, ever, it’s a selfless act of love because otherwise he won’t self-actualize? Riiiight. Sure. “If our relationship seems like it doesn’t exist, it’s only because I don’t think he can cope with not being the biggest deal in the relationship.” Wait, actually, that sounds more plausible. She should just have said that. This whole thing seems like a teen pregnancy being twisted into something falsely epic with a dude who isn’t very present. Given that her boyfriend prior to this was Tyga, who had a disheveled Kylie lookalike waiting for her morning-after Uber outside his rental house right when we showed up to profile him for Du Jour (a piece of which we are, incidentally, very proud), I don’t have a lot of faith in Kylie’s choices.
Speaking of choices: Travis got super, super lucky with this one, because the dude who wrote the article is a Travis Scott Megafan and also can peer into his soul. Please behold:
Travis says he wants to play basketball. He puts together a crew of cool kids and gets Nike to let them take over its new Midtown indoor court. How fun, people say to me. But I know better. I know Travis’s intensity isn’t voluntary. It can’t be tempered or diluted simply because a reporter is in the room. He’s like parkour personified—on bath salts.
Parkour on bath salts? Whatever, dude. And that “I know better” annoys me beyond measure, as does what becomes an ongoing undercurrent in this story about Travis Scott’s energy and genius, which is simply laid out for us to consume:
Travis hates anything that slows him down. (He even hates restaurants; the man despises wasting time in restaurants.) And he admits that he’s “impatient as a motherfucker” during photo shoots, despite really liking the end result. But it isn’t simply young angst that makes hurry-up-and-wait painful for Travis. It’s “la flame”—the internal fire, the rage, “the piss,” as he calls it, aggression in its funnest form. It’s why Travis, a decade into a notoriously energetic career, has made his case for having the best live show in hip-hop history.
He’s been around for a decade?!? Have I been old that ENTIRE TIME? Boy, do I feel unplugged right now. I do not trust my own judgment on this, because I’m old and too tired for people who leave bloody handprints on ceilings, but I also had never heard of him until he fathered Kylie’s child. If he were truly history’s greatest hip-hop artisan, wouldn’t I know more about him just from the fact that I spend so much of my day on the Internet?
And the thing is, the photos do not transmit any of this Parkour In Man Form energy at all. I understand — it’s made clear from the jump – that Travis doesn’t like posing for photos. Unfortunately, he can’t hide that. He looks bored and flat, and when he doesn’t, it’s because he comes across as if he’s mega-baked (the story does mention he brought a ginormous back of potent weed with him). I guess none of that matters because have you heard that Travis is the greatest performer ever to swallow air?
Travis is currently positioned to make the best album of his career. As this generation’s most electric hip-hop headliner, he’ll be able to sell out a tour and incite riots across the world for the foreseeable future. But this will be the homecoming album the kids and critics have been waiting for.
[T]heir second date, by all definitions, was anything but normal. They caught the wave. Kylie Jenner—and nearly 100 million followers of hers—just abandoned her life in California and took off on tour with Travis Scott. “Coachella was one of the stops on his tour,” she explains. “So he said, ‘I’m going back on tour—what do we want to do about this?’ Because we obviously liked each other.” What do we want to do about this? That’s an early-2000s Matthew McConaughey big-screen-heartthrob line. Holy shit.
“Holy shit”? Really? It’s not that good of a line, dude. It could as easily refer to their Carl’s Jr. leftovers.
The story flirts briefly with Kylie’s cosmetics genius — the best she can offer is that she started it because makeup makes her happy — but then otherwise obsesses over the Kardashian Kurse about whether they all ruin the men in their lives. I understand that GQ is a men’s magazine, by and large, but it makes no bones about worrying about Kylie only in the sense of whether she is going to destroy Travis Scott’s high octane Red Bull parkour wave vibe of perfection.
People say you and your sisters destroy the men in your lives. But my theory is, maybe it’s just extremely difficult to fly this close to the sun. You were built for this level of celebrity—Travis and the other men weren’t.
That’s exactly what it is. They come and can’t handle it.
How do you make sure that Travis doesn’t burn out?
Because she’s his caretaker, y’all!!!!! Truly, the whole thing is a sad, weird trip. Read on if you dare.