Cameras are just a part of life here in Hidden Hills, like horses and contractors, and Disick’s bearing suggests that he long ago learned how to live with them. When he enters the house, he seems tired, dogged by a nagging cough, but as soon as we sit down and the camera turns on, he goes to work.
As he talks in his slow, high-pitched drawl, he often bangs the table, less for emphasis than accompaniment. He’s the kind of guy whose beard, now that he has one, seems like such an appropriate and essential part of his vibe that seeing pictures of him before it is viscerally upsetting, like looking at a shaved animal. And his blue eyes are really very mesmerizing; as I look at them, I find myself wondering if the Kardashian cast’s collective secret isn’t that they’ve mastered some subtle art of hypnosis.
Back to Talentless. Talentless sells hoodies and sweats and cargo pants and T-shirts: comfortable clothes. The brand is a literal capstone to the style evolution that Disick himself has undergone, alongside the rest of the world.
“I still have friends in New York, and 20 years ago, they were telling me, you couldn’t even go to a business meeting with scruff or a beard: you were not looked at, you were not clean cut,” Disick says. “Now, you’ve got people rolling into offices with beards down to their balls, T-shirts, and they’re tech billionaires.”
Disick’s former resemblance to Patrick Bateman has been so thoroughly exhausted as a concept, serious or comic, that he even shot a send-up of the scene in which Christian Bale takes an axe to Jared Leto, though by then, he’d already grown the beard, which ruined the effect a bit. But these days, he looks more like an off-duty Jake Gyllenhaal than he does a college kid dressing up for Halloween. He looks like what he is, which is a handsome rich guy in LA with a clothing brand.
As office casual took over the world, Disick saw an opportunity to launch the kind of brand that would reflect his new image and lifestyle—and, more importantly, that he could design. The opportunity to put his name on things had never been a hard one to find, and it’s one that he’s taken advantage of, as a quick scroll through his Instagram will reveal. This was different, the opportunity to put his name underneath something.
“You always hear people playing new music and trying to find their way,” he says. “For me, you know, play the hits. I just like to listen to what I know; movies, the same. So for me, I wanted to do what felt normal. I wear sweatshirts, I wear T-shirts, I wear cargo pants, I wear comfortable pants. So I figured, let me make a business, try to make it just as great as anything you see in a high-end department store, but for half the price.”
In the process, he ran into the peculiar nature of pricing clothes: if you make things too cheap, then people don’t want them, because they’re cheap; if you make them too expensive, then you’re selling $400 sweatshirts. Disick can afford that, but not all of the people who follow him on Instagram can, nor does he think they should have to. “I think it’s absolutely a mockery how expensive clothing has gotten,” Disick says, sounding impressively sincere for a guy who has a mirrored cradle of suede boots in his closet. “That’s why I wanted to create something that had the same kind of feel, but just some kind of normalcy in price.” (Hoodies run $128; three percent of every Talentless sale goes to the nonprofit Fuck Cancer.)