If you needed a guide to our current age’s excesses and infirmities, you could do a lot worse than tagging along with Geoffrey Mak. Regularly descending into the maelstrom of drugs, fashion, sex, art, and raves, and emerging to pen limpid dispatches for The New Yorker or Paris Review, Mak remembers those nights most others would prefer to forget. His debut book, Mean Boys, a memoir in essays, shows him at his unembarrassable best, writing openly about personal indignities, musing on the idea of paranoia as our era’s defining sensibility, and even daring to show empathy for psychotic edgelords. Who better to unravel a list of his least favorite things than this maestro of the immoderate? —George Pendle
Least favorite color? Periwinkle blue.
Least favorite number? The death count in Gaza.
Least favorite team? Devil’s advocate.
Book you never finished? My Struggle, by Karl Ove Knausgaard, and you didn’t either.
Film you walked out of? The Wolf of Wall Street.
Song you never want to hear again? “New York, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down,” by LCD Soundsystem.
Character from history you most dislike? Coco Chanel in her Nazi era.
Item of clothing you would never wear? Anything by Aimé Leon Dore.
Worst form of transport?
The G train at four in the morning.
Preferred form of revenge? Autofiction.
Favorite swear word? Jesus Fucking Christ.
Your idea of misery? Not being able to leave a party exactly when you want to.
Thing you said, but wish you hadn’t? “Love is only real if it can be taken for granted.”
Thing you didn’t say, but wish you had? “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”
Worst advice you’ve ever got? “If it’s cheaper than a gram of coke, you should probably just buy it.”
Worst advice you’ve ever given? “You can get away with anything, as long as you’re cute about it.”
Last words before execution? “Cancel my Dropbox subscription.”
Geoffrey’s Inessentials
