Bret Easton Ellis doesn't want your likes. He really doesn't. In fact, if you’re looking at his 2019 nonfiction debut White, you'll quickly realize he finds the very concept of "likability" to be a kind of modern cancer. It’s a book that arrived like a brick through a plate-glass window, and years later, the glass is still shattered on the floor.
People got mad. Really mad.
When White by Bret Easton Ellis hit the shelves, the backlash was instantaneous. Critics called it a "misguided rant." They called him a "dinosaur." Some even suggested he’d finally lost the icy, satirical edge that made American Psycho a masterpiece. But if you actually sit down and read the thing—past the provocative title and the "Generation Wuss" labels—you find something much more complicated. It’s not just a grumpy old man shouting at the internet. It’s a deeply felt, often messy defense of art over ideology.
Why the title White by Bret Easton Ellis is such a trap
Let’s address the elephant in the room. The title. It’s bait. Ellis has admitted as much in interviews. He chose it partly to poke at the obsessive way we categorize people by race and identity today. But it’s also literal. He’s talking about the "white" noise of social media, the blankness of corporate-approved culture, and yes, his own position as a white Gen X man looking at a world he no longer recognizes.
Honestly, if you go into this book expecting a political manifesto, you’re going to be disappointed. Ellis isn't a policy guy. He doesn't care about tax brackets or healthcare plans. He cares about aesthetics.
He’s obsessed with how things look, how they feel, and whether they have "heat." In his view, the modern world has become cold. We’ve traded the messy, dangerous passion of the 1970s for a sanitized, "liked" version of reality. He calls this the transition from the "Empire" to the "Post-Empire."
The Empire of the 1970s vs. The Digital Coddling
The first third of the book is basically a love letter to his childhood. It’s arguably the best part. He describes growing up in the 1970s as a time of "benign neglect." Parents didn't hover. Kids watched movies they definitely weren't supposed to see.
- 1970s Cinema: Gritty, dark, and often nihilistic.
- The Lesson: Life is unfair, people are cruel, and nobody is coming to save you.
- The Result: A generation (Gen X) that Ellis claims is more resilient because they weren't shielded from the world's "dark heart."
He contrasts this with what he calls "Generation Wuss." This isn't just a dig at Millennials; it’s a critique of a culture that treats every minor slight like a trauma. You’ve probably seen the Twitter dogpiles he talks about. He describes an "overreaction epidemic" where everyone is performing a version of themselves that is designed to be morally beyond reproach.
The Problem with "Corporate" Likeability
One of the most interesting arguments in White by Bret Easton Ellis is his obsession with the word "corporate." He uses it as a catch-all for anything he finds boring or censored. To Ellis, "corporate" isn't just about big companies; it’s a mindset.
It’s the person who deletes a tweet because it got three negative comments. It’s the director who changes a movie ending to please a focus group. It’s the "corporate-gay" culture that he feels has traded the radicalism of the past for a seat at the table of respectability.
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He even takes aim at the anti-Trump movement. Not because he likes Trump—he’s stated repeatedly he didn't vote for him—but because he finds the "hysteria" of the resistance to be aesthetically annoying. He views the constant outrage as a form of performance. To him, the "resistance" is just another way for people to signal how good and "likable" they are.
Kanye West and the "Dragon Energy" Moment
Remember when Kanye West went on his pro-Trump spiral? Ellis devotes a significant chunk of the book to defending him. Not the politics, but the act of being unmanageable.
He saw in Kanye a fellow artist who refused to follow the script. He admired the "dragon energy." Whether you think Kanye was having a breakdown or making a point, Ellis’s take is consistent: he’d rather see a mess than a curated lie. He believes that by demanding artists be "role models," we are effectively killing art.
Is White actually a memoir in disguise?
Despite the polemic tone, the book is surprisingly personal. He talks about his "slight coke problem" in the early 2000s. He talks about the seizure he had while his boyfriend was away. He talks about the stalker who haunted him.
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These aren't just gossipy tidbits. They’re meant to show that he’s just as messy and "un-PC" as the world he describes. He recounts a dinner party where he criticized the "aesthetics" of Black Lives Matter and a friend exploded in a "spastic rage." Ellis tells the story not to prove he was right, but to show how impossible it has become to have a conversation that isn't governed by "correct" opinions.
"The greatest crime being perpetrated in this new world is that of stamping out passion and silencing the individual."
That’s the crux of the whole book. He’s terrified of a world where everyone thinks the same because they’re too scared not to.
How to read White without losing your mind
If you want to get any value out of White by Bret Easton Ellis, you have to stop reading it as a political text. It’s a book by a novelist. Novelists are interested in voices, masks, and the distance between what we say and what we feel.
- Ignore the partisan framing. He’s not a Republican. He’s an elitist who misses the 70s.
- Look for the film criticism. His takes on American Gigolo and the "male gaze" are actually brilliant.
- Read it as a sequel to American Psycho. If Patrick Bateman was an aging author with a Twitter account, he’d probably write something like this.
The book is undeniably uneven. It’s repetitive. It sounds like a podcast transcript in places (probably because much of it was developed on his podcast). It’s 272 pages of "wine talk" with that one friend who refuses to stop being "edgy."
But it also feels honest. In a world of PR-scrubbed celebrity memoirs, there’s something refreshing about a guy who is willing to look like a jerk just to prove a point about freedom of speech.
Actionable Takeaways for the "Post-Empire" Reader
You don't have to agree with Ellis to find value in his skepticism. If you're feeling exhausted by the digital grind, here is how you can apply the "White" philosophy—minus the cynicism:
- Evaluate art on its own terms. Try to watch a movie or read a book without checking the "Rotten Tomatoes" score or the social media consensus first. What do you actually think?
- Resist the urge to perform. Before you post that "correct" opinion on a trending topic, ask if you're doing it because you believe it or because you want to be "liked."
- Embrace the mess. Understand that people—and art—are allowed to be contradictory, problematic, and unlikable.
- Log off. Ellis’s biggest moments of "irrational annoyance" happened while he was hunched over a screen. The world usually looks a lot more human when you're standing in it.
White by Bret Easton Ellis is a flawed, frustrating, and occasionally brilliant look at our current moment. It might make you want to throw the book across the room. But in a culture of "safe" ideas, maybe that’s exactly what a book is supposed to do.
To really understand the context of his shift to nonfiction, your next step should be to look back at his 1985 debut Less Than Zero. Comparing the numb, detached teenagers of the 80s to the "over-sensitive" millennials he describes in White offers a fascinating look at how his perspective on youth and culture has inverted over forty years. It's also worth checking out his recent 2023 novel The Shards, which returns to his fiction roots but carries a lot of the same nostalgic dread found in his essays.