The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,50
or out of shape, but everything that girls like about guys wasn’t there. I wasn’t confident in myself at all. I didn’t dress nice, I had bad posture, I didn’t have a great body even though I was tall. So once I fixed myself, I looked at the traits I’d changed to get women to react differently to me, and every one of them had to do with ramping up my masculinity.”
It’s starting to make sense now. All of it. His douche meter is dropping by the second.
“So you’re not just trying to fool insecure guys?”
“Fool, no. There’s no click-bait and nothing I’m telling them that I don’t believe myself. But don’t me wrong, it isn’t a charity, it’s a business. Once I saw that men responded to leadership, that whole Pack Leader business was born, and when the channel really started picking up steam is when I started launching products and writing books. That’s when the money started rolling in.”
It’s interesting hearing him talk about his motivations. The more he talks, the more I feel like I’ve had him wrong this whole time. But I’m not totally there yet.
“Have I satisfied your curiosity yet?” he asks.
“Almost. A little. Not quite.”
He smiles. I like that he has no problem with me interrogating him. “So ask me more questions then. I’ll answer anything you want to know until you feel comfortable.”
“Is this. . .” I stop, thinking exactly how I want to phrase this. “Is this what you always wanted to do, or want to do? Do you imagine yourself teaching guys how to shave, where to shop, and how to talk to girls for the rest of your life? Or is there something else?”
This one stumps him a little. I can see it. The rest of the answers were just history—the what, when, how questions—but this one is asking something else, and I can tell that he wasn’t expecting a question he actually has to think about.
“Hmmm,” he says.
“Hmmm?” I mock.
“No,” he says. It’s a little shocking to hear. I was expecting a yes. “I mean, I don’t have a timeframe or anything. I don’t know how long I’ll do this. Right now, it affords me the kind of life I like to live, and I don’t see myself giving that up anytime soon.”’
“That’s understandable.” I can tell how well he does. I do well, and I’m nowhere near as popular as he is. He has all the signs of making a lot of money, but I noticed he doesn’t really talk about it much. He has nice clothes from high end stores, a really nice, spacious Manhattan apartment, and even a nice car that he pays garage space for most days.
“But, to tell you the truth, it’s the psychology of what I do that interests me.”
“Not the fame and influence?” I joke.
“I do like that, but that’s not why I started my channel. I like being able to help people, and to help them I have to convince them to listen to me and believe that I know what I’m talking about.”
“So why did you say no to my question then?”
“Because I’ve always wanted to go back and get a Masters in Psychology—maybe even more than that. Sounds out of character, but I’ve always wanted to go back to school.”
I want to be sarcastic—it’s kind of my go-to in serious situations, but I hold myself back. “I think that’s really cool, Conor. You should definitely do that.”
“Sounds nice, but who has time? Between shooting vlogs, editing, appearances, panels, signings—there’s barely time to do what I do now. I can’t imagine having to go to classes and write papers.”
“I bet you’d be great. You could definitely do it, you’d just have to make time.”
“You think so?”
“I really do. You shouldn’t limit yourself in any way. That’s what I did for a long time. I told myself that all I could do in this YouTube world was to be the editor for one of the most popular vloggers and podcasters on Earth, and for a long time most of my time was devoted to that.”
“So what changed?”
“That popular vlogger and podcaster. . .”
“You can just say ‘Tori’,” he jokes. “We both know who you’re talking about.”
“Don’t try to out-sarcasm me, okay? Men much better at it than you have tried and failed.”
“Sorry,” he concedes.
“It’s okay. Anyhow. . . Tori told me that I should branch out on my own—go from backup singer to lead vocalist of my own band, so to