I Finally Bought Some Jordans

January 1, 2024
A bestselling author muses on reaching maturity in an era of decline and chaos. In this follow-up to I Don't Want To Die Poor and I Can't Date Jesus, Arceneaux reflects on being a "geriatric" Black millennial who has survived--his trademark humor darker but more or less intact--the many upheavals of the early 21st century. One of the main disrupters he explores is the pandemic, which left him reeling from the death and disorder it brought into his life. In response, he sought normalcy however he could, even if it meant defying lockdown orders to visit his barber. Gallows humor on display, he writes, "I [got] fades to feel alive." While the pandemic took away part of his 30s, a six-figure debt that included student loans had overwhelmed him in his 20s. His success as a writer helped get him out of debt, but racism and climate change stood in the way of achieving other goals, such as home ownership. Unless he found a house in a white neighborhood and "put pictures of white people in the house should I want to sell it," his property would be regarded as less valuable. If he chose to settle in Los Angeles, he would be in a region vulnerable to earthquakes, flooding, and extreme drought. Arceneaux finds relief from anxiety through art, especially the music of Beyonc�, his "Lord and Gyrator." He may be growing older in unforgiving times, but her music still reminds him that "there is so much joy and life to have, no matter the age." Arceneaux's latest essays are still as pointed and funny as those from his earlier books. At the same time, they also reflect the angst of a young generation forced to navigate the unprecedented new realities of a changing planet. A mordantly irreverent essay collection.

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Starred review from January 22, 2024
The distinctive voice of essayist Arceneaux (I Don’t Want to Die Poor) enlivens his agile latest collection. “Please Unblock Me, Toni Braxton” discusses how Arceneaux’s rising profile over the past several years has led to sometimes awkward interactions with such celebrities as Don Lemon and Kevin Hart, whom he’s written critically about. “How It Feel Outside?” strikes a more soulful tone, meditating on how talking about such mundane topics as the weather allows Arceneaux to maintain his relationship with his alcoholic father and religious mother, whom he sometimes struggles to hold more personal conversations with because they remain reluctant to acknowledge that he’s gay. In the standout “DMJ,” Arceneaux uses an annoying neighbor who frequently woke him up after getting locked out of her apartment as a springboard to interrogate the complex relationships that result from living in cities, reporting that while he bonded with two neighbors on his Harlem block who “functioned like play-aunties,” he was exhausted by the constant noise (first of neighbors fighting, then of sirens as the pandemic set in) and decided to move to California. Arceneaux’s acerbic wit sizzles (to those who questioned why he relocated to wildfire-prone L.A., he responds, “At least I have a lovely view of a burning world”), and he balances the humor with heartfelt reflection. This packs a punch. Agent: Jim McCarthy, Dystel, Goderich & Bourret.

Starred review from February 15, 2024
Arceneaux's (I Don't Want to Die Poor, 2020) third compendium of essays is his keenest and best yet, informed by the clarity of priorities that comes with making art in our era of public health disaster and racial reckoning. Arceneaux is a hilarious and brilliant analyst of culture, for whom the pandemic blurred the boundaries between personal emotional experience and entertainment. As he writes, art consumed at an emotional height hits differently. He's unafraid of nuance, happy to debate Obama's progressivism or wax poetic about both loving and needing distance from home. He saw Jeremy O. Harris' Slave Play before the pandemic but declined an invite to a production after. His work from the last three years traverses of-the-moment ground like the January 6th insurrection, ice storms in Texas, adult victims of No Child Left Behind, American entitlement toward service workers, ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response), and more. Arceneaux writes about the 2020s with details familiar to all who've lived through them: fear, grief, PPE. The rapid identity breakdowns and bursts of confusing joy Arceneaux writes of will live on, too, in the record of this twisted time. Arceneaux's writing is a kind friend on the phone and his seek-and-ye-shall-find approach to pleasure and contentment is alive and contagious.

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