The Books Men Read (And Why It Matters)
A few words and articles on going from reality TV to book clubs, Atlanta's rap revival, and the gatekeepers who shape what we read.
Happy Sunday 💖 Welcome back to A Few Minutes, your weekly syllabus for thinking through culture's biggest headlines, featuring articles, links, and the occasional essay.
This weekend, I went to Laguna Beach, and it reminded me that long weekends are made for the beach. Problems don't disappear, but they feel more manageable when you're eating something hearty by the water.
A must-try in Laguna Beach is Active Culture, a health food spot with an amazing house-made nutritional yeast sauce that somehow makes everything taste like it’s good for you—and actually be good for you.
Breaking news: Men read more than How to Win Friends and Influence People.
I can't stop thinking about Jeremiah from Love Island's book club. A Love Island contestant starting a book club shouldn't be revolutionary, but here we are.
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I want to date a man who reads fiction. On most first dates, I ask what the last book they read was—kind of like how Serena from last season asks Kordell if he listened to podcasts as her version of an “Is he an incel?” test. (I have nothing against podcasts; I produce them for a living, but that's my version of that question.) I cannot stand men who are obsessed with self-help books.
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This brings me to Jeremiah from this season—yes, the one who was voted off because castmate Ace couldn't handle the competition.
He's started a book club. On the show, we learned he's a bit of a nerd. His favorite movie is Ponyo, so this checks out. In his Instagram broadcast channel, he's letting subscribers vote on which book to read, how many chapters to finish per week, and he’s sharing his Amazon storefront. Yes, it veers engagement farm-y—but I kind of love it.
Now here's the plot twist: on his TikTok, most of his book reviews are the usual suspects: The Obstacle Is the Way, Mindset by Carol Dweck. But the inaugural book club picks? The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, It Ends with Us, Normal People.
There’s something bite-my-knuckles attractive about reading fiction, and being able to synthesize lessons from other people’s situations without having them spelled out. Also, people who can just fucking enjoy things without always needing some type of self-improvement kink woven into it.
So often, when men talk about what they read, it's The 48 Laws of Power or some other guide to dominance. This contrast hit me while watching the new Netflix doc Trainwreck: The Cult of American Apparel, which revealed that Dov Charney used to gift 48 Laws to new employees as part of their welcome package. Robert Greene, the author of the book, was even on the company's board—and later helped vote Dov out.
But here's Jeremiah from Love Island, casually starting a book club where they're reading The Song of Achilles, a story about queer love and war. The contrast between that hyper-masculine, power-obsessed reading culture and a Love Island alum diving into literary fiction feels important. And dare I say…hot?
Who knew Love Island would give us the book club discourse we didn't know we needed?
Here are the six best articles I read this week:
Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be edited by one of the great literary geniuses of her generation? For Slate, here’s a little insight into Dana A. Williams's new book about Toni Morrison’s experiences as an editor.
We know Toni Morrison as the Nobel laureate, the Pulitzer winner, the voice behind Beloved—but before all that, she was the only Black editor at Random House, quietly shaping the trajectory of American literature.
As she put it, she wanted to publish books that "talked to Black people" rather than books that were ultimately "about white people," a distinction that sounds simple but was actually revolutionary for its time. This is cultural gatekeeping in action: her editorial work, ranging from championing Gayl Jones to keeping Muhammad Ali's autobiography alive despite years of delays, shows how one person in the right position can shift entire literary conversations. We love to mythologize writers, but the real power often sits with the people deciding what gets published in the first place.
Dominique Jackson on Fame's Fragility
Paper's Q&A with Dominique Jackson gets at the brutal math of fleeting cultural moments, one day you're the face of Pose, the next you're watching college speaking fees drop from $15K to $300 because institutions are tightening budgets under political pressure. Her pivot from survival mode and agoraphobia to preserving ballroom history through the Venus House project feels like precisely the kind of cultural stewardship that happens when artists realize their platform might be more fragile than they thought, but their responsibility to the community isn't.
Gen Z (myself included) might have the answer to waning club culture: listening bars
I love listening bars because they're music-forward, not clout or status-forward—they exist perfectly in a time when we're all putting on hour-long YouTube DJ sets as the soundtrack to our workday, except here, someone's throwing a hospitality experience around it. Having been to Eavesdrop in Brooklyn and written about how Shiloh in LA's Arts District is using tea ceremonies as the new nightlife/community model, this Dazed piece on the global listening bar phenomenon makes me wonder if we're witnessing something bigger: a generation that's simultaneously craving analog experiences and community connection while drinking less and seeking alternatives to the sensory overload of typical nightlife.
I love rap scene reporting, and this Pitchfork piece on Atlanta's futuristic rap era revival hits differently when you consider how the writer puts it: "And Atlanta rap could use a spirit boost. For a while, it's been hard to write about the scene without death or jail coming to mind. Rich Homie Quan. Takeoff. Young Scooter. Rico Wade. Lil Keed. The YSL trial. Just when the dark cloud shifts, it comes right back again."
It's exciting that the artists leading this nostalgic revival—Pluto, YKNiece, and BunnaB—are all women, defining this new era. At the same time, the male rappers of ATL’s old guard are essentially washed. Their music feels increasingly algorithmic—think Gunna, Lil Baby, Thug, and even Carti bars, which get cherry-picked for Instagram captions, GRWM music, and TikTok videos.
If you read one Fourth of July reflection…
The Marshall Project shone a spotlight on 20 currently and formerly incarcerated individuals riffing on Frederick Douglass's famous question: "What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July?"
It's raw, thoughtful, and cuts through all the usual patriotic noise to get at something fundamental about who gets to celebrate liberty in America and who's still waiting for theirs. My pick is Joseph Wilson from Green Haven—his piece about the fake prison barbecue food is devastating. The way he connects those steamed "hamburgers" with grill marks and turkey hot dogs to both memories of real family cookouts and the reality that "slaves ate slop, hoping to survive until their Independence Day came" is just perfectly crafted writing that makes the abstract concrete.
Miller writes about the impossible position of being a Black bouncer, expected to maintain peace while never making anyone feel threatened by their presence. There's this line about how white bouncers get to be "firm" or "charming" while Miller has to "smile more, talk softer" even when customers are calling them slurs. It's a sharp look at how race changes every interaction in nightlife spaces and honestly reminds me of all the quiet conversations we have about clubbing—the unspoken racial dynamics of who gets let in, who gets watched, who gets to feel safe having fun. Miller puts it perfectly: "I wish more bar owners recognized that hiring a Black bouncer isn't a diversity checkbox, it's a responsibility. If you're going to put me on the front line, then stand behind me when it counts."
One last thing:
A few of you have inquired about collaborating or sponsoring future editions. I love that this little Sunday ritual is resonating with people who think deeply about culture.
If you want to collaborate on something or explore sponsorship (brands that actually align with what we're talking about here), reach out at ellice@elliceellis.com.
I'm picky about partnerships, but that's what makes the good ones worth it. Send this to your best friend or people who can pay me to write. See you next Sunday 💖