It’s 12pm on a Sunday, and we’ve just been seated at Nando’s. LOUIS JADE is nowhere to be found. He told us to meet him here at noon. My photographer texts him. He says he’ll be here in five minutes – he isn’t. We arrived hungry – it’s lunch after all – but we wait to order because we do not want to be rude.
After what feels like an eternity, something changes in the restaurant. The air shifts unnaturally. Before I know it, my field of view floods with navy cargo pants, an oversized Harley Davidson jacket, and Balenciaga sunglasses darker than a raven’s wing on a moonless night, all hidden under a Houston Astros fitted. This is LOUIS JADE. A man of few words, he asks “have y’all ordered yet?” He’s eating something, and clutching an empty takeout bag in his hand.
“Did you already eat?” I reply,
“Yeah,” he says simply, “twelve dollar bento.”
Sitting down without another word to either of us, he gets lost in the world of the Nando’s menu. I check my watch – it’s 1:06pm. While he peruses in silence, my photographer and I exchange a glance, unsure of whether or not to mention his tardiness. Neither of us do. LOUIS JADE gets up from the table, walks to the front, places his order, and sits back down. Now he’s ready to talk.
About four months ago I was shopping for a used vehicle at a local dealership. As I deliberated between an ‘06 Corolla and an ‘03 Malibu, something piqued my attention – a purple Lamborghini Urus with smoked windows whipping into the dealership lot. Two suited men emerged from the front of the vehicle and were greeted by the manager. They talked for a few minutes, and he ushered the vehicle toward the back of the lot. The rear door swung open, and out stepped a man in a blindingly yellow overcoat draped in glistening bling, who began to examine a line of luxury motorcycles. He stopped at a bright purple Ducati Panigale V4 R – a fifty thousand dollar bike. With a single gesture, he sent one of his men to the car to retrieve a Louis Vuitton duffel bag. The man in the coat unzipped the bag and began to remove stack after stack of hundred dollar bills, handing them to the manager. They shook hands. The man mounted the purple bike, and one of his assistants mounted a neighbouring green one of the same model. They peeled out of the dealership, followed closely by the second assistant in the Lamborghini. Bewildered by what I had just seen, I chased after the manager as he struggled to carry all the cash.
“Who was that?” I asked
“Oh, you don’t know?” he replied, “That was LOUIS JADE.”
This began an almost year-long manhunt conducted by LCD to locate and interview the elusive LOUIS JADE. A Google search revealed nothing but a soundcloud and a barren Instagram, but we were determined to find the man himself. For the next few months, we asked around, but though many had heard his name, nobody could provide any details on how to contact him. This man is a ghost. Just when I had thought that all hope was lost, and I’d never see the man in the coat again, I received an unexpected notification: “@louisjade111 has sent you a message”
The server sets down LOUIS JADE’s meal first – a spicy chicken sandwich and Peri-Peri fries – immediately, he dissects the sandwich and removes the tomatoes (he doesn’t like them). Before my food even arrives, he begins devouring the sandwich. In three bites, it’s gone. I ask him, “How long have you been making music?” He launches into a twenty-minute rant about the shortcomings of modern mainstream artists.
“Drake bit that hook, Hotline Bling, from me, did you know that?” He says as he snatches up one of my fries, “Are you gonna finish that?”
Slowing down from his rant, red in the face, he suggests that he “goes tarps off” (removes his shirt) inside the Nando’s, but I persuade him not to. Luckily, he obliges, and we finish our meals without disruption.
As we exit the restaurant, I can’t help but admire LOUIS JADE’s effortless steeze.
“Where do you get your clothes? Where do you like to shop?”
He pulls out his phone, “you know pluggnb?”
“Is that a store?”
“No, it’s this.”
He plays us a YouTube beat compilation off his iPhone speakers for five minutes outside the Nando’s. It was alright.
“Follow me,” he says as he puts the phone away, “I know a crazy spot to cop some sweet threads.”
LOUIS JADE leads us on for blocks, and I notice that he keeps bumping into people on the sidewalk. Every time, he apologizes profusely as if he didn’t see them at all. At a certain point, I have to wonder – Can LOUIS JADE even fucking see?
“Hey, man, are you good?” I ask him, out of genuine concern.
“Yeah, why what’s up?” he replies,
“I just notice that you keep, um, bumping into stuff?”
“Oh, yeah, no, I’m not wearing my glasses.”
The Balenciaga sunglasses perched on his nose would beg to differ.
“But, you are, you are wearing sunglasses.”
“Oh, but they aren’t prescription.”
“Balenci doesn’t do prescription?”
“I don’t know.” He carries on walking.
LOUIS JADE stops us on a street corner and announces “we’re here.” Looking at the building to my right, it appears to be a Best Buy, but he clarifies “we’re going to the top floor.”
We enter the building. We take the escalator one floor and pass the Best Buy. We take another escalator and arrive on the top floor, a Winners. This is LOUIS JADE’s spot. First he tries on a fur coat, then some red sneakers, then an iced out chain, calling it all “mid.” On our way out, I ask what inspires him.
“Single mothers.”
“Every outfit should be equally as gameable as it is wearable”
-LOUIS JADE
“This is much more my style,” he announces loudly as we enter Holt Renfrew. Turning toward us with a wide grin, he says “Two words: bottom floor, men’s section.” Leading us down the escalator, he can hardly contain his excitement. We follow him toward a rack of sweaters, shorts, and jackets. Grabbing an armful of each, he disappears into the changerooms. While waiting outside the door, I hear the unmistakable chime of a 1989 Nintendo Gameboy firing up.
“Every outfit should be equally as gameable as it is wearable” LOUIS JADE proclaims, exiting the changeroom in a lavish new getup. Taking a seat, he tells us that he’ll need some time to determine if this is an outfit that he can “really get down with”. His eyes glaze over as he boots up Pokémon Yellow in the Holt Renfrew.
LOUIS JADE spends some time thumbing through racks, selecting only the finest garments. By the time he’s ready to check out, his arms and those of my photographer are full of the most luxurious jawnz money can buy. Money, of course, is no issue for LOUIS JADE. “Cash is King,” he says, spreading Queen E’s up his arm to no end, “I don’t even have a bank account.”
Leaving Holt Renfrew, LOUIS JADE tells us his blood sugar is low (no, he isn’t diabetic. He just believes in a “holistic approach to health.”) The three of us head to a 7-Eleven to grab some Slurpees. My photographer and I purchase our beverages, look around, and notice a disturbing lack of LOUIS JADE.
“Hey, did you see where our friend went?” I ask the cashier
“Yeah, he left out the back.”
The parasocial relationship between creator and consumer has become the norm. It is expected of every artist to open the door of their personal lives to their audience. LOUIS JADE chooses to keep that door shut.
Going into this project, all I wanted was answers – I wanted to know who LOUIS JADE really is. While writing this, I was frustrated with the information (or lack thereof) that I got from him. After all I went through just to be able to meet him, I felt that I at least deserved a peek behind the curtain, a peek at the truth.
But what is the truth? Maybe to me, truth is factual – it is about questions and answers. To LOUIS JADE, maybe the truth is a matter of perception – subjective truth. If he tells everybody he meets that he doesn’t have a bank account, and everybody takes it at face value, who am I to say that this is not “true”?
We can only speculate why LOUIS JADE refuses to engage in an interview the way most artists would. Maybe he’s just a genuinely eccentric man. Maybe he’s a persona crafted by a record label. Or maybe, he just finds it all funny. LOUIS JADE rejects our reality and substitutes it for his own. In his reality, cash is king and he doesn’t need a bank account.
Maybe LOUIS JADE didn’t close the door at all. It’s possible that he is inviting us into his world. Maybe it’s just not the world he’s from. It’s a world he’s painstakingly crafted. Through every song, outfit, interview, and personal interaction, he’s constructed a narrative of what it means to be LOUIS JADE. You don’t need to know him. You just need to
BELIEVE THE HYPE.
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