The most charismatic man I ever met was the LA rapper, musician, designer and generational hero, Tyler the Creator. I was shadowing him during a spring jaunt in Paris for the gentlemanly fashion magazine, Fantastic Man. He’d just won his first Grammy. Many of the loose collectives of scrappy, visionary hip-hop creatives and thinkers he once presided over, Odd Future, had turned their early teenage cult appeal into real world cultural weight.
By the end of that day, travelling arrondissement-to-arrondissement, I was so won over by his absorbing manner that I felt a tangible sadness exiting its glow to catch the last Eurostar. Quite honestly, he had me at hello. Some people just do. Charisma, I decided that day, is innate.
