Buy a print copy of the Blueface issue of The FADER, and order a poster of his cover here.

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Blueface is resting his arms on a white marble table in a Beverly Hills boardroom. A Rolex cuffs the end of each sleeve on his black G-Star tracksuit: one has a blue time face and the other is solid gold. Surrounding him at the gigantic, U-shaped table is a team of talent agents. While the 22-year-old rapper sips a Sprite from a biodegradable cold cup, his manager, Wack 100, does most of the talking. “I’m in competition with everyone at this table,” Wack says. “I’m doing my part. I need you to do yours.”

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The suited agents at the gilded table have a lot of ideas. Blueface would be perfect for a Hennessy sponsorship; he’d definitely go viral as the face of a Calvin Klein underwear campaign; has he thought about partnering with a brand to bring awareness to a cause? They’re getting hundreds of requests for him every day, they say, it just depends on what he wants to do. They’re confident they can get him a role in Fast & Furious 9.

Every person in the room, and maybe Blueface more than anyone, thinks he has the potential to be a rap superstar. He looks the part: tall and slim, he still has the boyish good looks of the star quarterback he used to be. But his tattoos — most noticeably, the hundred-dollar bill version of Ben Franklin’s face on his right cheek — provide a bad boy edge. Over the past nine months, he’s become a polarizing phenomenon for his online persona as much as his music. For some, he’s the meme of the moment; for others, he’s become the latest stand-in scapegoat for hip-hop’s demise, his offbeat rhymes signaling the end of “real” lyricism as we know it; and still others simply enjoy the unapologetic arrogance and absurd lines in his songs.

