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$3,345 (for suit)
shirt $345
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Prada
tank top $40
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UnderwearYOU’D THINK SUNSET BOULEVARD would be hard to
impress at this point. But judging by the people scram-
bling for their phones and mouthing expletives as we
drove by, they’d apparently never seen a Rolls-Royce
quite like Odell Beckham Jr.’s before. The color, for start-
ers, is an orange that’s somewhere between electric tan-
gerine and Snooki. The rims, blacked out, are massive.
Like, manhole-cover massive. And the sound system
was loud enough to fill the Comedy Store’s lobby with
Lil Baby’s “Drip Too Hard” while we waited for a light to
change. But no feature on the car turned heads like the
hood ornament: a chrome figurine of The Catch.
Odell refers to The Catch as though it’s a universally
consequential event. Like the big bang. But in case it
didn’t sear into your brain the way it did for some, he’s
referring to his second-quarter reception in the New York
Giants’ November 2014 Sunday Night Football game
against the Dallas Cowboys. The play where Odell, levi-
tating faceup and fully stretched out, caught the ball with
less surface area of his fingertips than it takes to unlock
an iPhone. The announcer called it an absolutely impos-
sible catch. Many others would agree. The Catch might
not have actually changed the world, but it changed
Odell’s life. And now his life is changing all over again.
After a 5-11 record last season, the Giants traded Odell
to the Cleveland Browns, setting him up with a fresh
start this fall. Who’s responsible for Odell needing a
“fresh start” in the first place is up for debate, but what
is agreed upon by all concerned is that things got a lit-
tle out of hand in New York the last couple of seasons.
Eli Manning publicly called him out, suggesting he was
unfocused. Ray Lewis said Odell had removed God from
his life. Odell often seemed miserable between plays and
on the sideline. Now, though, he’ll be lining up alongside
his best friend, fellow wide receiver Jarvis Landry, and
a young quarterback, Baker Mayfield, with a strong arm
and possibly even stronger dance moves than Odell’s.
(More on that below.) But a few things have carried over
to Cleveland from New York, too. His massive five-year
$95 million Giants contract, for one. And less sexy: his
turbulent relationship with the media, the league, and
legions of football know-it-alls. Over his first five years in
the NFL, each constituency has come after Odell for not
being serious enough, for being too emotional, for being
a poor teammate. And he has a lot to say about those
standards: how he’s lived up to them or not and on whom
the true responsibility for that reputation rests. It’s been
GQ: How would you describe bounce music?
ODELL BECKHAM JR.: It’s from New Orleans. I automatically
think of Airline Skate Center and Mardi Gras. It’s very
up-tempo. Most girls twerk to it. When they hear a bounce
song come on, that’s just what they do—it’s part of the
culture. We get live to that in the South. We jig, we bounce
dance, New Orleans dance, all that. It’s really just a way of
expressing yourself.Everything you do, on the field and off, is rhythmic. It’s
like there’s always music on in your world. Definitely.
Even in my quiet moments, you can see my head bounce.
I remember I used to wait around for sock hops. We were
very young. It was like our one time in three months we
would party. I remember when I’d get in trouble with my
mom, and she would be like, “I’m not allowing you to go
to sock hop....”Devastating! I would rather you ground me for three
weeks than not let me go to that. Music has always been
a huge part of me. It’s really like charades. There’s times
when I dance to a song and I hear it again another time and
the move is way different than it was the first time. That’s
just me. I don’t even know there are other people around
when I’m in such a place.What was the most fun part about your rookie season
in 2014? I was always the underdog. I wasn’t the number
one drafted receiver in my class, even though I wanted
to be. I said I wanted to be a top-10 pick—I wasn’t. I said
I wanted to win a Heisman in college—I didn’t. At LSU, I
wanted to win a national championship. I got there and we
got blown out. And then I was like, I have to win Rookie of
the Year. There’s no ifs, ands, or buts. I have to win Rookie
of the Year. I pulled my hamstring, and everyone was like,
“Oh, he’s a bum, he’s a bust,” and it was such a down-
ward spiral. I remember going to church and posting a
picture of the scripture I wasquite a run thus far. For practically every day of the first
part of his career, Odell has lived in that sacred overlap of
constant criticism and superlative celebration—the kind
reserved for only the greats.
It was a cliché cloudless day in Southern California
when we pulled into Odell’s driveway. He was living in
L.A. for the o≠-season, as so many players do these days.
In the house, I checked Twitter to find a handful of jour-
nalists criticizing him for being in California instead
of Cleveland for OTAs with his new team. OTAs—early
team practices—aren’t mandatory, though, which made
the whole dustup feel to Odell like more of the same old
unjustified scrutiny. Over the course of the afternoon, I
could tell he was almost ready to leave it all—the sun,
the car, his four Jurassic-size Presa Canarios—and get
his new life with his new team underway. But not quite
yet. The media would have to wait just a little longer
before they could “shoot at” (his words) Odell in person.
Before they could ask him how he felt about the trade,
his tortured final season in New York, his life o≠ the field.
In the meantime, though, he was willing to go there with
us, with an uncommon level of candor. We’ll get to all
that. But first, we began with something important to
any Louisiana native like Odell: bounce music. This was
still the o≠-season, after all.62 GQ.COM AUGUST 2019
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