Ivan Berrios, 25, Mr. Khaledâs photographer, and Chris Smokes, 30, Mr. Khaledâs lifestyle consultant (asked how he got that title, Mr. Smokes said, âI kind of created it myselfâ), picked up a pair of carnation-pink headphones and contemplated how to shoot them for the coffee-table book theyâre planning. Mr. Khaledâs hairstylist, âJC Tha Barber,â showed them a trailer for his reality show. A chef poured a viscous yellow sauce into small plastic cups. Above her, frosted glass cabinets offered a window into the dichotomy of a new father who makes a living making party music: Ciroc vodka, whey protein powder, baby formula.
That incongruity extended to other parts of the home. A Baby Einstein toy sat on an immaculate white couch. Gucci shopping bags shared a shelf with board books. In the master bedroom, a bassinet stood next to rubber-banded wads of cash and seven gleaming watches. Mr. Khaled strapped on one from his collection, a rose-gold, diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe, to give a tour of his backyard.
âWhere my phone at?â he called over his shoulder, stepping out onto the lawn. Someone said it was inside. âHowâs that make any sense?â Mr. Khaled replied, incredulous. âTell Kiko to come over here and Snapchat.â
Mr. Khaled squinted up at the sun and unbuttoned the leaf-printed shirt hugging his middle. âIâm going to have to do a Don Johnson,â he said.
He bent down to caress the yellow petals of a marigold. âI always feel my flowers, I touch them and I tell them I love them,â he said. âThis flower right here, I remember when it wasnât looking as beautiful. I see them grow and I put that in life perspective. If you take care of something, look what happens. Itâs like eating healthy, itâs like working out.â
In the courtyard was a waterfall-laden garden of hydrangeas and poppies that Mr. Khaled called Jerusalem, âbecause I feel like Iâm not in America right now,â he said. âI feel like Iâm in the Holy Land.â In the backyard, a lemon tree bore fruit that looked ready to pick. âSometimes you got to do what you got to do,â Mr. Khaled said, reaching up to rip a lemon off its stem. A thorn stuck his thumb, and he started bleeding. He called over his shoulder again: âCan someone get me a napkin?â
Mr. Khaledâs free-form manner is part of his appeal to marketers trying to reach millennials who roll their eyes at traditional, polished media. He has acted as a spokesman for Ciroc, the ride service Lyft and Silkâs plant-based milks (âI do plants,â he said in a 2016 Silk ad, holding up a smoothie of almond milk and bananas).
While new endorsement offers come in âall the time,â he said, he works only with companies that accept him as he is. âI only know how to be me,â he said. âSay I misspelled something on Snapchat or social, thatâs just me. If itâs me loving my flowers, me in the studio, me with my son, Iâm just being me. I donât know what else to do.â
But of course authenticity, as just being oneself is called these days, requires a lot of effort.
Back in his house, back on Instagram, Mr. Khaled watched a day-old video of himself dancing at a radio station, jovial and blustering.
âPeople donât realize the work behind the scenes, they just get to see the victories and the finished product, but itâs a lot of work and not everybody can handle it,â he said, eyes fixed on the screen. âA lot of people canât handle success, either. I can.â
Even while holding a watering can.
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