If you walked into a bookstore in late 1990, you wouldn't have found a copy of American Psycho. The manuscript was radioactive. Simon & Schuster, the original publisher, had just dropped it like a hot coal only weeks before the scheduled release. They’d already paid Bret Easton Ellis a fat $300,000 advance, but the internal "moral" outcry was too loud. People were losing their minds over a book they hadn't even read yet.
It’s funny how time works.
Thirty-plus years later, Patrick Bateman isn't just a character; he’s a meme. He’s a skincare icon for "sigma" grinders and a shorthand for corporate emptiness. But if you only know the Christian Bale movie or the TikTok edits, you’ve basically only seen the gift-wrapped version of the nightmare. The actual novel is a different beast entirely. It’s longer, weirder, and much more boring—on purpose.
The Book That Almost Killed a Career
Honestly, when people talk about American Psycho Bret Easton Ellis as some kind of horror genius, they often miss the context of how much he was hated at the time. The media storm was vicious. The Los Angeles Chapter of the National Organization for Women called for a boycott. Critics labeled it "misogynistic trash" and "a manual for torture." Ellis himself received death threats.
He was only 26.
But here’s the thing: Ellis wasn't trying to write a slasher. He was writing a satire about himself and the world he felt forced to join. He’s often said in interviews that the book came from a place of "severe alienation and loneliness." He was living that "Gentlemen’s Quarterly" lifestyle in New York, obsessing over the right suits and the right restaurants, and he realized it was all complete bullshit.
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Bateman wasn't some random monster Ellis invented. He was the logical conclusion of 1980s consumerism. If your identity is 100% based on what you buy, what happens when you run out of things to buy? You start "consuming" people.
Why the Movie is "Lighter" Than the Novel
Most fans have seen the 2000 film directed by Mary Harron. It’s great. It’s a cult classic. But compared to the book, it’s a Disney movie.
In the novel, the violence is so graphic it’s actually hard to read. We’re talking pages of clinical, detached descriptions of things that make the "chainsaw chase" scene in the movie look like a cartoon. But the boredom is the real killer.
Ellis forces you to sit through entire chapters that are just Bateman reviewing the discography of Huey Lewis and the News, or Whitney Houston, or Genesis. There is a whole chapter about a talk show called The Patty Winters Show. It’s numbing. By the time the violence happens, the reader is so mentally exhausted by the brand names and the skincare routines that the murders almost feel like just another item on a list.
That was the point.
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The "Did He Actually Do It?" Debate
This is the big one. Everyone wants to know: Is Patrick Bateman actually a serial killer, or is he just a loser with a very active imagination?
The movie leans heavily into the "it was all a dream" theory, especially with the ending involving the lawyer and the Paul Allen/Owen disappearance. But Ellis has always been a bit cagey about this. In his view, the ambiguity is the story.
If Bateman did it, it shows a society so shallow that a man can leave a trail of bodies and nobody notices because they’re too busy looking at his business card. If he didn't do it, it shows a man so hollowed out by culture that his only way to feel "real" is to fantasize about the most extreme acts possible.
Both versions are equally depressing.
A World of Interchangeable Faces
One of the most brilliant parts of the writing is how nobody knows who anyone else is. Bateman is constantly mistaken for Marcus Halberstram. He calls his own girlfriend by the wrong name sometimes. They all wear the same Armani suits, they all have the same "Oliver Peoples" glasses, and they all go to the same gym.
It’s a world of masks.
Ellis uses this to create a feeling of total isolation. Bateman literally confesses to murders in the middle of crowded restaurants, and his friends just nod and ask if he’s heard the new Phil Collins single. They aren't listening. Nobody in this book is "real" because they’ve all been replaced by their possessions.
Why We’re Still Obsessed in 2026
You’d think a book so rooted in 1987 would be a relic by now. It isn't.
If anything, the world Bateman lives in has only gotten more intense. We don't have business cards anymore—we have Instagram feeds and LinkedIn profiles. The "morning routine" scene is literally every "Get Ready With Me" video on social media. We are still obsessed with the surface. We still value the "image" of success over the actual human being underneath it.
The "Sigma Male" trend is the ultimate irony. Young men now unironically idolize Patrick Bateman, the very man Ellis wrote to mock. They see the gym, the suits, and the discipline, and they miss the fact that the character is miserable, insane, and has "no pulse."
Ellis didn't write a hero. He wrote a ghost.
The Legacy of the "Brat Pack" Writer
Bret Easton Ellis was part of the "Literary Brat Pack" in the 80s, alongside guys like Jay McInerney. They were the "it" writers of the MTV generation. But while the others mostly wrote about parties and heartbreak, Ellis went for the jugular.
He’s stayed relevant because he refuses to apologize. Whether it’s his podcast or his newer books like The Shards, he’s still poking at the same themes: the rot beneath the glamour, the way we use each other, and the terrifying silence of the modern world.
What to Do Next If You’re Interested
If you've only seen the movie, you haven't really experienced the story. But be warned: the book is a slog. It’s meant to be.
- Read the book for the satire, not the horror. If you go in looking for a thriller, you’ll be disappointed. Go in looking for a comedy about people who are so rich they’ve lost their minds.
- Pay attention to the names. Notice how often characters are called by the wrong name. It’s the key to the whole "interchangeable" theme.
- Look for the "Patty Winters Show" segments. They get weirder as the book goes on (like the one about a Cheeto that looks like Jesus). It’s Ellis’s way of showing the world is falling apart alongside Bateman.
- Check out Ellis’s other work. If you want the "prequel" vibe, read Less Than Zero. It’s about rich kids in LA and it’s just as bleak, but in a different way.
The "exit" sign at the end of the book famously says "THIS IS NOT AN EXIT." It’s a reminder that in a culture of pure consumption, there is no way out. You just keep buying, keep posing, and keep disappearing.
For anyone trying to understand the DNA of modern cynical pop culture, American Psycho Bret Easton Ellis remains the most important, and most misunderstood, map we have. It’s a brutal, boring, brilliant mess. Just don't expect it to make you feel good.
Actionable Insight: If you're looking to dive deeper into postmodern literature, start by comparing the "Morning Routine" chapter in the novel to the movie's opening. Notice what was cut—specifically the brand names. This reveals the shift from Ellis's critique of commodity to the movie's focus on vanity.