Cool in L.A.": The Time Bret Easton Ellis and Judd Nelson Punk'd the Glossiest Magazine in the World

There are moments in literary history that should be taught in schools. Not because they're deep—but because they're epically mischievous. One of them happened in 1985, when a scrawny 21-year-old from Bennington College, hungover and wearing a turtleneck, sat down across from Tina Brown—the editor of Vanity Fair—and took an assignment that would change his life. Just not the way she expected.

We're talking, of course, about Bret Easton Ellis. And the time he and actor Judd Nelson sold one of the most powerful magazines in the world an article about the "coolest" spots in L.A. that turned out to be the lamest places they could dig up.

Let's set the scene: Ellis was 21, had just published Less Than Zero, and was already being called "the voice of a generation." Tina Brown summoned him to the Algonquin Hotel, hit him with that laser-beam stare she had (his words, not mine), and asked for a profile of Judd Nelson—who she found, in her words, "irritating." The mission was clear: take him down. Write a scathing piece, like the New York magazine article that had just coined the term "Brat Pack."

But Ellis—already sharp even if he didn't fully know it—took the money and went to meet Judd. And what did he find? Not the brooding bad boy from The Breakfast Club. He found a smart, funny, genuinely likable guy. Instead of destroying him, they became friends. And together, they cooked up a plan.

What Vanity Fair didn't know was that the places Ellis and Nelson picked were anything but cool.

📍 THE BUD CLUB TOUR: THE "COOLEST" SPOTS IN L.A. (ACCORDING TO ELLIS & NELSON)

1. Philippe the Original

A historic dive serving French-dip sandwiches since 1908. Sawdust on the floor, wooden phone booths, coffee still a dime a cup. The kind of place your grandpa goes to—not rock stars.

2. L.A. Eyeworks

The coolest eyewear shop on Melrose, where they bought their classic Ray-Ban Wayfarers. The essential accessory for any self-respecting Angeleno.

3. The Big Bang

Half vintage clothing store, half restaurant, with gray columns, an espresso bar, and a still of James Dean. A hangout for local artists and daring girls from the Valley.

4. Museum of Neon Art

A tiny, sweltering museum packed with glowing neon signs. So hot they had to leave after a few minutes. But hey, "it was cool."

5. Al's Bar

A grungy artist dive with a busted piano, killer graffiti in the men's room, and a legendary jukebox. Also the first place they heard the legend of the Bud Club.

6. Hilton Hotel Bar (Downtown)

A sad hotel bar on Wilshire Boulevard with a view of the freeway and a giant TV playing news of a plane crash. Very cool. Obviously.

7. Ritz Cafe

A Cajun joint on Pico where they ate steak so spicy they spent hours cooling their mouths. Totally happening.

8. Dirt Box

A floating club (illegal, because they served alcohol after 2 a.m.) in a random dance hall. You had to buy little plastic "death skulls" to get drinks. Very exclusive.

9. Chin Chin

A dim sum spot on Sunset where they ate off the trunk of a Mercedes while Judd did his Tina Turner impression from Mad Max. Classy.

10. Lunch

A new club on Highland with an open ceiling, palm trees, a bonfire, and BMWs parked out front. Ellis went alone because Judd stayed home to read.

11. Station

Another floating club run by Hard Rock guys. Mannequins hanging from the ceiling, punk bartenders, pitch black. Very atmospheric.

12. Powertools

The most "happening" club of them all, according to legend. Go-go dancers, cockroach shadows projected on the ceiling, and looped car-crash films. Ellis and Nelson left exhausted, their faith in "cool" shattered.

13. The Bud Club (The Ghost)

The imaginary club. The holy grail of the L.A. night scene. It appeared and disappeared, no one knew where it was, and of course, they never found it. Because it never existed. The ultimate punchline

The article ran in November 1985. On the cover: Sylvester Stallone and Brigitte Nielsen. In the table of contents, buried at the bottom: "Judd Nelson, Bret Easton Ellis, David Hockney, Robert Towne & Galanos." Ellis opened the magazine on a bus heading back to college and felt both terrified and thrilled.

Obviously, Vanity Fair eventually figured out they'd been had. They didn't call him again while Tina Brown was in charge. But here's the twist: some of those places, thanks to the article, actually became cool. That's the power of the press. If Vanity Fair says something's hip, it is—even if it's a dusty sandwich joint with sawdust on the floor.

And here's the part people forget: behind the guy who wrote American Psycho, behind the "enfant terrible" myth, behind all the accusations from people who never actually read his books, there's a man with real moral principles. A guy who, at 21, could've cashed a check by trashing someone—and chose not to. A guy who met Judd Nelson, liked him, and instead of using him, teamed up with him to punk the system. That same guy, years later, would give the world a raw, uncomfortable, and necessary vision of America. But he never sold out his loyalty. And in this business, that's worth more than any bestseller.

To me, this story is the definition of "well played." Ellis didn't throw someone under the bus, didn't let himself get used, and had a blast doing it. That's more than most writers who've been through the glam mag grinder can say.

And the Bud Club? Still doesn't exist. But every time someone goes hunting for something "cool" in L.A., they might just be chasing a ghost—one that two guys in 1985 made up so they wouldn't have to tear each other apart for a magazine.

That, my friends, is literature. And also a survival guide.

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This essay is based on Bret Easton Ellis's account in his book White (2019) of his meeting with Tina Brown and the making of the Vanity Fair article, plus a direct look at the original November 1985 issue of the magazine—because you really need to see it to appreciate the scale of the mischief.