Full disclosure: I had the privilege of working alongside Julien in Montreal, where he was the french language comic buyer for a bookstore. The store (Drawn & Quarterly's flagship store) focused on indie comics and art books, and the buyers' tastes generally leaned towards the bizarre or at least unexpected, but Julien's taste was extreme. He brought in the weirdest comics I'd seen, with leanings towards the manga world that I had never really gotten into beyond some of the bigger and perhaps more "literary" names. As a colleague, it was hard to see exactly where his tastes fell.
Around that time, Julien started making very bizarre clothing, or, rather, getting clothing and then drawing or collaging on it; a t-shirt with felt-drawn abs and a tank top with two entire fake peaches affixed in the breast region come to mind. The clothing was a kind of enhanced reality, but not a convincing one, or one interested in being convincing. His work seemed to dovetail with his tastes in books: extremely stylized refractions of life that acted like parallel universes to ours. Or maybe parabolic universes, dipping towards our reality and away from it in turn, but never intersecting.
His comics have this sense, too, and feel something like a cross between a very in-depth manga about the pleasures of wine tasting that I remember Julien ordering, and a crop top replete with hand-drawn abs. In fact, many characters from Less Than Dust has these very same abs poking out from underneath croptops, the female characters looking more like chippendale dancers with stapled-on breasts than women and the male characters looking like beefcake furries. Also, those chins!!
The characters that populate Julien's world are vacuous club girls and muscle men whose lives revolve around the sometimes real and sometimes imagined vibrations of their phones, fashion, and each other's affections. The mood will swing very quickly from flippant comments about shoes or club atmosphere to extreme pits of despair, though Less Than Dust at least ends on a moment of hope, if a tragic one.