What Kind of Car Would Justin Bieber Drive?
The Sprinter is exactly the car that an 18-year-old with too much money would drive. The interior is lined with Alcantara. There are two reclining seats way in back, with bucket seats lining the driver’s side of the main cabin, as in a stretch limo. There are three hi-def TVs, a computer dock, and a fully operational recording studio along the passenger side. All that’s missing is a button that spews out an oil slick, Spy Hunter–style, to foil paparazzi. Bieber’s pals try to guess how much it costs. “Definitely not a million,” says someone. One of Bieber’s business advisers, a woman named Allison Kaye, isn’t wild about the new toy. “Oh, this just screams inconspicuous,” she says to Bieber. No response.
Everyone gathers around as Bieber tours the van. He is euphoric. So much so that he has decided to pledge his loyalty to West Coast Customs forever and to decry its rival, Platinum Motorsport. “Fuck Platinum,” he says. “Platinum can suck a dick, man. West Coast all day.” This is a different Bieber from the one who was imprisoned with me just five minutes ago. This must be the Bieber that Bieber would like to be all the time. His R-rated rant, though, draws a reprimand from Friedlinghaus. “I respect everyone’s business—it’s all love, dog,” he tells Bieber. “Dudes came from my neighborhood, you know what I mean?” Bieber is chastened. “I respect that,” he says. To atone, he invites Friedlinghaus and the entire West Coast Crew into his recording bungalow to listen to the new songs. “I’m 18 years old and I’m a swaggy adult!” he yells. “Come on, swaggy bros!”
Drew Magary profiled this 18-year-old pop star named Justin Bieber for GQ, and I laughed out loud at least 10 times while reading it. If you’re feeling down today, here’s something to read. The first line of the piece is just so good: “I have been told specifically that I will be able to punch Justin Bieber in the face.”