What's the world coming to when a teenage multimillionaire can't ride around in a Batmobile without being hounded by the paparazzi?
Lost in Showbiz has long been a devotee of Justin Bieber, the 18-year-old singing sensation claimed by his mother to have been specially chosen by God "to bring light and inspiration to the world". It likes the fact that he understands that, in a world of social media and 360-degree connectivity, the very notion of pop stardom has changed. He knows that it's no longer an inert, one-way traffic in which the teen idol delivers "product" to eager pubescent followers, but more of a fluid concept, involving collaboration and exchange of ideas between artist and audience, and to that end has let his fans choose a nickname for his penis. "They've already named it," he noted recently of "Jerry". "So why not keep it?"
It is impressed by his encyclopediac knowledge of music. "I like Black Sabbath, you know, some of the stuff. I like School's Out For Summer," he recently told Q magazine, brooking no argument from the journalist who gently suggested that said song was actually by Alice Cooper. "No! Ozzy did that song! I like rock music, man." He went on to suggest that he looked "for guidance" to the career of Michael Jackson "when he was young and growing up in the spotlight". Sage words, for who didn't gaze admiringly at Michael Jackson in his later years and think: there's a man who's coped very well with the pressures of fame?
And it is impressed even more by the great wisdom he displayed when asked at what age it was appropriate for his fans to start posting lurid sexual fantasies about him – and indeed our mutual friend "Jerry" – on Twitter. "I don't really agree with 12-year-olds talking about those inappropriate things," he offered, adding: "but once they turn 13, it's easier because they're going to learn that stuff anyway."
Most of all, LiS is hugely impressed by Justin Bieber's taste in cars. It knows what you're thinking. Here is an 18-year-old boy with a reported $55m fortune. He furthermore seems to be possessed by the belief that a man who used to dress a chimpanzee in children's clothes and douse it with Poison by Christian Dior represents some kind of benchmark for normality. He's going to buy cars that are completely ridiculous. But Justin Bieber is a man who has long equated "transport" with "personal dignity" – he apparently used to evade screaming fans on a Segway, until it broke down – and his car collection speaks of a rare subtlety, of epicurean taste. There is the Cadillac CTS-V coupe customised to look like the Batmobile, complete with Batman logo on the front, the word BATMOBILE emblazoned across the back and an interior featuring the singer's initials picked out in Swavorski crystals. Then there is the ecologically friendly plug-in hybrid Fisker Karma, which Bieber had entirely chrome-plated, with additional fuchsia-coloured LED lighting. He also has a Range Rover. There's no record of what the latter vehicle has been modified to look like, but LiS is certain that it must be something in keeping with the refinement and restraint displayed elsewhere in his motor collection. Perhaps it now looks like an enormous pair of breasts on wheels, or a three-quarter-scale model of The Shard.
And what happens when Justin Bieber drives these vehicles? LiS is incredulous to note that he gets pursued by the paparazzi. He was recently stopped by police in the Fisker after engaging in a high-speed chase with five cars containing photographers. "They were, like, not nice about it," he fumed. "They were just like: 'You waive your rights to privacy when you're a celebrity.'" Even after the police intervened, the chase resumed, forcing a clearly terrified Bieber to ring 911. In a recording of the call later released on the internet, the operator asks Bieber to describe his car. "Um, it's a Fisker," he replies, failing to add: it essentially looks like a bloody great mirror on wheels and it's got fuchsia-coloured lights all over it, you can't miss it.
There are obviously people out there who will suggest that Justin Bieber has in some way brought this upon himself, by equipping himself with a selection of cars that, like 80s comedian Duncan Norvelle, essentially go around shouting: "Chase me, chase me." By contrast, LiS looks at photographs of Bieber approaching his chrome-plated, fuchsia-LED-lit sports car with his baseball cap pulled down low over his face and asks: can't the media see that this is a young man who's trying to keep his life low-key, who wants only to pass among us incognito? Do they not understand that this is a man trying to live up to the example set by Michael Jackson and keep himself firmly rooted in normality despite his vast fame and wealth? What kind of world do we live in where a global superstar worth $55m cannot drive around in a car customised to look like the Batmobile, or indeed entirely covered in chrome with fuchsia LED lighting, without attracting attention? Lost in Showbiz wants answers, but answers come there none.
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