It all begins quite innocently: a multi-million-dollar record deal, impeccably shiny, side-swept hair, Disney girlfriend to boot. You get a tattoo – just something small. An outline of a flying bird perhaps (it’s, like, so symbolic of where you’re at right now) and a new car; a Cadillac, paying homage to your childhood hero, Batman. You’re slightly cooler, prompting your hair – the perennial barometer of Badass – to lift slightly upwards. It feels good. You get another tattoo: a sleeve. And a full calf. Another car arrives, a blacked-out Smart Car, and you get the logo replaced with ‘Swag Car’ (f*ck yeah). Guys like you, you muse, don’t go out with Disney babes. So you find a little known model to date (only ones with an ex you know from basketball fame) and get her to tell everyone you’re ‘just a normal kid’, because irony is sick. Suddenly, your hair is peaking; reaching heights you never knew possible - but you know: the higher the hair, the higher the life you lead. Quiff it up and never look back, son – not even to check if you’re drunk whilst driving. Hey, so what if you get arrested? Mugshots are the new headshots. And you’re all over that sh*t.