The first time I met Justin Bieber was in the summer of 2010. He was 16, and his long blond bangs were a latter-day moptop rage. We ate fried chicken and talked about video games.
Bieber seemed less a pop star and more a kid from the Canadian suburbs who loved hockey and pranks. But fame had him squarely in its sights. He seemed like he knew it, and was desperately trying to keep the monster at bay.
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