• The Guys In The Kitchen

INTERVIEW WITH A SAPPHIRE: Steve Jewell, world’s coolest man.

RFN caught up with the ice-cold artist, activist, actor, designer, entrepreneur, developer, sculptor, singer and writer as he ‘rested’ in London between gigs.


From our sycophantic entertainment reporter, Melodie Heven.

You looking at my dick?

Steve Jewel is not a man to waste time. In London for only five hours, between book signings in Japan, Iceland, Norway, Lithuania and Russia, running marathons in Mongolia and Chile and shooting a six-part TV rock-drama in Germany and Iran, all in the space of three days, the unstoppable polymath is a cyclone of activity. I managed to catch a him at the Dorchester hotel.


Seated on the bidet, as Jewell took a shower, I found myself unsure of where to start. Typically, the 26 years old iceman was on the pulse .


JEWELL You looking at my dick?

HEVEN: What? No. No! My, God no, of course not. Er, did you want me to?

JEWELL: Be my guest. It’s cool.

HEVEN: Er, thanks. It looks chill.

JEWELL: Yeah. I do penile yoga. Keeps things trim.

HEVEN: Penile yoga?

JEWELL: Yeah. A tantric thing. Xi showed me when I was in Beijing sorting out the trade wars.

HEVEN: Xi? As in President Xi of China?

JEWELL. Yeah, he’s fucking existential. Has this huge collection of Burmese beards. I dig that. But anyway, you wanna ask me something?

HEVEN: Er, well how about your new book?

JEWELL: It’s called ‘Fuck me, I’m cool’.

HEVEN: What’s it about?

JEWELL. Me, babe. I’m it. I figure it’s my mission to get everyone on the same wavelength. You with me? I’m like, ‘why the fuck can’t everyone be like me?’ Hey, fuckhead, go tell them.

HEVEN: That’s gracious. A gift to mankind.

JEWELL. Yeah. Pass me a flannel.


I picked up a towelette and slid back the glass. Jewell took it, soaped and began a downlow scrubbing.


JEWELL. Have to get in the crevices. Flying can wedge particles in there. Something to do with the air pressure. You know that?

HEVEN. No.

JEWELL. Yeah, it does. Get’s them right up. Anyway, the book is a totem pole. You know?

HEVEN. It’s your life statement?

JEWELL. Fuck no. I mean it’s something for my fans to worship. They don’t read it, they caress it. They jerk off to it. It’s their fucking mantra.

HEVEN. It’s that totemic?

JEWELL. It’s got nothing to do with feet, babe, but I see what you mean. I cover everything. Meaning of life, how to be a billionaire, how to get a vlog going. All the important shit.

HEVVEN. And be like you?

JEWELL. Sorta. I mean, who the fuck is ever gonna be like me? Really? Nah. It’s more about pointing everyone in the right direction. The world peace thing.

HEVEN. Cool.


Jewell tossed the towel and marched past me towards the bedroom. I followed, taking in the sway of his sculpted buttocks.


HEVEN. Your ass is nice.

JEWELL. Yeah, bought it in Tokyo. Never let me down. I say, you find a good ass, stick with it.


I watched Steve get dressed in his signature daffodil yellow. The suit was handmade from Peruvian llama by a Maori monk. It cost £300,000. He will wear it once.


JEWELL. So, like I gotta be out of here. You wanna ask anything else?

HEVEN. Er, what’s your favourite ice cream?

JEWELL. Don’t eat it. I’m just so fucking cool, it turns to a berg in my mouth.

HEVEN. Okay.

JEWELL. Gotta go. Pay for the suite on your way out.


And just like that, Steve Jewell was gone – off to Buckingham Palace for a ten minutes advisory to the Queen. In my pocket was his used towelette. It’s going in a frame.



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