Robyn Rihanna Fenty’s been named the most downloaded artist ever, the most popular star on Facebook, the sexiest woman alive; she’s reached nearly 3 billion views on YouTube; she’s Rihanna Inc., a multimillion-dollar enterprise. She’s 24. “Sometimes a person looks at me and sees dollars. They see numbers and they see a product, ” she says. “I look at me and see art. If I didn’t like what I was doing, then I would say I was committing slavery. “
On her tats…
She jokes about almost getting inked on her face the night before. “The tattoo artist said nope, I’m not gonna do it,” she says, “because if you’re looking at your face, it’s right there staring at you.” Before the entrées arrive, she’s interviewing the interviewer. I’m getting into my recent breakup, the empty space in my closet, and she’s saying, very bro-like, “Life can be such a d*ck sometimes, right?”
On what she wants in a man…
“I like to feel like a woman,” she says. “I have to be in control in every other aspect of my life, so I feel like in a relationship, like I wanted to be able to take a step back and have somebody else take the lead.” Do you ever switch things up? I ask. “I could absolutely be dominant,” she answers. “But, in general, I’d rather… How do I say this in like a…non-Triple X version?” Right. Lastly, any boundaries I should know about? “Love makes you go places you probably wouldn’t ever go, had it not been for love. But I think everybody still has their limits.”
On her music…
“I want to make music that’s hopeful, uplifting. Nothing corny or supersentimental,” she told me. “I just want it to have the feeling that brings you out of whatever you’re going through. I want it to spark that fire. I want it to be real, authentic, and raw.”
The GQ’s writer’s encounter with Rihanna and Breezy in the club:
Chris Brown brashly stands on top of his bench in the neighboring booth. He and Rihanna start tossing flirtatious glances like kids passing notes in middle-school math class. The smirks and the playfulness continue until they’re dancing with each other from afar. Then, out of mock frustration, Brown climbs over the top of the booth. A mischievous tingle of controversy vibrates through the club.
There, in the middle of all the craziness: Rihanna stares straight at me and passes me a spliff. She turns her green-hazel Bambi gaze back to Brown and begins to sway those famous hips from side to side. It’s 2 a.m. She looks like she’s just getting started.
“This is some movie sh*t, ladies and gentlemen!” the DJ bellows. “We see you, Chris and Rihanna!”
Damn, make sure you guys cop this issue of GQ when it hits the newsstands for this awesomeness in its entirety.