In September 2015, prompted by lady readers of GQ, Michael B. Jordan acted out scenarios of the sexiest thing he could do for them, in a 2-minute video. Brittany, aged 39, reckons a hot stone massage with MBJ would hit the spot: Cut to Jordan in a fluffy bathrobe, rubbing oil in his hands, saying, “Let me know if this is too much pressure.” 21-year-old Monica would like him to let her vent, dammit: “You know what? Why don’t we pour her a hot cup of shut-the-fuck-up?” he asks conspiratorially. Jen, 31, has a more cerebral act in mind – she wants to do the crossword in bed together: “All right. 42 down, three-letter word for ‘sublime’,” says Michael, before pausing. And then, “You.” Then a lip bite. It’s quite the thing to see.
My favourite request, however, is Jennifer’s. Jennifer just wants him to watch Dawson’s Creek with her. Dutifully, MBJ looks down the barrel of the camera and obliges Jennifer. “Wasn’t it always supposed to be Pacey?” he asks in a no duh tone, legs folded on the coffee table, biceps casually flexed as he gestures with the remote control. It was, Michael. How on earth did he know?