Vintage tank top from Grand St. Bakery, in Brooklyn, NY.


Don’t think Levine is too obtuse to realize the way he sounds when he makes statements like that (he and his bandmates were self-aware enough to call the album Overexposed). He knows he’s portrayed in the media as an overconfident attention seeker. But if he really were as cocksure and in need of acceptance as some of the haters assume, you’d think he would have made some calculated statements to try and change that perception. But he doesn’t; he talks honestly and unguardedly. Five minutes into a conversation you can tell his reputation as a douchebag—a descriptor mentioned by more than one million web pages—is unwarranted. That’s also obvious to anyone who has watched NBC’s The Voice, where he gives out bro-hugs and thoughtful advice to up-and-coming singers and tries (but not that hard) to ignore the bait when fellow judge Christina Aguilera puffs out her cleavage and takes a dig at him.

Levine aims to please off-camera as well. During our INKED cover shoot, he took time to chat with the guys from the All American Car Club, who lent him their rides for the day. He snapped a photo with the intern who was practically hyperventilating when she asked. And he braved the blazing-hot sidewalks of Brooklyn wearing combat boots and work pants in 95-degree heat, even going so far as to throw around a Nerf football with some onlookers while the rest of the crew cowered in the shade eating Italian ices.

So he’s either a nice guy or a really good actor, which would bode well for his next career move. In October, Levine makes his acting debut on the second season of FX’s American Horror Story, in which he has a top-secret role as one half of a couple that (possibly) meets a gory, tragic end. Whether he’s a good actor remains to be seen. But he’s certainly got the charisma—and a comedian’s sense of timing. When I ask him his favorite curse word, he replies immediately: “Fuck.” So I ask him what he likes to do to blow off steam and, without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck,” then maintains a Blue-Steelish gaze for a second before slumping into his armchair and laughing. “No, really, it’s yoga,” he clarifies.