Ronson is basically the same in person as in his books. Before he’d even sat down at our meeting, he began intensely questioning me about the show of his I’d seen a few days prior.
“Did you think it went on a little long?” he said, headphones sill dangling around his neck. “I did. It was slightly overbooked, and shows like that should never last more than two hours. . . I obsess over this. Like, I’m quite a nightmare backstage–nobody should go over 10 minutes. Everyone always says they won’t go over 10 minutes, but then everyone always goes over 10 minutes.” Only with this off his chest did he walk over to the counter and order an iced coffee and a kale muffin, which he ate most of before wrapping the leftovers in its cellophane. He spent the next hour squeezing it like a makeshift stress ball. By the end of our conversation, it was a perfect gray sphere.