
The precise moment is hard to pinpoint. Perhaps it was when he started rolling with what tabloids christened a reconstituted Rat Pack, guzzling Cristal and sharing stretch Hummers with P. Diddy and Wilmer Valderrama. Or punked Justin Timberlake. Or married frickin’ Demi Moore. But somewhere along the line, you could reasonably have said to yourself, “You know what? This Ashton Kutcher kid, who’s never been in anything I give a **** about? **** him. **** him and the publicists he rode in on.”
But you didn’t. And the reason you gave him that chance, left the door of opportunity open for Kutcher to win you over, is that he is not an *******. You could see that despite the sideways caps, puka-shell necklaces, and lame teen comedies. Kutcher himself will tell you that’s what got him this far—not being an *******. “Anything else,” he says, “I’m going to have to earn.” We are facing each other across a round white table in the 14th-floor office of Kutcher’s production company, Katalyst Films and Television, just east of the Sunset Strip, our butts on metal-frame chairs. Kutcher is doing something he will ask me later not to write about, something he says he doesn’t want children to know he does. He shakes his head. It’s a bad habit that he started up again after a recent role called for it.
Source: Faded Youth & Men.Style.com