With five years of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air under his belt, Will Smith has the hip teen thing down. I ask him if he thinks he's a natural clown-considering the comedic video persona of his early rap days and his raucous appearances on late-night talk shows-and he laughs. "I'm just outgoing," he
says, then pauses, as if that doesn't quite sum it up. Then he jumps right back in to answer, appearing
to try out responses in his mind as he goes along. "I'm comfortable enough to impose myself on my
surroundings," he continues. "That's the best way to describe it, really. It's a gift. It's the ability to
impose myself on my surroundings without making people feel imposed upon."

Good answer, I'm thinking, as he continues on, knowing innately that a good answer isn't enough.
Only a great answer will suffice. "But it's always been like that. When I was younger, it was more
about being different when everyone else wanted to fit in. I always wanted how I talked or my
clothes to be different. Peer pressure never meant anything to me. If something was done one way,
something in me resisted it."
 

He pauses again and laughs. "It was the same way in my music. Something in me enjoyed
coming to New York from Philly and people not liking us at first. When everyone else was
trying to act tough and grab their dicks, the first thing anyone ever heard me say on record was, `Oh
man, my eye! This guy just punched me in my eye for nothing.' I enjoyed that. I strove for that. Or is
it strived? Or striven?" He throws his hands in the air, deferring to the writer in the room. "Whatever,
just put it right in the article."

Will Smith can make that kind of demand. In fact, you want him to make demands of you because
he's so demonstrative, acting out scenes from his life when words won't suffice, rapping entire verses
of "The Message" to make his point about rap's changing style, reciting complete Tony Montana
monologues from Scarface to illustrate a point you just made, challenging your taste in movies ("You
haven't seen Pulp Fiction yet?"), challenging you to one-up him ("Don't you wanna ask me some
more questions?"). But it's almost more interesting just to observe Will Smith. He's a perpetual
performer, always doing his job, always giving his all.

Six years ago, though, the Fresh Prince nearly gave it all away, nearly lost the crown off his head. He
blew up too big too fast, and it all came crashing down. He suddenly went broke. His first album,
1987's Rock the House, went gold the following year. Then 1988's He's the D.J., I'm the Rapper
eventually sold 3 million copies, spurred by the single "Parents Just Don't Understand." Next, And in
This Corner merely went gold, before 1991's Homebase, the return to Philly roots featuring
"Summertime," went platinum. His most recent album, 1993's Code Red, went gold. The D.J. Jazzy
Jeff and the Fresh Prince phone line, the first celebrity 900 number, minted money-in its day it was
the second-highest-grossing line behind Dial-A-Joke. "In '87-'88 I was rich," he says. "In '89 I was
broke."

Broke? Like, rich-folks broke? I ask. No dollars in your pocket, but a couple hundred thou tied up
in investments and CDs? He laughs and shakes his head vigorously. "Nah, man. I was broke. Like,
can't-buy-gas, sell-the-car broke. Actually, you know what? Sell-everything broke. I was a moron. I
had the suburban mansion, a motorcycle, I was traveling around the world. I was 18 and the world
was open, and when the world is open like that it makes you crazy, you want everything. I wasn't
any happier with money, and I wasn't any less happy when I went broke. It hurt, and mentally it was
tough dealing with, but inside it didn't change. I still had my family, and I could still have a good time.
I could still laugh."