1D (or) How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Boy Band

Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. I’m addicted to One Direction. I am a 22 year old woman with a full time job, and I’m a Directioner. 

For those of you who aren’t familiar, One Direction is the latest British confection put together by none other than Simon Cowell – and they are more or less the best recipe for success since The Spice Girls. Put together 5 cute teenage boys who can sing, write them some pop music, dress them in vaguely color-coordinated clothes, let their fan base give each one a superlative, and watch the money roll in. 

And I am trying not to hate myself, because I love them.

1D first popped up on my radar about six months ago. I didn’t hear any of their music, I just heard about them. And I thought “oh, nice. something new for tweens to bop around to”. When I actually heard one of their songs, I thought “huh. cute.” When I saw the line of girls waiting for them at 30 Rock when I was on the NBC Studios tour in NYC, I thought “okay, maybe they’re better than I give them credit for?” When I heard them on SNL, I had to admit that their music was catchy.

And then I downloaded their album. This was a mistake, because it is the ONLY thing I want to listen to – in my kitchen making dinner, in my room getting ready for the day, in the car driving around …. One Direction.

In general, my music taste is somewhat eclectic. Great loves include Bruce Springsteen, Josh Groban, Meatloaf, Frank Sinatra, Duke Ellington, and The Beatles. I wasn’t even that into boy bands the first time around, when N*Sync and The Backstreet Boys were all anyone could talk about.

But damn it. One Direction. 

I feel the need to somehow justify my love of an album that consists of pop ballads, catchy choruses, and dance beats. And the only thing I can think of is this: I can’t listen to their songs and not feel awesome. They come pre-packaged with self-esteem boosts and a general air of reassurance that obviously you are an incredible girl, and these guys who you have never met (but who are clearly singing about you) would treat you soooo much better than that dick who broke your heart. And I feel absurd for loving their music so much, because I am in fact not a teenage girl wondering if she’ll ever meet “the one” after her high school boyfriend breaks up with her. My problems, by and large, exist in the wider scope of the adult world. 

But the bottom line is that the entire album “Up All Night” is basically like a musical hug. 

And who doesn’t need a good hug now and then? 


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