Explaining One Direction To Adults

Well, shit. I’m that guy.

The guy who my friends turn to when they need a brief summary of who “that new boy band they’ve heard about” is. The guy who they assume has such an explanation prepared. The guy who could recommend a few of their hits. Y’know, for reference. Shit, indeed.

Thus, I’ve done it a few times. I’ve gone through all of the motions: who they are, what they sound like, their context, their image. It’s become a rehearsed summary, a fine-tuned digest, a constant reminder of my fleeting and meaningless existence. So, if this sharing of knowledge leads me to such self-realization, then allow me to publish it here, if only so as to function as some form of a suicide note.

Let’s get to it, then. What or who the fuck is One Direction?

Well, take Justin Bieber, multiply him by five, apply five slightly differing cookie-cutter 90s boy-band caricatures to said duplicates, give them British accents, and ramp up their overt sexuality. That’s a good start.They’re supposedly the forerunners in some sort of second British Invasion, except they don’t write their own songs, play their own instruments or have their own talents. They were literally molded by the pop-music-manufacturing-monstrosity that is Simon Cowell on one of his various shows that has the word “Idol” or “Talent” or “Factor” in it, all of which are centered around the absolute best premise ever: forcing excessively wealthy and pompous metrosexuals onto a stage to be brutalized and eventually transformed into uncomfortable and unattractive teenagers, but each show unfortunately seems to play in reverse. Just like the exploited Motown stars of the 60s and the endless cycle of boy bands churned out of the 90s, One Direction is merely one more page in the endless novel that is the calculated engineering of these money-magnet dickwallets. And out from this most recent fuckfactory waltzed the five young fucks that collectively make up One Direction – a direction that inevitably leads to drug addiction, psychological meltdowns and, lastly, hell.

The group represents the final stage in the inevitable and agonizing melding of Disney and “hipster.” They jaunt about on stage in polos belonging to skinheads, skinny jeans belonging to Sid Vicious, and fashionable blazers more suited for a Burberry photoshoot than a sweaty live performance. Nonetheless, their styling serves to moisturize the loins of their pre-pubescent fan base whilst simultaneously making them look like the poster-boys for a modern-day eugenics-based genocide. Their hair varies from Bieber-bangs to Hot-Topic-faux-hawks, all of which are no doubt styled by the same skullfucks who vigorously encouraged those choppy, brightly colored asymmetrical haircuts that haunted the premier years of this millennium.

So who are the five cocks that make up this penile pentahedron? Leading the pack is Harry Styles, the wavy-haired and “deep-voiced” (a micropenis amongst clitori) charmer known best for dating Taylor Swift and being rumored to have contracted syphilis from a Koala. Second is Niall Horan, the spritely Irish and gayer version of Ellen Degeneres, then followed by Zayn Malik, the perceived “bad boy” seemingly deemed as such due to his token brown-ness as well as his tattoos which include such badass images as Yin Yang, a heart, and his grandpas name. Remaining is Louis Tomlinson, most notable for being desperately shit at singing and left out of anything but group chorus, and Liam Payne, who is just so inexcusably average and unnoticeable that he very well may not even actually exist at all.

And their stardom knows no bounds, with magazines, fan-sites, television specials and literally hundreds of trillions of Tumblrs all dedicated to them. And yes, now they even have their own stores. One Direction stores dedicated solely to One Direction paraphernalia, loved by pre-teen girls almost as much as by pedophiles.

As for their most notable songs, check out “What Makes You Beautiful”, a song that challenges the very fabric of the universe by paradoxically telling a girl she’s beautiful because she doesn’t know that she’s beautiful, and “Live While We’re Young”, which goes against contemporary standards of musical lyricism by – no, nevermind. I can’t do it anymore. Fuck you for asking about them. I’m going crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy until I see the sun. I know we only met but let’s pretend it’s love. And never, never, never stop for anyone! Tonight let’s get some, and live while we’re young!!!

Well, shit.

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