I like money. I use it to keep myself sheltered, to put food on the table for my girlfriend and our two dogs (they don’t actually eat at the table – though it would be impressive, it would also probably be unhygienic), and to buy a selection of video games and blu-rays that keep me distracted from the inevitable heat death of the universe. Obviously money doesn’t buy happiness, but I’d certainly have a bigger smile on my face after purchasing a PS4 than I would standing beneath a bridge, warming my hands over a burning barrel with my fellow vagrants.
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But although I have an admiration for the dollar, if Harry Styles were to hit me up on Twitter and request that I fill in as a full-time replacement for estranged One Direction band member Zayn Malik, my response would be an unequivocal “no thanks, though I appreciate the offer, Harry. By the way, what hair product do you use?”
News that the 22-year-old, brown-eyed Bradford boy has exited The Biggest Boyband In The World due to stress doesn’t come as much of a surprise when you contemplate just how difficult it is to be a member of The Biggest Boyband In The World. Though my music taste doesn’t stretch far enough to incorporate songs about girls who are unaware of their own beauty bellowed by a bunch of overly peppy 20-something-year-olds, I do have a certain level of admiration for them when it comes to their ability to remain under such an intense spotlight without suffering a collective nervous breakdown. Though the perks of the job, such as earning enough money to be able to afford to assassinate anyone you desire, must be pretty good, I’d imagine that for many the downsides would be insurmountable.
For the majority I’d imagine being in One Direction would resemble more of a hellish nightmare than it would an aspirational dream. For one, you have a legion of teenagers with a misplaced sense of devotion clinging to your every word and action. Picked your nose in public? Those girls will record that moment for prosperity, sharing Vines of the magical event whilst defending your right to shove your index finger into your nostril against any of those pesky haterz. Caught in public with your arm hooked around the waist of a girl who isn’t your girlfriend? They’ll bombard that home-wrecking bitch with death threats until she’s afraid of leaving the house due to fear of being stabbed in the back by a pitchfork brandished by a socially awkward 14-year-old.
Even the most well-adjusted of individuals would struggle to maintain their grasp on reality after being ushered into vehicles with blacked-out windows while desperate tweens attempt to grab their hair. Zayn, who’s always maintained the doughy-eyed expression of someone who’s being pushed into planes by men in suits against his own will in order to fulfill a contract, was inevitably going the to be the first one to jump ship.
Now all he has to do is ride out the waves of journalists twice his age analyzing his departure and the resulting aftermath, and news stations setting up camp outside his home in order to pester his friends and family for a quote for tomorrow’s headlines, until he can FINALLY live out the dream of being an anonymous, ordinary person, working a £24,000 job in admin whilst living in a small flat with the toilet positioned next to the kitchen in central London.
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