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Adult Fangirl Problems - Directioner Version by scooby-snacks
If you'd asked me a little over three years ago who One Direction were, my answer would probably have been something along the lines of, "a boyband who won The X Factor."
WRONG. They didn't win The X Factor. And the description 'boyband' doesn't do them justice, in my opinion. To call them a boyband implies they dress all in white and execute well-rehearsed dance routines in front of an artificial backdrop, whilst power-grabbing every key change. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this sort of behaviour (I was a massive fan of Take That and the Backstreet Boys in the nineties, for the record), but I think every Directioner will agree with me when I say 1D doesn't fit the stereotypical boyband image. And this is where the bulk of the problem lies.
To a non-Directioner, the boys are exactly that: BOYS. It doesn't matter that they're all in their twenties, have varying degrees of facial/chest hair and an abundance of tattoos (Niall excepted.) They're still seen by outsiders to the fandom as pre-pubescent adolescents with teenage haircuts who sang the cheesy, manufactured pop hit What Makes You Beautiful. Their Platinum albums, four sold-out world tours, songwriting credits and, in the case of Louis Tomlinson, recent entrance to fatherhood don't seem to register.
So for a thirty-something year old like me, being a hardcore Directioner is mostly something I keep to myself, only fully indulging my passion on Twitter and Wattpad where, thankfully, some like-minded adults reside. However, there are times when the boundaries blur...
Imagine waiting in the buffet line at a work conference, amongst some of the industry leaders in your field, when your phone rings from the depths of your bag and you (and the entire venue) hear, "...you've got that one thing... SO! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT OF MY HEAD, AND FALL INTO MY ARMS INSTEAD..."
Imagine waiting for your son in the school playground, absently scrolling through Twitter, only to become acutely aware that the gif that you've been drooling over for the last few minutes of Harry Styles gyrating on stage to Little White Lies is also visible to every other parent standing behind you.
Imagine finally coming clean about your writing hobby on Wattpad to your oldest friend, only for her to snort, "Let me guess... it's about Harry Styles." Cue laughter and eye-roll.
The stress involved in tweeting my latest chapter update is incomprehensible: What if I accidentally tweet it from my REAL Twitter account, and my Wattpad identity is revealed to people in the real world? Or worse - what if one of the other mums from my son's school sees my REAL Twitter profile after I've liked one of the class tweets, indulges in a bit of stalking (as we all do) and sees the birthday tweet I sent to Harry before I created my separate fangirl account, accompanied by the picture of me and a friend holding a birthday cake complete with candle? The thought is too horrific to imagine.
Not to mention having to defend this borderline obsession almost daily to the boss at work, who takes immense pleasure in reminding the whole office that her seven year old daughter is also a One Direction fan, and that anyone over the age of twelve who likes 1D is "tragic." There's only so many times you can roll your eyes and remind her that actually she brings up the subject of the band far more than you do, and casually suggest that she is in fact a closet fan. (She isn't. Believe me.)
I was lucky that I had two close friends at work whose love of One Direction rivalled mine (for those of you who have read the No Control series, you'll recognise the names Nicki and Sarah - they are in fact real people) but unfortunately Nicki is currently on her own personal hiatus, and even Sarah's interest in all things Harry-related also seems to be waning. Gone are the days when we would cackle wickedly every time someone in the office asked innocently "How many cards?" to which the reply was always, gleefully, and in that silly Louis-voice, "SIX," regardless of the true answer.
From experience, it is more socially acceptable for me to be a diehard Potterhead than an Adult Directioner. No one bats an eyelid when I update my Facebook status every September 1st with posts like, "Anyone need a lift to Kings Cross this morning?" or "Enjoying the start of term feast in the Great Hall." I attract several comments on my yearly variations of the Halloween status "RIP Lily and James," all of which are understanding and sympathetic. But when I posted a close-up photo on my profile of Louis Tomlinson looking directly at me, taken at OTRA Cardiff, captioned with my uncontainable excitement? I won't repeat the comments, but needless to say some were mocking and unnecessary. The moral of the story? It's better to endorse a fictional boy-wizard and his fixation with vengeful murder than it is to swoon over four men in skinny jeans with on-fleek hair.
I've come to the conclusion that the majority of adult 1D stans exist only on Twitter - very possibly for fear of ridicule from fandom outsiders. This makes it hard to spot these fellow fangirls in real life; they don't exactly walk around with it stamped on their foreheads like a lightning bolt, more's the pity. I've found the best approach to revealing my lifetime subscription to the 1D fandom is to drop it into conversation casually when the subject of musical taste comes up. You can normally gauge the reaction quite well when you admit to your audience (rather like in a group counselling session), "well, my guilty pleasure is One Direction." You'll either be scoffed at, or you will see someone's eyes light up as they realise they've found another secret member of the club. Sadly, the latter doesn't happen often, or rather when it does, it ends up being a let-down when they gabble excitedly "yeah, my niece/daughter/pupil loves that 'What Makes You Beautiful' song!" And quicker than a Larry can say AIMHHS, you're back to square one.
In the meantime however, I refuse to delete my Harry Styles desktop background from my office computer, or move my cardboard cutout of Louis that stands proudly on my desk between my two screens. My One Direction glitter gel pens sit proudly in my pen pot next to my I *heart* Harry rubber and my spare stickers from the 2013 One Direction sticker album that may or may not still be languishing underneath my desk drawers. After all this time? - I hear you ask. Always.
My one form of comfort, though, is that the three times I went to see them last year (front row each time - being a wage-earning adult definitely has its advantages) I was pleasantly surprised that I certainly wasn't solely surrounded by pre-teens, and I was by no means the oldest person there. And when I made eye contact with each of the boys, received a jaunty wave from Sandy Beales, got Louis' half-finished water bottle, and Harry read my sign and called me cheeky, it made my three years of closet fangirling all worthwhile.
(I'm still waiting for my letter from Hogwarts.)
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