The Time I Met One Direction
The year was 2013 — everyone was doing the “Cups” song from Pitch Perfect, Vine was the pinnacle of internet humor, and I met One Direction.
I first discovered One Direction as I was falling down a Youtube rabbit hole. When I came across the “What Makes You Beautiful” music video, I was actually confused as to why someone would form a boyband in the early two thousands — boybands were just a bleached-tip memory of the past. Oh, how wrong I was…
As any twenty-something One Direction fan can tell you, their video diaries acted as the gateway drug. One Direction competed on the X Factor where they recorded video diaries each week to check in with fans and to encourage people to vote. That was the intended purpose of the video diaries, but in actuality, the videos showcased five teenage boys goofing off and giggling over inside jokes. If you were a teenage boy in 2010, wreaked of Axe, and thought “One Direction’s stupid”, while wearing stained basketball shorts, let me break it down for you. One Direction appeared to be better versions of your high school crush — approachable, yet unapproachable. Yes, they could sing and had accents, but they also would change lyrics in their songs to make jokes and couldn’t handle any form of choreography. One Direction wasn’t a polished, factory-made boyband but rather five puppies you let loose on stage. They were just attainable and unattainable enough that you could see yourself being friends with them without developing an eating disorder.
I attended my first One Direction concert in 2012 with two fellow One Direction fans and my friend, Hannah. Hannah didn’t hate One Direction, but she hadn’t drunk the Kool-aid yet either. However, as we sang and screamed for two hours straight, Hannah was converted. It should also be mentioned that the concert we attended was the night where Harry Styles’s shirt was ripped open on stage. Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Liam had a habit of messing with Harry during his “What Makes You Beautiful” solo, and on that night they decided to terrorize their poor friend by exposing his bare chest to a sea of crazed pre-teen girls. If you haven’t ever been in a room where Harry Styles’s shirt is ripped open with hundreds of girls, you haven’t really lived. Elon Musk believes if we harnessed the energy from that night it could power the next mission to his Martian colony.
After seeing the light, Hannah gave me the greatest gift for Christmas — a meet and greet with One Direction. As I processed this information, two emotions overwhelmed me: euphoria and heartburn.
I was ecstatic that my friend would invite me to such a special event , but also nauseated at the idea of meeting my teen idols. If you know me, I hate audience participation. Nothing gives me more anxiety than sitting front row at a comedy show or having with stormtroopers interrogate you at Disneyland. To me, meeting One Direction was the ultimate form of audience participation. My fourteen-year-old self could not even fathom what I would say to them. I sat with my suppressed anxiety and excitement until it was finally June.
Here are a few details you should know about this concert. The concert and meet and greet were in Columbus, Ohio — about six hours away from Illinois. Hannah and I also got to bring a friend each to the concert. They would attend the concert with us, but only Hannah and I would go to the meet and greet. So this was the problem facing us: four girls needed to drive six hours to get to a One Direction concert, and Hannah’s mom was unavailable that weekend. The obvious and only solution was to have my dad drive four girls to Columbus, Ohio as they sang One Direction songs for six hours straight.
If I ever doubt that my dad loves me, I need only think back to how my dad patiently listened and offered advice as Hannah and I made our game plan to meet One Direction. We agreed that we needed to stand out and not just laugh and giggle. We needed to make an impression. Hannah and I decided that we would thank them for all of their hard work and dedication and tell them how much their music meant to us. While “most girls” would try to flirt with them, Hannah and I would take the more “intellectual” approach and treat them as musical artists and not objects. Was this the lamest possible way to interact with our beloved boyband? Yes. Hannah and I were those kids in class who’d been padding our college resumes since middle school, so we approached One Direction with the same precision and “maturity” that we would use for our college applications.
My dad drove all four of us to a hotel the night before the concert, so we could attend the concert in the morning. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Questions kept popping up in my mind. How much time do we get with them? Should I stand next to Harry or Zayn in the photo? What if I say something stupid? What if I can’t say anything, and waste the opportunity? Again, this was too much for my fourteen-year-old self to handle. The next morning, the girls and I got up early and dawned our best outfits. I went with lacy coral-colored shorts with a sleeveless jean shirt — both were from a recent shopping trip at Kohl’s. I recently discovered gel eyeliner and did my best to create a cat eye. Hannah and I had to get there early for the meet and greet and would meet up with our other two friends afterwards.
We walked up to the venue to see about thirty girls lined up in summer heat. For the concert I attended the year before, girls wore silly costumes, dressed up as members from the band, and wrote lyrics on their arms with markers. This was not the same crowd. These girls were dressed to kill — skirts, curled hair, contoured faces, etc. They were either leaving as Mrs. Styles or they weren’t coming back at all. Hannah and I lined up with them as we went over our game plan again. My dad tried to calm us down and remind us that this was supposed to be a fun event and not a stress-inducing activity.
He then broke the news to us that he would not be attending the concert with us. Hannah’s mom had a fifth ticket she was going to use but gave it to my dad for him to attend. At this point in my life, this was the closest thing I had to introducing my parents to a boy I liked, so I couldn’t understand why my fifty-year-old father didn’t want to see One Direction. He assured me that he was fine with sitting out the concert and would find a way to scalp his ticket. Before I could protest, one of the venue managers alerted us that it was time to meet the boys.
As a team handed out One Direction tote bags to us, a manager explained that we would only have a minute to take our photo with the boys, drop off any gifts we had at a side table, and move into the arena for soundcheck. I felt a weight lifted off of my chest when I learned that we only had a minute with them — the less time, the less time to say anything stupid. In our line, Hannah and I rounded the corner and entered the room for the meet and greet. Then, We saw them.
One Direction — not on a computer screen but in real life.
Louis had a container of Tic Tacs that he was shaking at Niall and Liam, creating a mess all over the floor. I looked over to Harry and Zayn who were awkwardly dancing to the Top 40’s playlist playing in the background. I was surprised at how small and frail they seemed to be. Despite their puppy-like energy, the bags under their eyes couldn’t hide the fact that they probably just got off of a tour bus. As we moved up in the line, I noticed how small their legs looked in their skinny jeans. I couldn’t help but feel insecure about my thunder thighs I acquired from playing soccer. My mind bounced back and fourth from being grateful for the opportunity and wanting to jump out a window. Suddenly, it was our turn take our photo. I blacked out a bit, so I don’t remember much, but we definitely bailed on our rehearsed speech. Hannah and I managed to squeak out a “hi” and then scurried over to take our photo.
There are only three things that I remember from the five seconds I spent with One Direction. 1. There was a perfect spot between Harry and Zayn. As much as I loved Hannah, I wasn’t passing up an opportunity to be between both of them. 2. Harry’s flannel shirt was the softest material I have ever felt. And 3. They all smelled of B.O. and cigarettes.
As much as my fourteen-year-old self wanted to believe that they smelled like a musky campfire after a rainstorm, they smelled like twenty-something, chain-smoking boys. Despite the surprising smell, Hannah and I couldn’t care less. We got to see One Direction and would have a “fun fact” that we would share at the beginning of every college class for the rest of our lives. The anxiety dissipated, and we were only left with the high. Hannah and I then went into the concert arena; some girls around us were still weepy from the meet and greet.
The thirty of us were then treated to a Q and A session and a soundcheck performance. I was thrilled to have survived the meet and greet, and I did not want to risk any more angst with having to ask them a question. I remember there was one girl who wasted a question and asked the boys if they were good kissers. It’s only now that I am twenty-three — the age that some of the boys were — that I realize how uncomfortable that question must have been for them. I remember thinking that I wanted to ask them a more “insightful” question about Harry’s Green Bay Packers tattoo and then slip in the fact that I was from the Illinois/Wisconsin border. Thankfully, the Q and A session ended before I created a scenario for myself to overthink for the rest of my life. After the private concert, they released us to the merchandise store to spend our parents’ money to our hearts content.
Hannah and I reunited with our friends and recounted the details from their smell to the feel of Harry’s flannel. The concert was an amazing sing-along session with never-ending screams as all One Direction concerts should be. Afterwards, we met up with my dad who had a fun night of his own. He sold his ticket and used the money to buy a hotdog and a ticket to the Triple-A baseball team across the street. A good time was had by all ages that night. The following morning, my dad drove four over-stimulated, comatose girls another six hours back to Illinois.
With 2020 and the ten year anniversary of One Direction, I’ve reflected on that day and what it meant to me. I wish I could say that the experience taught me how to seize opportunities and to not overanalyze, but I still hate audience participation and have no interest in meeting any of my teen idols anytime soon. I did realize that my dad needs an award for accomplishing the Herculean task of driving four girls for twelve hours round trip to see a boy band. I also learned that boys, no matter how famous, are still boys. Also, don’t compare your legs with skinny European boys’ legs. Oh, and if you see a spot between Harry and Zayn, take it. There’s a serendipitous lesson in here somewhere. Lastly, One Direction, if you’re reading this, the Jonas Brothers made a comeback…you can do it too.
