Call me a die-hard teenager, but my flare for boy bands never quite died when it should have in third grade.
Back then, my love for ‘N Sync and, more importantly, The Backstreet Boys was rational. Heck, it was even expected that I, like all of my equally obsessed friends, would jam to “Millennium” on repeat every night before I said goodnight.
The problem started in fourth grade, though, when my love for these bands didn’t end. I stayed with ‘N Sync through “Celebrity” in 2001, after most of my friends had moved on to bigger and better things, like Shakira and Jay-Z.
I even bought a copy of The Backstreet Boys’ “Black & Blue” when it was released in 2000. I’m one of three people in the entire world who’s listened to that album all the way through, more than once.
Even as middle school passed and I succumbed to the peer pressure that was Good Charlotte, I held on to those first two loves in the privacy of my own headphones.
I’ve spent more hours of my life than I’d care to admit pining over bands who, let’s be honest, are neither good nor age appropriate.
Unfortunately, the real problem began when my boy-band love didn’t end with the gods of the early 2000s.
It all started with the Jonas Brothers. I can practically hear you all laughing at me already, but if I’m going to confess in print, it might as well be a full confession, right?
It wasn’t love at first sight with Kevin, Joe and Nick, though – at least I can say that. I was actually influenced by a friend to fall in love with them. And fall, I did.
“A Little Bit Longer” was the sole soundtrack to the summer of 2009 – you know, the one right before freshman year of college. My friend and I took absolute pride in perfecting Big Rob’s – the JoBros’ bodyguard – rap section in “Burnin’ Up” as we drove aimlessly around Erie.
Everyone else did that too, right?
I should probably refrain from admitting this for fear of being able to show my face on campus tomorrow, but I still listen to that album on occasion. It’s not just for the memories, either; I just genuinely enjoy boy bands that much.
But lately, my unique obsession – at least for rational people my age – has combined with my irrational love for all things British to create something truly terrifying.
One Direction has stolen my soul.
Gone are the days of listening to real, good music. Now it’s all 1D, all the time.
With Tuesday’s release of their second studio album, “Take Me Home,” I can guarantee that if you see me sporting headphones any time within the next month, it’s these guys playing in my head.
Unlike any of the other boy bands I’ve mentioned, though, One Direction has taken over my life in more than just a musical way. Photos of the members – primarily Louis and Harry, although Laim, Niall and Zayn can be found there, too – decorate the wall next to my computer.
Whenever I glance to the right, my vision is filled with images of these lovely boys, alongside the true greats, like Alan Rickman and Ewan McGregor.
If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
