Oh, Harry

There are few things that stir my heart like Harry Styles.

Before you judge, gimme a sec to explain. Through thick and thin, Mr. Styles has been consistently gorgeous, and endlessly, painfully cool. Quite honestly, I don’t know if I’d rather marry him or BE him. Like damn, son that hair. I digress.

There is one video in particular that I return to when times are tough. It’s a poorly filmed, close up of Harry during a performance of One Direction’s cover of Teenage Dirt-bag. In this video, he goes absolutely nuts, flails around, and dumps water on the audience, all the while maintaining his ultimate coolness. How. Just how.

This got me thinking about the way I present myself to others. I have always taken great pains in acting like I have it all together. My outfits always match without being the dreaded “matchy-matchy”, my hair is always a tasteful mess, the list goes on.

But what if, just for a day, I abandoned this perfect balance and channeled my inner Harry; my inner dirt-bag, if you will. Would I be as carefree as Mr. Styles? Would I, too, be a heartthrob? These aren’t the things someone with a questionable mental history should be asking, but God damn it if I wasn’t going to find out.

I have run the tests, I have compiled the data, and what I found was slightly sad, but ultimately very rewarding.

Basically everybody is a mess. Everybody. I firmly believe that Harry Styles is a hologram, an angel, or a robot created by Jesus himself, because he truly seems to be the only exception.

By getting some reflective distance from relentlessly trying to look effortless, I realized that everyone around me was doing the same. People spend hundreds of dollars dying their hair, hours applying makeup each morning, and days in dressing rooms looking for the most flattering pair of jeans. My God people, what are we doing?

I can’t even judge, because I do the same thing; it feels good. It nice to feel confident, and easy to get lost in the mirror. I couldn’t help but wallow in self pity a while when I realized the extent of the time I’d lost to this endless need to seem cool.

Harry had truly cracked the code. He had flailed around, he had acted a fool, and I had loved it. I admired him at his craziest, least composed moments. Why wouldn’t this hold true for me?

And so kiddos, here’s the thesis; flail, go nuts, throw water, toss your hair around. At those moments when you feel least secure, think of Harry. Would Harry agonize over the shape of his eyebrows, or would he be too busy being Harry God Damn Styles?

Now you too can be a heartthrob adored by millions of girls, just like me! Oh joy! Now, pardon me while I go cry to the lyrics of “Sign Of The Times” and clutch my 2013 One Direction calendar.

Being cool is far too exhausting.

The video that changed my life. (watch until the end for full enlightenment)