Watching a documentary on bat shit crazy One Direction fans in a marketing seminar today has really put my teen years into perspective. My experience wasn't so much throwing tear stained training bras at Harry Styles, more seeing how many Kinder Bueno bars I could consume during an episode of the Fresh Prince.
Four and a half, if you're wondering.
I guess I've just never really understood the concept of intense fandom. If Brad Pitt didn't want Jennifer Aniston in all her blonde, braless glory; then he sure as hell won't want me and my unrelenting morning breath. Or as I like to call it, "L'eau de DON'T FUCKING BREATH ON ME".
Available in all good retailers now.
But I guess the intense fandom come obsession is only propelled by the cyber schlag that is social media. I know I've fallen victim to it's cruel ways before - "I wonder if I like enough of his posts will he like me?".
I found this was highly effective! If ensuring you are promptly defriended... But hey, whatever. His abs weren't even that good in this years holiday snaps. I much preferred last years. It also appears heavy breathing isn't welcomed in a lecture... squares.
Maybe the problem is that I just wasn't cool enough as a teen to even fit into the subculture of band fans. My fingerless gloves not quite homeless enough, fringe not quite sided enough to merge into the MCR fan minority. When I was a young girl, my father took me into the city and told me to stop wearing so much bloody eyeliner.
You'd think given five or six years these waves of social leprosy that I give off would start to subdue. Well you'd be wrong. They're just better packaged these days. You can't polish a turd, but you can sure as hell lacquer the fuck out of it.
The reason I know I haven't advanced? I'm currently sitting in the depths of the library seductively sipping a flask of parsnip soup. Now, now boys - form a queue. But hey, who doesn't love a good glug of soup on a chilly December Tuesday? Every fucking person in Belfast that's currently queuing outside Boojum it appears. As much as I love burritos, I refuse to queue for something that prohibits eye contact while being consumed. You know what I'm talking about.
I once again have to thank you for giving up your time to take a look through the window into my sham of a student experience. Monday night means getting mashed at the student union - not getting mellow on cheddar and chutney. But my god do M&S do an outstanding Caramelised Onion relish.
Until next time, my lovely lads and ladys. xo
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