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Here's What Happens When I, A Grown Man Of Sound Mind, Attend A One Direction Concert At 7 A.M.

One Direction went on Good Morning America and I got up at 3:30 a.m. to see them. Because Harry Styles' thighs aren't gonna ogle themselves.

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Hi. I'm Matt. I'm 25 years old, a working professional, and by all accounts, a fully grown, functioning adult man. Also I happen to love the British man-band One Direction.

To put my love into perspective, if I had children, I would willingly and gladly sacrifice my eldest and strongest for the chance to sit on One Direction's collective lap for only 10 seconds. (I'd give all my imaginary kids away for a full 60 seconds. And I'd sell the additional rights to my future imaginary children for a minute and a half of lap contact. One Direction, if you're reading this, I have the paperwork drawn up.)

This is an artist's rendering of my bed, where I am usually cosily curled, dreaming deeply of a Harry Styles clothed in a bedazzled sugar plum gown, prancing about to a fairylike tune, tossing glitter about a field of daisies.*

But on this day, I was NOT in my bed. Instead, I'd awoken at THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING to travel by train to New York's Central Park for a 7 a.m. Good Morning America concert, where I would see my glistening children in person.

What follows are my thoughts on my real-life encounter with the glory and goodness that is One Direction.


First, they arose from the misty darkness of that backstage-area place where they wrangle them at Good Morning America.

Stephen Lovekin / Getty Images

I don't really know what happens backstage in that misty darkness, but I imagine it's glorious, because they emerge looking like this. Not children, but fully grown, manly British men, developed like fine whiskey for over two decades, forming the beautiful, shimmering, mature creatures you see before you here.


Also of particular note: Niall's lightning-colored hair, each strand of his curious chest follicles, and of course, those smooth Irish arms, which have grown quite bulky in recent days — don't think I haven't noticed.

And, obviously, Niall's beautiful blouse, which, if I had to guess, is from Madewell's as-yet-unreleased autumn collection. Note the dangly fringe, which I would gladly run my fingers along, upon Niall's invitation.


Then Niall and Louis sang about being aroused. Because "No Control" is about being aroused and that's what they sang. They sang about waking up in a sexy mood to a crowd of teenage girls. And I lived for it.


Also he laughed. And even though I couldn't hear it, because everybody around me was too loud, I imagine it sounded like one of those toy dolls that you pull and it makes a cute little giggle and then you feed it cherries or something. Just like that.

Then there is Harold.* The Queen Himself. The Royal Cherub. The Crowning Flower. The Curly Princess.

Stephen Lovekin / Getty Images

*Note: His name is not actually Harold. It's Harry. But it's a fun thing I like to call him because he is my child.

He emerged, as always, with a look that says "I know this jacket is ridiculous. I know my pants are too tight. I know my hair is blowing wildly in the wind. But I don't give a single tea or biscuit." (Or something like that 'cause he's British, remember.)


I saw our hopes and dreams, tied together as one. I saw a house in London and a beach mansion in L.A. and a loft that we sometimes visit in New York, but mostly we're beach people, ya know. Plus, that's what our kids like.


You can watch their interview with Good Morning America below, and check out some of their GMA performances here.