In Which This Isn’t About Justin Timberlake

I am an old lady.

There, I said it. While I’ve been joking about it since I turned 21, the Internet proved to me last night that I am officially old (or maybe just out of the loop?)

To backtrack, while I try to stay well-informed about news and politics and world events – even though CNN is basically as good as an Ambien – I’m sorely lacking when it comes to the boy band resurgence. Don’t get me wrong, back in the late 90s/early 2000s, I could not only bust a move to N*SYNC, but I also wholeheartedly dedicated myself to learning all their lyrics. 

Didn’t we all?

(And, of course, like many a red-blooded lady, I am both in awe of and tremendously thankful for Justin Timberlake’s transformation from a ramen-noodle-haired lover of knit turtlenecks to a full-blown, dreamy, Ty Power-esque goofball.)

The boy bands of today? Well, I can’t replicate that love. And that’s not to denigrate them; it’s just to say I literally can no longer keep them straight. Whatever part of my gray matter that was once responsible for knowing exactly how many tips Lance Bass had frosted has long since deteriorated.

Case in point? My relationship (or lack thereof) with One Direction. The below Post-It, passed to a coworker, should neatly illustrate my my ignorance:

One Direction

Now, I understand 1D is a phenomenon. I understand they’re something I should know about if I’m to consider myself a pop culture aficionado. But there is something broken in my brain that causes me to point and say “Oh, they’re adorable. Who are they?” every time I see a photo of these lads on the Interwebs.

Of course, all of this is a very roundabout way of saying that, last night, I encountered this photo of Harry Styles at a wedding, and all I could do was clutch my pearls (metaphorically) and gasp, “Where is your tie, young man?!”

Which made me feel old. And out of touch. And surprisingly okay with that.

(Also, Harry – Jack White’s probably pretty upset you stole his look. Just saying.)


Your Gal



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