I was one of the little girls that loved One Direction. Me, my best friends, and the supposedly billions of fans across the world. One Direction was etched into our brains, tethered to our cosmos, and the red string of fate across our pinkies were eternal—or so we thought. When I turned 17, 18, 19, and even 20, I would always balk in awe at the fact that five boys were plucked out of everything they’d ever known at these same ages, and thrown into the rough throes of fame. Unsurprisingly, it was brutal, legendary, and painful for them. But at 10, 11, 12, 13, and 14, One Direction were the five, unbelievably cute boys that ripped apart the zeitgeist of pop music as we knew it; a cultural phenomenon that cannot be replicated.

All I cared about was seeing them—even if it was through a hacked airport security feed, a now infamous Twitter scandal. And, perhaps selfishly, it was our need to see that ruined them. A twelve hour livestream could not satiate our collective need. Twitter turned into a forum like no other: the who, what, when, where, why, and how was debated to death. Dating scandals, fanfiction turned movie adaptations, leaked music videos—the boys saw the good, the bad, and the ugly. Little girls didn’t. I grew up on a side of Tumblr where a) there was a growing sense of concern for their wellbeing and b) I, a mere twelve year old, had to be discreet, amongst fans who were older and wiser. Our love for the boys grew into questions of concern: Were they okay? Were they really friends? Were they happy? The answers forever eluded us but that didn’t stop the hundreds of posts and videos analyzing, GIF-ing, and fighting. In retrospect, we bestowed them with a loyalty like no other. I will never love anything like I still love One Direction. But is it time to apologise for loving the band to the point of exploitation?

One Direction was a machine, neatly packaged into personas that held wide appeal. Their aggressive rise was fueled in part by zealousness and compounded by capitalism. Years later, when I became aware of Marxist theory at roughly the same age the boys already had an album and a world tour under their belt, it was hard not to apply it to them. In many ways, One Direction was the basis of my radicalization. They ceased to be a boyband, and the fandom was no longer a silly little landscape. One Direction for all intents and purposes was a ‘pseudo-commodity’, and the fandom converted into an international commodity flow before my eyes. They became an essential part of a wider cultural realm where they were frequently bartered for public consumption. The problem is not that One Direction was an entity that was consumed per se, it was how they were bartered for consumption.

Directioners were certainly not the first online fandom – the Beliebers will take offense – but they were the first to revolutionize social media. Twitter wars, inside jokes, and update accounts operated as our de facto word of mouth, to the point where One Direction became a pervasive presence. The sheer natural power of fangirls was not only acknowledged, but taken advantage of. The fandom was rooted in loyalty and affection but infamously became known as a crazed international fanbase, and subsequently, a consumer group. Our loyalty was forcibly rooted in capitalism. At such adolescent ages, there was perhaps no other way to be. The downward spiral had begun: the more attention we paid, the more marketed the boys were. Borrowing a page from anthropologist Arjun Appadurai, Directioners are, for all intents and purposes, a globally imagined world and One Direction our primary “mediascape.” Retroactively situating our (albeit real) love as consumption shows how the band was no longer limited to local contexts. Rather, they became pieces in the global flows of culture. The fandom’s broad ideoscape (the movement of ideas) migrated beyond our own kinship network, which emboldened capitalist practice. Private sector collaborations such as perfumes, stationery, and toothbrushes were driven by a yawning gap in the market. The more we loved the boys outwardly, the more they found themselves entrapped in a vicious economy. One Direction in their entirety was for public consumption; their music was the least of it. Each member was branded in a certain way—Harry Styles, aged barely eighteen, was the ‘womanizer’ — and they were further cemented as such in the media. Zayn Malik was the ‘mysterious’ one, something that now seems both driven by stereotypical racism and silliness. Understandably so, he was the first to walk away. At some point, far too early, the boys became tangible goods, with no real regard for their wellbeing. Five albums and four world tours—two being entirely stadium—in only five years was gluttony on everyone’s part.

Ironically, nearly a decade after One Direction, the band has become a permanent figure in our temporality following Liam Payne’s sudden death in 2024. Liam’s gruesome death came with mixed emotions due to allegations leveled against him by his ex-fiance Maya Henry weeks before. But what remained was this: TMZ published a cropped picture of his lifeless body. The need for the world to see overpowered dignity in death. Crowds of fans mourned Liam outside his ill-fated hotel in Argentina whilst pleading for the leaks to stop. Thousands more held on to one another around the world. And yet, all the media could callously talk about was a potential, long awaited One Direction reunion at his funeral. Even in the face of intense tragedy, they were still just one of the best-selling boybands in the world, and a picture of them together could rake in millions. Seemingly aware of this, there are no public photographs of the remaining four together at Liam’s funeral. Zayn and Louis Tomlinson (a much hoped for rekindling), and Harry and Niall paired up to avoid becoming the topic of conversation. They, possibly for the first time, set their own terms of consumption and it is a downright shame that it came at the price of such immense loss.

It is unsurprising that all five boys were fiercely private after One Direction. Their personal navigation of fame outside of One Direction’s apparatus was in stark contrast to their time in the band. While they have engaged in private sector partnerships as solo artists (including Pleasing by Harry Styles and Zayn’s Arnette collection, amongst others), they align more carefully with each individual’s personal interests. The boys themselves take great lengths to avoid a replication of the economic ecosystem which they became. Even their final act as a band was an announcement of a ‘hiatus’, a telling word. Instead of simply disbanding, they took great lengths to preserve what they had built—a loving tribute to how they were made despite the ugliness they endured. Fifteen years have passed and the fandom’s cyclical protective nature has reared its head again, but it feels different this time around. Zayn cheekily announcing Louis’ presence at his solo concert might just be the first step. We are cautious, optimistic, and quietly watching on the sidelines as the boys mend their relationships. Their refusal to be commodified, and our own refusal to become a marketplace, rings loud.

In 2010, as The X-Factor judges curated what would become One Direction using just their headshots—a first act of capitalist motivation?—Nicole Scherzinger said, “The little girls are going to love them.” And the little girls did. We still do. It just might be better this time around.

Words by Hiba Sohail. Artwork by Youran Luo.