To the gays (and everyone else).
I have many flaws. I haven’t cleaned my room since a boy I liked came over to my house six years ago. I enjoyed fighting with homophobes (*cough* closet gays) over the plebiscite so much I almost got myself fired (I never back down from an argument). I’m the person you tell the party starts at 5, when it actually starts at 7. But I have one flaw to trump them all. One of the most dangerous personality traits a young girl can possess – obsession.
I was in grade eight when I first discovered One Direction. Fourteen, vulnerable, and obsessed. To put my time with Harry and the rest of the band simply, this is what I’ll tell you; my friend recently dug up my old 1D twitter account (I was viral on there before I knew what it meant) and found a tweet that read:
“Screw Harry, he’s too much effort, pain and suffering”
Too fucking right he is. And that was pre camp-femme-fashion-boundary-breaking Harry. That was just black-chinos-hot-hair Harry.
But then came the 2015 black and white floral flared suit. You know the one I’m talking about. It got absolutely slammed by the media, by fans, even Harry himself admitted it comes up when you type “Harry Styles worst outfit” into Google.
For me, this is the best outfit Harry has ever worn. Not because it blows you away, but because it was Harry dipping his toes into the water of Camp, and the beginning of Harry’s departure with his bubble-gum pop wardrobe (he also did that very well, by the way).
“I thought it was good, and I still think it was good,” Harry said in an interview, unapologetic and hot.
This was the beginning of the end for me. The monster inside of me reared its ugly head once again. Harry Styles is a fucking God and I surrender. After his brave debut in the floral suit, Harry took the fashion world and made it his stage. He said catch-ya-later to his cute little friends (1D forever) and his cute little outfits, and took one deep dive into the flaming underworld. Enter: pink glitter, white ruffles, metallic flowers, cowboy flares, shiny blouses, and velvet. It was all happening, and Harry was throwing the ultimate unintentional masterclass in femme fashion for heterosexuals across the world. It has been beautiful to watch.
I could talk about this literally forever – but I’m obsessive, and I’m a rambler, so I’ve been advised to keep this short. Instead, I leave you with this: I have (painfully) narrowed down my pick of Harry’s ten campiest outfits of all time.
Enjoy, and take a note.