describe the one direction fashion during their album eras.
Up All Night.
Pastel twinks. Giving off that vibe that makes you think they smell like an Oceanside Yankee Candle and freshly cut springtime grass. Would defo date you, open doors for you and smile at you with some sugary fucking tooth-rotting grin. Defo gonna have you back home 15 minutes before curfew with a wink at Mama as he leaves to drive the car that tells your mama he paid for the meal and could probably pay for her house too.
Take Me Home.
Sassy rich-boy fucks. Got that ‘lost my car keys so daddy brought me a new car’ vibe. Wears bowties to a casual as fuck house party. Other dudes think they’re twats but girls think they got dollar dollar hiding in their fancy fucking breast pockets. Lots of monochrome colours, wears white jeans and would probably wink at you as you notice the grass stains.
Greasy gas station rent-boy chic. ”Excuse me m’aam, our car seems to have broke down can we borrow your cell so we can call a towing service“ Totally not passed them to throw you on the back seat and have the whole squad hit it in their cheap as fuck dodgy car whilst they wait for the tow truck tho. Smell like sweat, tequila and smoke. Bad-boy assholes that don’t believe in money as a concept which is an excuse for them being broke as fuq. Would get drunk with you and complain about captalism and the bourgeoisie.
Slayin in all black cos it’s everyone elses funeral. Take me To Church plays in the background of them wherever they go. Has the ‘Daddy-doesn’t-talk-about-his-business-with-you’ vibe and you cool with that. Smells like overpowering Gucci cologne on a soft autumn breeze. Hair constantly in a state of ‘i woke up like this but it took an hour to get right’. Most likely actually has money falling out their pockets. Shoes pointier than cheekbones.
Made In The AM.
We’re not like regular dads we’re cool dads. Relaxed and chill vibe, just guys being dudes. The kind of guys who know how to bleed a radiator but know the best guy to get cocaine from at short notice. Would probably reference memes in conversation but only the relevant ones. If you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms, they are wife material.
Somewhere someone is having the worst day of their life.
Their child stopped breathing.
Their spouse is not waking up.
Their brother was in an accident.
Somewhere someone is crying out for help.
An abused wife.
A neglected child.
A drug addict.
Somewhere someone is counting the seconds until help arrives.
A single mom who’s house has been broken into.
A daughter watching her dad hold a gun to his head.
An aunt not knowing what drugs her niece is on.
Somewhere someone is in shock.
The 30 year old that just became a widow.
The once happy parents of a 6 month old.
The sister who found her sibling after losing to cancer too soon.
Is throwing on boots, and running to the squad.
Hitting the emergency lights while pulling out of the bay.
Hoping a car will stop so they can pass the red light.
Will see the blood left on the wall from that dad.
Will hold that baby knowing he’ll never breath again.
Will listen to the screams of family members in heart break.
Woke up at 2am to save that drug addict for the 8th time this year.
Skipped dinner to go help a man with a stubbed toe.
Missed holidays, birthdays, soccer games to answer the call of duty.
Worked 25 years just to get ptsd and lose their job.
Finally passed all their schooling and tests just to have a career ending injury day 1.
Mixed paths with someone in such a hurry they didn’t stop for the flashing lights.
Left at 7am for their 24 hour shift.
Made it till 3pm without lunch.
Was hit head on at 7pm by a car not paying attention.
Answered a call for a suicidal male.
5 minutes later was looking eye to eye with the man that would kill her.
A mayday. Shots fired. Is being echoed on radios.
Makes 16 cents more then minimum wage.
Works 100 hour weeks to pay the bills.
Gives their life to others, to be paid less then fast food workers.
Will see their partner more then their spouse.
Will skip more meals then they can sit down for.
Will wake up more times then they get to lay down.
But how did you discover Russia's illegal annexation of Crimea
I was on assignment in early 2014. It was February, I remember, and it was very cold, especially for Crimea, which the Russians generally considered somewhat equivalent to our Florida. I was then a wildlife photographer (mostly marine) working there on behalf of the BBC, but occasionally I would dabble in urban photojournalism or human-centric stories when the need arose or I had free time. That’s how I found and grew to know Anna.
She was tall, stocky, built like a machine. Her arms were cranes and her shoulders were bulldozers. Her long, flowing, ultra-brown hair was the only thing out of place, and her disposition was quite compatible with her physique. When we met for lunch every other week, she used to charge down the Sevastopol street when she caught glance of me, tearing through the other pedestrians and causing quite a stir. When she reached me, she usually knocked me into a lamppost or cafe table, and I would sometimes get a mild concussion, but I didn’t mind. She was an excellent source and a better friend.
Now, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: the cafes of Sevastopol are exquisite, and for a moment if you closed your eyes you may have felt that you were in a seaside Paris, or a slightly more historic Genoa. The waiters and waitresses, dressed in all white outfits, their sole duty to cater and serve, were well-trained, and the chefs were obviously quite good at their task. It was this setting that I grew to love, and that Anna had already loved since her childhood.
Anna would always tell me that she “could never ever leave” the city she resided in, and that she would rather “eat locusts” than move from her home. Yet, in that brisk winter, I noticed that things were changing, and that perhaps, the locusts were more of an option than she led me to believe.
“My friend told me about good nursing jobs in Krakow,” she said to me at one of our cafe brunches. “A high need for them and good pay.”
The next week she told me that she had begun to brush up on her Polish, but she said it in such a way that I could sense the pain exuding off from her. Each word, each sentence, was like acid on her skin, permeating her very being. She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to leave. Yet she did.
The day after the armed hit-squads casually marched through the streets and the
Novofedorivka airbase fell, I missed a call from Anna. I already knew what she had to say, but I played the voice message anyway, eagerly contemplating every true word. She had lost her state, her home, her independence. She didn’t feel right, she said, living in another man’s country under another man’s flag. It just didn’t feel right.
I stayed for four more months, documenting the crisis in the best way I knew how, but there was always something missing – Anna. She and I lost touch over the months, our cafe rendezvous a long-forgotten thought, and I flew back home when there were no more photos that hadn’t been taken, no more words that hadn’t already
been committed to type. The city, and the region, had been lost, but all I could think about was how