hi eva! big fan! was jw if you could post your fav picture of each of the boys and explain why b/c the way you speak about everything in life really brightens my day! i'm sorry if this is hard for you, i just really wanted to know b/c i saw this picture of your talented adult son louis on my dash and i actually said "o no" out loud: tinyurl*com/l3amo9y (his sunburned cheeks!) and i wondered WWET? (what would eva think?) and wanted you to weigh in on this image and other related 1D images
HI MY LIL PEANUT this is an OVERWHELMING QUESTION TO BE SURE bc WHO CAN EVEN PICK but i sure will try! (full DISCLAIMER who knows if these are my actual Hand To God Favorite Pictures, but they were the first ones i found on my hard drive that spoke to me as if whispered by angels, so i went with it. it’s very late and i am a terrible archivist).
how do you choose the finest painting in the museum? how do you pick out the brightest star in the sky? you don’t, but you can try. i will try: this is my son, in a picture. this is what i like best in the world. my garbage boy of opulence. elegant. rich. a little chilly in the tootsies. delicate. scowling. propped on a yacht. this picture is so important to me. how expensive was that blanket? what kind of champagne is that? what does that beanie smell like? what is the tensile strength of his baseball tee stretched across his tumtum? what is the angle of the dip of his waist and the mathematical curvature of his popped hip? which is warmer, his palm or the spot on his thigh it is pressed delicately against? i assume the best photographs in the world are those that do not just elicit an emotional response (which i have in spades here, by the way, especially if “lying down and moaning forever” is an emotion), but also raise questions. this raises questions. this answers all my questions, also. this makes me feel like i have something to aspire towards. this makes me feel like my work is done. this makes me feel like all is right with the world.
there are so many sexually devastating pictures i could have chosen, but i went with this one, because this photograph tells us so many important things about harry styles, born in the year of our lord 1994 a.d., god help me. like, first of all, that he is as much rare, weird, beautiful bird as he is human man. look at that proud tuft perched atop his head. look at everything. look at that stupid face. i have saved this file on my computer as “harrystypidface.jpg,” because his stupid face makes me stupid in turn, misspelling “stupid” as “stypid” and then not fixing it because it feels right that way. but also, it reminds us that no matter how stypid his face.jpg, i would punch a hole in the crust of the earth if it meant i could gently stroke that face. i want to grab his cheeks in my hands and press in, first gently and then progressively harder until he says “heyyyy” as my fingerprints become permanently etched into his skin. i want to cup his very chiseled jaw between my sweaty palms and see how many dopey arrangements he can contort his features into until the sexual tension is inevitably too much and i pass out from dehydration. this is a story in a picture. i love this stypid face.
it is too easy, perhaps, when staring into a face that seems like it was not so much “born” as “lovingly and gently carved into the face of a mountain by a perfectly clear river over thousands of years and then animated by a witch’s spell so that humans can suffer in comparison to a creature of true and complete beauty,” to forget that zayn is sometimes just a boy, sleeping in a van with a sandwich in his mouth, wrapped in a fisherman’s sweater. when i was little my mother told me “eva, famous people shit every day too,” which i assume was supposed to remind me that everyone is human, and we are all just crawling around this round ol’ rock like the animals we are. i don’t know if zayn malik poops, but something about his beauty is a lot less disorienting when i see this picture and remember that he too knows what it’s like to fall asleep with a sammy in his pie hole. we have so much in common.
some things on earth are very important. some things on earth we do not deserve. niall horan’s enthusiasm is the first thing on that list. NIALL is SO EXCITED. niall LOVES LIFE. niall is multifaceted, and that’s important to remember, but also one thing that i think is very straightforward about him is that he is full to the damn brim of JOIE DE VIVRE. but his excitement doesn’t exist in a vacuum either. niall is a MIRROR held up to all of OUR enthusiasm. niall sucks in how psyched you are to be alive, amplifies it, and then screenprints it on a t-shirt, which he then wears for your enjoyment. can you even believe what a gift that is in a world that tends to do the opposite, to suck you dry and wear you out? niall horan is more than we deserve. when i look at this picture i feel like i have the brightest sunlight-mimicking S.A.D. lamp aimed right at my face, and also, a kitten and a nice snack.
i ransacked my poor mushy brain tryna decide which iteration of liam payne speaks most to me: fedora flat iron liam? 14, schoolboy liam? your fall boyfriend and star QB hunk erotically removing his sweater liam? sad girl breakup haircut liam? curly “i’m sorry mummy” underpants liam? doomed for a certain time to walk the halls of the funky buddha in a mesh jersey liam? but in the end the answer was so simple: this is my liam. a simple dingus. a sincere smile in the dumbest pose. a future of beefcakery that he has no idea is just around the corner. an earnest golden retriever getting posed for a family photo at sears. he is my little christmas man. he doesn’t know what’s happening but he loves it. he is looking me in the eyes, and i am looking him in the eyes, and we are resting our chins on our delicately folded hands, and we are having a moment. later we will spill a whole! tub! of pasta on the kitchen floor. stupidd boy, smelly pasta house. all was well.
in the tumblr tagging system, unsourced artwork is considered especially heinous. on this blogging platform, the users who source these felonies are part of an elite task force called the source your fucking artwork unit. these are their stories.