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To prepare for a New Yorker assignment photographing the Harries —Harry Styles fans — I put his latest album (Harry’s House) on for the first time. I have seen only one Harry Styles video before, for the song “Fallen,” in which the crestfallen singer is drowned along with his piano in a scene more heart-wrenching than Leo’s last cold breath in Titanic. Somehow, I missed all the Harrymania engulfing the nation’s teenage population, which felt inexcusable after learning he is considered the biggest pop star in the world. Google disagrees, bestowing that dubious honor on Taylor Swift. But Google could be wrong. Harry just sold out 15 Madison Square Garden shows. That’s 20,000 rabid devotees a pop. A few years back, his most amorous fans even sent death threats to Taylor when she and Harry were caught canoodling. This army of Harries is not to be fucked with
For the shoot, the writer Helen Rosner and I went to Madison Square Garden to photograph and interview the concertgoers before the show. Many had camped out from the night before to be the first in line and snag the coveted place by the stage. The fashion of these superfans was a colorful mix of Austin Powers and Dolly Parton, turning that stretch of Eighth Avenue into a bizarre amalgamation of Swinging London and a Tennessee state fair.
Choosing my approach for these portraits, I decided to do something wild — let the people smile in the photos. Most of the time, I follow the fine-art convention of having my photo subjects look anywhere on the continuum from thoughtful to dejected. To achieve that effect, I ask people to be “focused,” because I have learned through trial and error that nothing provokes more laughter than telling a person to be “serious.” But for these portraits, I wanted the sparkling energy of the Harries to pop through the image and infect the viewer with lewd enthusiasm. So, I asked my subjects to do whatever the hell they wanted, and the results were a party.
Interacting with superfans is always a joyful experience. Admittedly, after listening to the whole Harry’s House album I was left unmoved, yet after doing the photoshoot I was filled with giddy optimism. Pop stars are recycled through the years, but the excited teenage fanbase remains the same. There is something hopeful about this self-perpetuating cultural phenomenon. I left Madison Square Garden in a great mood because, as it turns out, I don’t need to be a fan of the music to be swept up in Harrymania. My Spotify went berserk, however. Listening to Harry’s World changed my listening algorithm just enough for my usual playlist of Radiohead, Roxy Music and Burial to be shaken by a stray Harry Styles number, and even an occasional song by Taylor Swift.
#Poptimism.
Harry Styles Fans Put on a Show - New Yorker feature with Helen Rosner.
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