On Oct. 19, three days after the death of Liam Payne, a founding member of the British boy band One Direction, I joined hundreds of fans gathered in Washington Square Park in New York City at a public memorial service for the singer. Fans brought photos, candles and flowers, and for many of us, this moment was not just a farewell to a beloved member of a band that has left an indelible mark on the industry, but also an embodiment of the connections and solace this fandom has offered for more than a decade.
We sang along to the songs we had grown up with. Sniffles interrupted the melodies. In the sea of 2010s-era One Direction shirts, it was hard to tell who had come with friends and who had arrived alone. But as has always been the case for this group of fans, how you arrived did not matter so much, only that you were there. In front of me, a group chatted with the girl next to them. “Did you come here on your own?” they asked. When the solo fan nodded, the group opened their arms and said: “Then you’re one of us now.” It would be hard not to feel the Holy Spirit among us in that moment.
Being a Directioner—what we fans of One Direction call ourselves—has always offered a sense of inclusion and belonging. We built friendships in the pivotal but awkward, braces-filled teenage years through inside jokes, late-night album releases, award show watch parties and lyric analysis. Through our love of a band, we created a space for our generation, particularly those of us who were young girls, to feel heard, safe and connected in a society that often dismisses their interests as frivolous.
I am forever grateful for the relationships in my life that began with the question: “Who is your favorite member of One Direction?” They are relationships that have continued to bear fruit and offer a richness beyond our shared love of music. When the news broke of Payne’s death, messages flooded my phone. My best friend from college (the closest person I have to a sister) and I committed to getting One Direction-themed tattoos. My friend from high school and I briefly thought about meeting somewhere between New York and Ohio to mourn together. The friend I met through a One Direction fan account on social media called me in disbelief. And my childhood neighbor, who first introduced me to the band’s music, responded to my Instagram story. We hadn’t spoken in years.
I don’t know the right words to describe this feeling of grieving a person you didn’t know but whose art was there for you during some of the most difficult times in your life. When all else failed, a set of headphones and One Direction’s music could provide a moment of peace. Fourteen years later, the band has disbanded but a true community remains, checking in with one another across thousands of miles, brought together by a love of music and the people who make it.
Nicknamed “Daddy Direction” by the band and fans, Payne was known among fans for his leadership in the band, as well as his maturity and knowledge of the music industry. He was pivotal in the band developing their sound as he and bandmate Louis Tomlinson grew more involved with the songwriting process over the five years the band was together, culminating in their fifth studio album, “Made in the A.M.,” where he and Tomlinson share the majority of writing credits.
To grapple with the loss of his music also means we must grapple with the challenging years Payne endured since the band announced their hiatus in 2015. Directioners were of the generation that came of age with social media and contributed to the frenzy that surrounds celebrity culture today. Payne was outspoken about his difficulties with mental health and sobriety since the beginning of One Direction. In the wake of his death, we must examine child stardom and implement more safeguards for young people like Payne, ensuring they have the support they need to navigate life in the public eye. Payne also faced allegations of abuse and harassment from his ex-fiancée. My Catholic faith teaches me to exist within this complexity: the joy and mourning, the pain and the healing, the offer of love and forgiveness and the seeking of justice.
As fans around the world mourn Payne’s passing, several One Direction songs are on track to re-enter the top 40 charts. Like thousands of other fans, I have played my 1D playlist on repeat since the news broke, in some attempt to reconcile this current tragedy with memories of my younger self. In a moment of levity, I realized I was grieving to one of their more upbeat tunes, “Best Song Ever.” I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself, recalling the anticipation of its release and the iconic music video. Ask any of us to re-enact it, and we would gladly do so.
Toward the end of the song, they sing “I hope you’ll remember how we danced.” I paused as a flood of memories rushed in. From singing in the bathroom getting ready for school, to lip-syncing in the car and driving my brothers up a wall; from dance parties at sleepovers to head-bobbing along while studying late into the night—there are countless moments from my adolescence when this band reminded me to dance.
One such moment stands out: I was 16 and spent the night at my grandma’s house while my mom was in the hospital. With a fresh driver’s license, I drove to her house with a lump in my throat and felt a little embarrassed that I couldn’t stay home alone. As I opened her back door, I heard the familiar chords of “18,” a fan-favorite One Direction song. My grandma was dancing in the kitchen, arms outstretched, inviting me to join her.
“I Want To Write You A Song,” a song from “Made in the A.M.” reverberated with a certain poignancy in Washington Square Park the evening of the memorial. The sun had set and candles flickered against a photo of Liam as the lyrics offered a promise: “I want to write you a song/ One to make your heart remember me/ So anytime I’m gone/ You can listen to my voice and sing along/ I want to write you a song.” As I sit with this grief, I am consoled by my belief in the eternal presence of God. And in a tangible way, Liam continues to live on in the songs we will return to for joy and comfort.
On my walk back to the subway, I passed a couple of girls around my age. Both wore faded One Direction shirts like mine. We saw each other and offered a smile, reminding me of the words of St. Teresa of Calcutta: “Let us always meet each other with a smile, for the smile is the beginning of love.”
