Harry Styles is in New York for a whopping 30 concert dates at Madison Square Garden. His Together, Together tour is only seven cities, but other than trying to set records — while it is not the longest residency per se (that’s Billy Joel), this firmly eclipses his own record for most consecutive shows there — why squat in one part of the U.S. for so long? Why not split it up? Wouldn’t that be a nice gift to fans who aren’t in that corner of the country? I mean, he’s certainly allowed to give HIMSELF the gift of not being a nomad, but I think it’s a fair question.
Anyway, Harry looks unfazed. Unbothered. And slightly undone. The loose flowing shirt, with the peek of collarbone and chest tat… he’s the guy who got pulled out of his office job and into a fantastical pirate story, and now he’s saved the day, won the damsel, and is setting sail into a new and sexy future of feeling the ocean breeze ruffle whatever is coming out of his chest follicles. I also appreciate that he’s rocking corded earbuds and an old MP3 player, or iPhone, or whatever. I wish it were a full Walkman, like one of those old bright yellow Sony Sports. I used to run with one, and there was nothing more chilling than hearing your cassette start to slow down and realizing you were going to lose battery power at the halfway mark. He may be too young to understand that pain; I would appreciate it if, on his next album, he could attempt to convert that sinking sensation into song.
