Prologue

11.6K 211 18
                                    

At my very first movie premiere as an actor, I was told to wear a plain suit; nothing flashy like I had worn towards my final years in One Direction just before the film launched.  No bright florals or bold patterns allowed. My manager had warned me that the film industry was not as accepting as the music industry, especially considering that I needed to change my reputation.  The transition from "teeny-bopper boybander" (a sexist title that the Daily Mail had labeled me in a further attempt to write off the interests of young women and teens) to elite, respected film star would not be expedited with lace, florals, and sequins.  

As a novice, I had to blend in. I was not the star in the film, and although I was already a well-known celebrity, wearing something attention-grabbing to a WWII film premiere would rub many potential directors and casting agents the wrong way.

I stood there in a charcoal Armani suit and a silk bow tie. A bright yellow pocket square and black and yellow argyle socks served as my private form of rebellion, impressing no one, but allowing me to still feel true to myself. It was my first red carpet experience as Harry Styles, the actor and not Harry Styles, singer in One Direction.

At my final movie premiere as an actor—for the time being—I was given the same advice.

"Once the announcement comes out next month, people will look back to this premiere. You can be as creative as you want with how you look as a director, but not a moment sooner," my agent Carla had told me.

Another part of the façade for my last appearance as an actor was finding Francesca Westbrook and pretending to meet her for the very first time. 

Cold Reads | HSWhere stories live. Discover now