When they (you know, the shadowy all powerful they who are oh so successfully pulling the strings behind the scenes and orchestrating every little aspect of our everyday lives conveniently leaving us with no free will or responsibility for whatever may occur) launch a new pop sensation into the stratosphere you must have realised by now that they have succession plans in place.
Whenever one of the precious darlings flakes or even flames out, whether it be down to the pressure of being so very well paid and adored by teeny bopper fans or legitimate reasons (even I’m trying to figure out at the point whether or not I’m being serious or sarcastic. I think I’ve got a fair amount of disgust at the world in general to work out and celebrities are such an easy target…), they have to have a Plan B primed and ready.
Sometimes they withdraw the whole lot relatively gracefully (but accompanied by a healthy dose of media pomp to keep their profiles up) and in other instances they keep an understudy waiting in the wings, poised to step into that nourishing limelight. I’m entirely certain that you’ll be as unsurprised as I was to learn that there’s a research lab (probably in Switzerland, that’s where all the slightly shady stuff is going down these days) keeping genetically identical copies of the One Direction lads in separate darkened rooms.
They’re hopping over to whatever exotic clime to break him out of his little box. They’ll gleefully unveil him to the public in a frenzy of rumour denying, that he was never stressed in the first place but even if he was briefly at one point he’s back and better than ever. They’ll go on to greater glory, replacing whichever members get burned out as they go. One Direction shall never die. It’s basically a dystopian film come to life. We should all be very scared.