Harry Styles, Chronic Simp, can’t stop singing about food

It’s no secret that Harry Styles is a hungry, hungry boy. Whether it’s conjuring up “Watermelon Sugar” to sing about cunnilingus, contemplating a past lover he seemingly calls “Kiwi,” or wishing his ex would shout “From the Dining Table,” the pregnancy of more dietary and sexual nature is top priority for British musician who surprisingly (and perhaps for his own good) has yet to sponsor his own fast food establishment. (If his affinity for writing songs about fruit and his trips to Juice Press, as reported by DeuxMoi, are any indication, that sort of business opposition would certainly be at odds with his dietary palette.)

Likewise, Styles’ recently released third album, harry’s house, finds the 28-year-old ex-boybander ready to devour anything in front of him. On most of the shiny, indie-pop-influenced songs, he’s reportedly professing his adoration and devotion to his new girlfriend, Olivia Wilde, and by extension, to any listener who’s developed a parasocial love affair with him since his One Direction days (myself included). To that end, Styles continues his tradition of using food to underpin the album’s theme of cozy domesticity, relaying whatever flirtatious and raunchy thoughts are occupying his horny male brain.

on Harry’s house, this motif seems borderline parodic. The LP offers the kind of lyrical content one has come to expect from Styles, given the cultural ubiquity and Grammy-winning status of “Watermelon Sugar” from his second album of 2019. fine line. This song, of course, wasn’t the scope of the album’s food-titled tracks or food references fine line also contained a wistful, acoustic ballad called “Cherry”. You might even get the Beatles-esque “Sunflower, Vol. 6” if you wanted, although it was clearly indicative of the plant’s visual beauty as opposed to its edible properties; Nevertheless, the song repeatedly evokes a kitchen setting in a romantic way.

When pressing play on Harry’s house, you’ll be greeted by “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” and its clunky but attention-grabbing opening line: “Green eyes/fried rice/I could fry an egg on you.” I was curious if Styles would be so inclined to record the album with starting on this track if “Watermelon Sugar” hadn’t been such a huge hit; the rest certainly sounds like a product of the hit song’s success, recreating a funky, brassy soundscape, with Styles even starting to scat at one point. It’s easy to interpret “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” as a continuation or continuation of a romance in which Styles moves from wanting primarily sex with a woman to wanting the whole package (“It’s ’cause I love you, babe/In every kind of way/Just a little taste/You know I love you baby”).

Food metaphors in music are not unique, although Styles has proven particularly adept at them. However, in my eyes, “Watermelon Sugar” remains not just a hit, but a fulcrum to cement Styles as some kind of non-threatening, woman-friendly sex symbol. Of course, for years the singer was coveted as the unofficial One Direction frontman for his dimpled smile, curly mane, and even those ridiculous tattoos. But “Watermelon Sugar,” coupled with a music video that begins with Styles suggestively biting into a slice of watermelon before romping around on the beach with a bunch of female models, made fans’ imaginations of Styles as the perfect boyfriend that much more specific and sexually explicit . It’s one thing to be a generous lover, but it’s quite another to be a proud oral sex addict who would experience withdrawal symptoms if you please too long without a woman, as the lyrics boldly suggest.

On the other hand, “Watermelon Sugar” may also have certain fans who were uncomfortable with its not-so-subtle references to queerness — like in the fine line Single “Lights Up” and its steamy visuals – an (unconfirmed) assurance that their imaginary boy toy was straight with a capital S.

In that sense, “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” feels like Styles is giving his most ardent listeners — or maybe, more realistically, a domineering label exec — exactly what they want. The lyrics (“Coffee on the Herd, yeah/You’re sweet ice cream/But you could use a flake or two”) are noticeably less inspired and sexy than the words to “Watermelon Sugar”. Saying you could fry someone an egg is a cheeky way of calling a person hot, but it paints a thoroughly ridiculous image, which might be the point. Elsewhere further Harry’s house“Grapejuice,” a ditty eerily similar to Jackie DeShannon’s “Put A Little Love In Your Heart,” turns out to be not too much of a nod. In fact, it’s not even a metaphor; just an obvious reference to wine, which comes at the end of the song when Styles posits that if their relationship ever broke up, he’d have the “Grapejuice Blues.”

On Keep Driving, Styles documents a road trip by listing random items and events, ostensibly to depict a timeline. “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two,” Style sings. “Rosti, yolk, I’ll always love you.” Funnily enough, the structure, meant to represent fast-paced, intense, somewhat reckless romance, has an accidental Dr. Seuss vibe — that is, until Styles mentions something about “side breasts” and “gagging” from a woman “with an ocean view.”

The fact that Style’s physical and emotional appetite has given fans something to look out for or expect from him as a lyricist is first and foremost a sign of good branding, especially for an artist who doesn’t need to bother , say, Saweetie, to prove he’s a foodie. (Plus, if you’ve been on Tumblr during his One Direction era, you already know the man loves to whip out a banana.) Whether the lyrics are on or not Harry’s house are particularly innovative – he can only make so many dirty fruit analogies – they’re certainly effective in projecting a sane, non-threatening image of Styles as a home husband, home husband-to-be, maybe even a potential father, as he has conjured up the image of children in his music.

Some critics have found this type of myth-making an indication of what Styles is lacking as an artist. You’ve described the musician as emphasizing style over substance, while others, including myself, have questioned more generally if he has any of the dashing, sharpness, weirdness or imperfection of the ’60s and ’70s rock icons he’s often compared to. (According to Mick Jagger, the answer is no).

It’s a question that could take more time since, despite his notoriety, Styles is still in the relatively early stages of his solo career. But for now, there’s no denying that his devotion to simping provides a nice balance in the universe of popular male songwriting. For every wannabe Drake (and even Drake himself) to tell a woman how expendable she is on the radio, you need a chronic dumbass who spends too much money on flowers and cheesily compares you to every luscious item he can think of. Let Styles write his silly egg songs. Harry Styles, Chronic Simp, can’t stop singing about food


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