A YEAR AGO, ZAYN MALIK LEFT THE BIGGEST BOY BAND ON THE PLANET TO LAUNCH A SOLO CAREER.
FREE FROM THE CREATIVE CONSTRAINTS OF ONE DIRECTION, HE’S READY TO MAKE HIS MARK ALONE.
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It’s half past five on a balmy February afternoon in Beverly Hills, the time of day when the light streaks in horizontal, mingling with the smog into a dull, carroty glow that makes normal folks look beautiful, and beautiful folks look ethereal.
Zayn Malik, 23 years old, slices through the glow and into his dressing room, the door of which is manned by a middle-aged bodyguard named Max.
He’s finishing up a photo shoot at billionaire businessman James Goldstein’s mansion, a 4,500 square-foot architectural masterpiece built by John Lautner that’s made up of glass walls and poured concrete, and sits atop the Benedict Canyon enjoying the best views the city of Los Angeles has to offer.
Millions of young people around the world define their lives around this man, so I’ll do it, too: We’re currently living in the Zayn A.D. era—after One Direction. Last March, Zayn announced his retirement from the group, making some off-handed statements to the press about refocusing on his private life. It was a move that launched a thousand hashtags and memes, instantly breaking the hearts of countless “Directioners,” but, for Zayn, it was necessary.
Feeling creatively stifled, with indifference no longer an effective coping mechanism, he cut the cord and returned home, spending a few weeks with his mom and plotting his next move. A solo one.
Now it’s a year later. His first single, “Pillow Talk,” debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in February (topping the charts in 68 countries), knocking Justin Bieber from the top spot. This month sees the release of his first solo album, Mind of Mine, a body of work created, for the first time, on his terms, with none of the restrictions that come with being one-fifth of a boy band.
We leave the mansion, and drive to his house in Bel Air. He’s bopping his head to the stereo, playing me candy-coated pop cuts off his new record, including an Usher-esque tune called “Drunk.” We park, and as we stroll into his house I almost trip over his heavyset orange rescue cat, named Garfield.
We sit in his makeshift studio, flanked by bookshelves stacked with souvenirs from a life in the spotlight, including an early Iron Man issue marked “To Zayn, from Stan Lee,” and the hip-hop history book The Big Payback.
Over the course of an hour, Zayn opens up about authenticity, handling the spotlight, and stepping out from behind One Direction’s shadow.
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