Gossip Girl, and why guilty pleasures shouldn't exist

In a bold attempt to eke the last possible vestiges of my youth, I am currently bingeing as much Gossip Girl (2007–2012) as I can possibly handle before it leaves Netflix on December 31st. Most interestingly, the first thing I've felt the compulsion to tell people when telling them that I'm re-watching Gossip Girl for the umpteenth time is an apology: "It's a guilty pleasure."

It's the same knee-jerk reaction I have when admitting to people that Ariana Grande was my most-listened to artist of 2020 for the second year running. As if listening to Ariana Grande for 1,800+ hours in a single year is something I should be ashamed of. (Yeah, I'm outing myself.) As if she's not one of the most talented singers of her age or just knows how to make bops in three back-to-back albums three years running.

So why do we have this need to absolve ourselves of the things we like by describing them as guilty pleasures?

Let's dive into a little history lesson first.

Really, this is all just an excuse to use as many stills from Gossip Girl as humanly possible. Because outfits!! Headbands!!! Nostalgia!

Even before the term guilty pleasure entered our modern lexicon, it had its roots in the great philosophers.

"For Aristotle, the pleasure associated with honorable action was virtue, whereas the pleasure associated with “evil action” was vice—a genuine mix of guilt and pleasure by another name. Aristotle and Plato believed that the higher orders of pleasure entailed an expenditure of intellectual effort. Kant took the idea further in his “Critique of Judgment,” distinguishing between “the agreeable,” “the beautiful,” and “the good.” One is pleased by the beautiful; the good is held in the highest esteem, whereas the agreeable merely gratifies."1

So then, if pleasure is viewed in stratification, it only stands to reason that some pleasures are better than others. The philosophers aligned these pleasures with the ones that satisfy intellectual effort, and indeed, we approach these pleasures with more pride (and, in the wrong hands, arrogance). It's the basis of jokes like, "How do you find a vegan at a party?"

"Don't worry, they'll tell you."

So, then, there are the "baser" pleasures—the ones that supposedly don't fulfill an intellectual brain itch. And these pleasures are the ones we engage in almost despite ourselves. It's the base needs of the body, merely gratifying us with no higher purpose. This line of thinking suggests the body and the mind are diametrically at war with one another, each seeking out a pleasure that the other has no business enjoying.

The actual phrase "guilty pleasure" as we know it saw its rise in the late 1990's, after the culture wars in the early 90's. It can perhaps be seen as a direct response to the politically-charged push for change from the New Left. As pushing for change in American culture became the center of conversations, there needed to be a new language to talk about anything that didn't fit into the mold of radical political change, tough conversations, or challenging conventional ideas.

Again, it was a split of the cerebral—a demand of the complete upheaval of an unjust country—and the split of the physical—the body's desire to engage in activities that are a relief from the tough, intellectual conversations that saturated the national attention. In fact, the first time the words "guilty pleasure" appeared in the New York Times, it was used to describe a brothel.

Since then, the phrase has taken on a life of its own, becoming vital vocabulary to navigate our modern world, be it used to describe a slice of hyper-decadent chocolate cake or a TV show that you're embarrassed to admit you like.

We often turn to the phrase to absolve ourselves of these baser pleasures and exalt the higher ones.

But why do these pleasures have to exist in a hierarchy? Why do we feel this need to separate pleasures of the mind from the pleasures of the body? All of these desires are housed in the same person anyway.

It then becomes an issue that scales outside of our individual mind and body, but one that is dictated by the taste of society. I got into some of this in my previous blog, "The Princess Switch, and is there such a thing as an objectively bad movie?", but let's explore a little more here. Society dictates that shows like Breaking Bad, The Wire, and Mad Men are higher forms of art. (Interestingly, all of these shows primarily feature men, were created by men, and often employed male directors. But this is a conversation for another blog post.) Other shows, like Gossip Girl, Grey's Anatomy, and The Bachelor are often seen as ridiculous, melodramatic, and frivolous.

It's the stratification of these forms of pleasure that necessitates the apology that comes of enjoying a show like Gossip Girl or an artist like Ariana Grande. It's a confession that the unironic enjoyment of this thing has somehow made you a lesser person, that these forms of entertainment somehow lack inherent value or substance. But, and here's the kicker, by framing it as a "guilty pleasure", you are acknowledging the existence of your own superior taste.

You're assuring your listener that you understand the differences of the stratification of art and pleasure. You may like Gossip Girl, but, you know, you're also watching Season 4 of Fargo.

I'll be the first to admit that despite seeing the earlier seasons ad nauseum, I've never made it past season 4 of Gossip Girl. Somewhere in its journey, the plot points became even more contrived than how they first began, the characters lost their grip on even themselves, and the show began to rely far too heavily into inserting a villain of the month rather than the delightful drama that came of the main cast interacting with each other.

(Can we also promise to not even mention the reveal of Dan as Gossip Girl? Yes? Good.)

But the earlier seasons of Gossip Girl are a pure joy. Sure, with later rewatches, major plot points you blindly accepted when you were in high school suddenly become ridiculous. At almost every other scene, I find myself crowing from my couch, "But they're sixteen!" And sure, with later rewatches, it has become more painful to see toxic relationships being projected as true love.

I'm ready to forgive all that because, well, Gossip Girl is just that damn entertaining. (And did I mention how good the outfits are?) I shouldn't have to feel the need to justify my love for it, or anything else I like for that matter.

The stratification of culture doesn't need to matter, because what should matter is whether or not any single thing brings you joy. The definition of pleasure need not be associated with any feelings of guilt or shame so long as they're not hurting anyone around you. Let joy be joy and let that be enough. Nobody should have to apologize for it, no matter what anyone thinks.

It's also important to take a hard look at the gatekeepers of taste—the ones who tell you what you should and shouldn't like. Historically, these gatekeepers have remained a fairly homogeneous group. If they have little in common with you (or even if they do), they don't get to be the ones that tell you how you should feel about enjoying anything. You do.

So shout it from the rooftops. Throw a big middle finger to the man who dares tell you that Gossip Girl is stupid because it's silly and pointless. Because, frankly, it kind of is those things, but that doesn't mean it can't be wonderful too.

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1 Szalai, J. (2017, June 18). Against “Guilty Pleasure.” The New Yorker. https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/against-guilty-pleasure