A few days ago, I heard a piece of gossip that I’ve been mentally palming like a piece of gold ever since. I’m greedily hunched over it like The Lord of the Rings’ Gollum obsessing about his “precious” after lonely centuries in the Misty Mountains, a relatable scenario after so much pandemic isolation. Ten months into quarantine, I deeply miss gossip—juicy, real-deal, jaw-dropping gossip. And by extension, I miss my interconnected network of people who Go Outside to Places and Get Up to Something, whereupon my friends and I can discuss that scandalous "something" over drinks. Yes, gossip has potentially toxic properties—but it’s also the glue that holds our bonds together.
We’ve never needed the fizzy respite of good gossip more. It’s been a relentless, brutal, important year, replete with a tumultuous presidential election and a string of horrific high-profile incidents that forced Americans into long-overdue dialogues about police violence and the Black Lives Matter movement. The United States’ ongoing coronavirus pandemic has left us grappling with our collective growing pains and fears mostly in private, as everyone with the privilege to do so has spent the majority of our time indoors, separated from family and friends.
This content is imported from {embed-name}. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.
In the first four months of quarantine, I parented an 18-month-old full-time while simultaneously doing my job remotely, interviewing people from odd corners of my apartment with sticky fingers in my hair and 1,000 unread emails in my inbox. My son has now spent half of his life hugged by no one but his parents; he’s lost one grandparent to Covid-19, and nearly lost another. Stress has aged my body so much that I’m basically the “after” photo of an American president after 8 years in office. But with my health and employment intact, this is what lucky looks like in 2020.
I know I'm not the only one who's feeling the gossip void, either. We’re all of us exhausted, and sweet distraction in the form of light intrigue is the least that we deserve. I see it in the "we've all gotten so boring" tweets that cross my feed. I feel its absence in catchup sessions with friends when, after we've all blown off some steam via much-needed venting, there's a saggy pocket of silence where gossip used to be.
While I'm craving a solid “can you believe he/she/they did that?!” story, instead, me and everyone I know are simply changing out of our formal daytime sweatpants to snuggle into a Netflix binge each night before bed (remember being out past 9 p.m.?). And for me, tsking over mask-less social gatherings isn't a satisfying substitute for high jinks—it’s just infuriating.
The country has gone from the “making sourdough bread while watching Tiger King” era of quarantine to the “an alarming swath of the American population has decided this pandemic is over!” chapter as we await a vaccine. Yet no matter how badly we wish it so, not one of us has returned to all-doors-open normalcy, the kind that sets the stage for the kind of drama I crave: One-night stands and secret love affairs! Trying, too-long visits from peoples’ impossible relatives! Lavish parties in which someone either falls, or tumble fights, into a pool! (Sorry, I’ve been watching reruns of The O.C., and it’s been so long since I’ve heard actual gossip that I struggle to even name a more realistic third example.)
Moira Rose of Schitt's Creek once said that “gossip is the devil’s telephone—best to just hang up.” Many spiritually-minded books on the topic agree, casting it as a morally bad practice to avoid. But despite its destructive potential, research has found that gossip is not a sin, nor is it even avoidable—in fact, it often serves a valuable social purpose. We see it in community spaces like corner bars and hair salons, where trading secondhand tales is more than a way to pass the time; it’s social currency. “Gossip is necessary,” says Megan L. Robbins, associate professor of psychology at UC Riverside, adding that it’s a global phenomenon that occurs across every demographic.
Robbins and her research colleagues define gossip as “just talking about someone who’s not present,” whether that chatter is negative, positive, or neutral. In fact, a 2019 analysis Robbins co-authored titled “Who Gossips and How in Everyday Life?” found that three-quarters of the observed subjects’ gossip was neutral, bordering on dull. About nine percent of the talk was positive; “June got that promotion she wanted,” for example, or “Harry’s haircut looks great.” The rest, roughly 15 percent, was negative. Another finding? younger people tended to negatively gossip more than older ones.
Even when sharing a negatively-slanted tale about a mutual acquaintance or friend, “gossip can have a bonding effect,” Robbins says. “It does signal a ‘hey, you’re in on this, and I’m trusting you not to relay it to that other person.” She points to psychologist Roy Baumeister’s theories of gossip as a form of cultural learning, which posits that gossip serves to solidify bonds and affirm a culture’s norms and values.
“When you hear about what someone did, you can tell by the way the person’s relaying it whether it’s a good thing to do, or if it’s something that you really shouldn’t,” Robbins explains. “We learn about what’s right and wrong from those stories, and how people tell them.” Robbins' explanation made me realize I haven’t just been missing the dished dirt; I’m experiencing a deficit of true stories about people I know, when I was so used to being inundated with accounts of their comings and goings.
So what’s a gossip lover to do in a drought? Celebrity gossip has become a bigger stand-in for our own personal excitement than ever before—witness the rise of DeuxMoi, the popular Instagram blind item account that shares the daily celebrity sightings and alleged canoodling “tea” that so many of us are thirsting for. Robbins, who’s noticed that her own interest in Hollywood gossip has risen in the pandemic, says that may be a “byproduct” of our natural human need for scuttlebutt, given that there’s currently a nationwide shortage. Still, it doesn’t quite hit the spot the same way for me, likely because (sadly) Harry Styles isn’t in my social circle.
This content is imported from {embed-name}. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.
Robbins suggests casting your social net a little wider than you have been, so I've resolved to push through my late-pandemic Zoom fatigue and redouble my efforts to connect. “If you’re reaching out to more people, you’re more likely to get some good gossip from somebody,” she laughs.
Personal pleasure of hearing a juicy item aside, Robbins reminds me that deep down, gossip is not all I miss. “I think ultimately, what we’re looking for when we seek that kind of entertainment is social connection,” she says. While I know she’s onto something, I do miss the wow factor. So maybe I’ll try some manufactured drama next. Which Housewives franchise is the best one to start with?
For more stories like this, sign up for our newsletter.
This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io
"gossip" - Google News
December 22, 2020 at 04:07AM
https://ift.tt/2WAaHwT
Where Did Gossip Go in the 2020 Pandemic? Why Gossip Is Positive - Oprah Mag
"gossip" - Google News
https://ift.tt/2QfcAx1
Shoes Man Tutorial
Pos News Update
Meme Update
Korean Entertainment News
Japan News Update
No comments:
Post a Comment