Forgive me, but I just don’t get Gossip Girl. (Yet, there I was in the show’s Season 3 launch at Aquaknox. Go figure.)
For me to enduge a single episode, you’d have to tie me to a chair, strap my hands and feet, and force my eyes open with hooks just like the Ludovico treatment in A Clockwork Orange. The show’s just not my cup of tea. Heck, it’s not my cup of anything.
I don’t find it awful. I just feel that life is dramatic enough as it is and gossiping is already something that pervades our daily lives, from school to family and yes, work. Our bosses do it, our neighbors do it, and even our relatives do it.
So what makes this show any different? (Well, aside from that omnipotent narrator who XOXO’s her way through every episode).
Of course, we know why this show is such a guilty pleasure, aside from its staggeringly photogenic lead stars. It appeals to the tsismoso and tsismosa in all of us. Whenever we find ourselves “accidentally” eavesdropping on two people talking about Mr. So-and-So’s weeknight shenanigans, we can’t help but listen. And when we listen, naturally, we want more. It’s a vicious cycle. It’s entertaining – even more entertaining than enduring the moronic plot twists of Tayong Dalawa, only for Kim Chiu’s character to die under medically-erroneous circumstances.
Oh, and speaking of local telenovelas, don’t we just get a kick out of seeing people who are more popular, good-looking or successful than us attacking each other? Or better yet, dish about the skeletons in each other’s closets? It gets even worse when it becomes an unreliable source of self-assurance, when we start thinking: “Hey, maybe my life isn’t as f*cked up as Mr. So-and-So’s after all.”
We love to be entertained. We love drama.
Just as long as it isn’t our own drama.
That is all.