I don’t think loving gossip always makes you a bad person. In many ways, I think it’s helped me with my work. When interviewing people in a journalistic capacity, for example, I find myself genuinely interested in their stories—what makes them tick, their actual lives beyond neat soundbites and surface-level stuff. My profound love of gossip also, I think, makes me an attentive listener. I’m more than happy to hear you unpack the drama in your friendship group, or give you advice on what to do when you’re getting mixed signals, and I definitely want to scrutinize the screenshots. I will sit and listen until there’s nothing left to say, and then I’ll go over it again with you the next day.
Which is not to say that gossip is always harmless—many times, it’s not. Consider the ways in which the paparazzi have historically hounded celebrities, lights flashing as soon as they leave the house. It’s our collective obsession with goss that has led tabloids to dig into the lives of stars way more than should have, hacking phones, publishing stories about hidden mental health struggles, and dissecting private relationships. Gossip can be damaging when it crosses people’s boundaries, or strips them of ownership over their own story—sharing information about someone’s sexuality before they’ve come out, for example.
That said, there’s a huge difference between tabloids publicly outing someone, and you and your mates WhatsApping about whoever you spotted making out outside the club. Most of us know instinctively what sort of gossip is damaging, and what sort of gossip is a bit of fun. And, as social creatures, we’re hardwired for connection—gossip is a part of that. Numerous studies have shown that gossip can facilitate closeness, while also maintaining social order. One 2015 study found that people hearing gossip showed more activity in their prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for navigating complex social behaviors. In other words, we’ve developed this way because it benefits us socially.
As someone who now lives a relatively stable and peaceful life, I rarely find myself at the center of the gossip—though in the past, I’ve had my moments. There was a time, in my early 20s, when I actually relished it. I’d find myself hooking up with people I shouldn’t, or doing things solely for the purpose of shocking myself and others (what the kids call “for the plot”). You’d have to speak to my therapist about why that might have been—maybe I thought it made me more interesting, or maybe I was trying to fill some internal void. Maybe I was just young and now I’m older. It doesn’t really matter. Either way, I liked people talking about me, and now I don’t—or I just don’t give them anything to talk about.