During my time watching television, one person or another has mocked nearly every show I watch. Grey’s Anatomy is too soapy, The Wire is too boring, Lost is too twisted, and Battlestar Galactica—well, just look at the title you’ll see how easily people dismiss it out of hand. Obviously, most of the people who criticize these shows haven’t seen them or just could not stick with them past an episode or two, which is fine, I guess. These shows aren’t everyone’s cup of tea.
Lately, however, one program has not failed to raise eyebrows whenever I mention it: Gossip Girl.
The reaction isn’t surprising. It’s safe to say that 20-year-old straight men are not the target demographic of the show, and I will admit that I got sucked into it accidentally. Last year, before it had even premiered, the CW was giving away the pilot for free on iTunes (the key word in that sentence being free). My father instilled in me at a young age his personal motto: “If it’s free, it’s for me.” I couldn’t let him down. After a while, I decided it was time to actually watch the episode, lest it take up space on my hard drive for no good reason. And so it began.
Initially, I was lulled into comfort hearing the voice of Kristen Bell, who had so thoroughly charmed me on Veronica Mars. After a few minutes I was enjoying the show—with a sense of ironic detachment from many of the too-predictable plot developments or paper-thin characters, of course—but enjoying it nonetheless.
By realizing how trite and ridiculous the show could be, and by admitting that outright, I felt that insulated me from having to sacrifice my masculinity for the little enjoyment that I got from the show. As long as I was able to keep up this facade, I would avoid bringing up Gossip Girl in conversation, even going several weeks without mentioning it to my close friends.
That facade became important because I had a good enough time that I came back for the next episode and then the one after that. There came a point, I could not tell you exactly when, when my enjoyment began to lose its ironic detachment and I began to enjoy the show on its own merits. This was frightening new territory.
Could I really enjoy a program like this enough to be tuning in every week? Luckily, I didn’t have to ponder that question long, because around the middle of the season Gossip Girl improved markedly. Characters began to develop subtext, dialogue became pithier, and though the plots continued to bear their ridiculous predictability, the writers seemed to know when to throw in the perfect twist to prevent me from becoming too frustrated. It’s as if they know the limits of my patience and the keys to my enjoyment. At this point, nearing the end of its second season, I can unabashedly say that I enjoy the show and look forward to watching it every week. And here’s the thing: I’m not the only guy watching it.
marry me?