English Version | Five o’clock tea

A rumor is never just a rumor - it is a source of interest, of conversation, of life. We need it to bring excitement to our daily lives, preferably if it is connected to other people's drama, and at a safe distance that doesn't affect us. How about inside the small screen?

Artwork by Mariana Matos
Artwork by Mariana Matos

Back in my college days, there were two major reasons that brought me to campus: going to classes (although this was clearly secondary) and keeping up with the gossip of the day with my friends. The routine was always the same. We would meet in the auditorium, where we would exchange suggestive glances while we tried to control the impulse to send a message to the WhatsApp group and share the news right away. But we didn't, because there was a ritual to follow, which dictated that it was during lunchtime, spent outside with a coffee in hand, that we would discuss the hot topic - which was always the same. She was not exactly popular among the university students, but she was known to the entire group (through mutual friends and ties from high school that wrapped themselves in an intricate network of social relationships). For about two or three years Anita (fictitious name) dated Filipe (idem). They were the perfect couple. And unlikely, because you could tell, without a shadow of a doubt, who was the settler and who was the achiever. Still, they had what many of us aspired to. That is, until the day we learned from a third party that the relationship was over - out of the blue, for no apparent reason. Whether you blame it on the female sixth sense or just the curiosity to know the dirtiest details of other people's lives, the fact is that lunchtime became the designated time to find the answers to this cryptic breakup. Each of us had our sources, and together we felt invincible, like Thanos when he wielded the five infinity stones in one of Marvel's blockbusters. We quickly realized that, after all, Anita's decision had not been as sudden as she had the university community (which was probably just us) see. And Filipe was not the attentive and caring boy he appeared to be - in this true spy mission, we discovered that he had anger issues and that more than two or three times he had made her feel threatened. He was, in addition, nonchalant and dismissive, and there were rare occasions when he was willing to listen to Anita's complaints without exploding into a tantrum of frustration. Arrogant and slightly self-centered, it is not surprising that he was caught off guard with the breakup when, in his view, everything was fine between the two of them. In short, every week there were new details to complete the story that slowly began to make more and more sense - we felt like spectators of a drama that was unfolding in real time in front of us, without disturbing our lives. Only later did I realize that I was following this situation like someone who watches Gossip Girl and gets immersed in the theatrical plots of New York's Upper East Side. My position in both contexts is quite similar: I will always be the non-participating and strangely omniscient spectator.

That is the beauty of fiction, especially that which presents us with a puzzle that we are the ones putting together, episode by episode. The passion for this kind of content intensifies even more when it involves complex and petty interpersonal relationships, as these are the source of all the drama that is essential to our souls. Perhaps it is far-fetched to make the comparison between gossip and mystery, but aren't rumors just a more popular version of secrets? Something we set out to follow to the source to uncover the truth? And there is something that series like Bridgerton, Pretty Little Liars and the iconic Gossip Girl give us - food for the ego. The logic is actually quite simple: as viewers, we are all powerful, we know everything, there are details about the characters' lives and actions that only we have access to. Among the extras, we are superior and always one step ahead - because we are present in almost every moment of the narrative. When Nate Archibald slept with Serena van der Woodsen before the narrative in Gossip Girl began, we knew about the betrayal before Blair Waldorf and anyone else involved. When the character played by Leighton Meester spoke fondly of her boyfriend, we knew deep inside that their relationship would never be the same. We studied Nate and Serena's steps carefully, waiting to see who would be the first to blow the whistle. It is inevitable that, as spectators, we feel a clear sense of superiority. Because knowledge is power.

Still, and as much as we would like to repeatedly win the race to the truth of the rumor, it would lose its fun if there were no challenge. So omniscience yes, but not totally. You have to leave something to the imagination, otherwise what's the point? And let the series speak for themselves: the first season of Bridgerton was a huge success because the viewer had a mission in hand. Anyone could be the gossip queen, Lady Whistledown, so we spent all eight episodes trying to pick up all the hints and create our own theories. It's not until the end of the last chapter that we find out who the face behind the nickname is, although some may have solved the puzzle much earlier. And that is an explosive moment of catharsis and satisfaction, the moment when everything starts to make sense. Of course, in Bridgerton, the narrative has other key points that we want to see developed, such as the forced relationship (which turns out to be genuine) between Daphne and Simon. Still, the second season of the period drama offers us a story in which we already know the identity of the queen of gossip. In a snap of the fingers, what was a tale of love and mystery becomes just a dramatic romance, no longer a riddle to unravel. And while the second season was the most watched English language series on Netflix upon release, we can't help but remember that it was eight slow and, why not say it, boring episodes (for what it's worth, that's the opinion of a non-appreciator of romantic novels). Basically, the point is that the omniscience that a series gives the viewer is a great way to stroke his or her ego, but it loses its fun if some detail isn’t left out. We need an unexpected twist. Certain productions have shown that they know how to balance with elegance and suspense the information we are given and the information we are vetoed. Gossip Girl, a sort of cosmopolitan, modern version of Bridgerton, may have taken many twists and turns by the sixth season, with plots that were more improbable than dramatic. But we have to hand it to you, because Gossip Girl is a master in the art of timing: only in the last episode is the identity of the queen (or king?) of gossip discovered. This series, one of the symbols of the 2000s, does more than force us to try to solve this impossible mystery: it entertains us, keeps us glued to the screen. Just like Desperate Housewives or Big Little Lies, which feed our need to peek into the personal lives of others. Talk of voyeurism may seem excessive. However, when it comes to these kinds of shows, one of the things that most catches our interest is precisely the privileged access to the most intimate corners of another person's life. In a sort of reality à la Truman Show, we are there to watch the characters sleep, shower, or have sex. We human beings can be more curious than cats, and with a series we don't run the risk of losing any of our nine lives. And give up now who wants to deny being a nosy bitch, because even fiction has already tried to transpose this facet of us to the screen. We are a bit like Jeff in Rear Window: deeply invested in someone else's mysterious life, which we watch closely through the window. And gossip is the next step in the old voyeurism, because it grants us free entry to the universe of secrets that are exclusive to us, the viewers, and that in no way affect our daily lives.

There are certain ingredients that make a series about the juiciest gossip worthwhile. If Gossip Girl had a nutrition information-style label, I imagine the content would go something  like this: 29% voyeurism, 27% drama, 20% superiority complex, 11% entertainment, 9% mystery, and finally 4% envyous outfits. It's a recipe that has everything to keep us stuck to the couch for days, immersed in this turn-of-the-century masterpiece. While all the components are equally essential, there is one that is especially important when it comes to making us feel something - and that something is drama. In every episode there has to be at least one disagreement and high doses of secrecy. Let's be honest, no one has such a socially active life that parties, unexpected deaths, unlikely romances, and the occasional betrayal come out of it, day in and day out. All "excessive" things that we would love to experience. Because, deep down, we thrill to the emotional roller coaster that is a love triangle or the loss of someone (not so) close, without actually having the hassle of having to go through it. In this sense, series are the best possible middle ground: while we stay safe and secure from tragedy, we want the characters to go through almost hellish situations so that we can live through them. Our hearts beat faster, as if we were at the side of the protagonists, enduring everything with them. With Gossip Girl, Bridgerton, Desperate Housewives, Pretty Little Liars, and many others, we find a way to feel the drama without living it. After all, isn't that what fiction is for? As for Anita and Filipe's story, the ending was very underwhelming: the subject died a slow death, until our gossip sessions gave way to conventional lunch hours, empty of subject and purpose. This is the sad truth: real life will never be as exciting as what we see on TV. Oh well, we will always have the series.

Translated from the original on The Gossip Issue of Vogue Portugal.Full credits and stories on the print issue.