If human communication was simply the exchange of sanitised data life would be pretty dull. We are an emotional species and have an eternal obsession with exploring, questioning and dreaming. As the late entrepreneur, Steve Jobs, concluded, “The ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.” Consequently, our verbal communication can be inquisitive, insightful, and illuminating. This patchwork of messaging has significantly contributed to human achievement, yet inevitably the gaps in our understanding can create fertile opportunities to shoot the breeze and for word of mouth to become more authoritative that it really should. Existing within this matrix is gossip. At this juncture, I would like to state that I don’t wish to criticise this ancient art of communication; I too, enjoy a good gossip. Contrary to what some sanctimonious individuals may say, statistically speaking, gossip is significantly more beneficial than the harm it may, at times, cause.
In research conducted at the University College London in 1997, gossip was unpicked, with the eventual outcome highlighting five talkative threads: personal experiences and emotions, seeking advice, imaginary situations, and comments about absent third parties, with the latter category being subdivided into two themes – issues assumed to be pertinent to that category – by only those present ─ and outright disapproval of those unfortunate missing persons who didn’t have the opportunity to otherwise set the record straight. The study concluded that at its height this last category of gossip usually only contributed to no more than seven percent of the overall commission of chatter; it is this sliver of often salacious salivation I will explore, since a recent high-profile exposure of a television personality got me reaching for the vomit bag. As the rumour mill ramped up across social media I tried desperately to make sense of the behaviour of a sizable chunk of people I knew ─ and considered to be level-headed and decent – who were demonstratively fanning the flames of hysteria, seemingly excited by the downfall of another human being, when it seemed blatantly obvious to me that the unfolding story, perpetrated by the Sun ─ a UK national newspaper – with a well-documented track record of spreading myths and inuendo was more likely to be just that. I really didn’t get it.
My quest to better understand this rancid reaction led me to an aptly titled research paper: “The ugly truth: negative gossip about celebrities and positive gossip about self entertain people in different ways.” The sample group were asked to rate their emotional reactions to three distinct stimuli: hearing both positive and negative gossip about celebrities, their best friends, and most interestingly, themselves. One of the more unsurprising conclusions was that participants were far happier to receive positive gossip about themselves than any negative jibes, especially when compared to the other two groups. However, at the neural level things got decidedly darker when celebrity gossip was sequenced. In a nutshell, the prefrontal executive control network – responsible for the functioning of the reward system – accelerated the feeling of pleasure. Moreso if social norm compliance was exaggerated. In other words, if the celebrity was associated with an immoral activity. Although, paradoxically, the researchers contended that this energised emotion was contrary to their natural true feelings. This disclosure explained, to some extent, a clear sense of sadness about the reported situation in some of my hitherto hallucinating friends ─ originally high on insinuation ─ when more reputable intelligence entered the news frenzy. Police acknowledged there was no criminal case to answer and the central character was hospitalised with chronic mental health issues ─ possibly leading to the change of attitude within my friendship circle.
The science is compelling: celebrity gossip is premier league scandal and the brain is programmed to fuel this often-objectionable outage. The relentless memes and online speculation were the inevitable ─ if offensive ─ offspring, alongside the first-hand comments of “there is no smoke without fire.” On this particular occasion I was relieved that my initial response was framed around my suspicion of the source, and this prevented my brainwaves from going batshit crazy. But how can we all better manage this rotten reaction?
Spontaneous emotional dumps will always connect to a rapid adrenaline rush, diverting blood away from the command centre, making it more difficult for you to apply logic to the disorientation. Oxygenated blood is dispatched from the brain in order to exercise the fight or flight syndrome, allowing reasoning to temporally and quietly leave the building. A few deep breaths are a simple remedy to this cranial crash. If you are able to resist the temptation to launch into a tirade you may later regret, apply the Socrates triple filter test: before you respond to potentially gruesome gossip; pose these three questions.
“Have you made absolutely sure that what you were about to say is true?”
“Is what you want to say something good or kind?”
“Is this information useful or necessary to me?”
Assuming the answers are negative, simply conclude with: “If what you want to say is neither true, nor good or kind, nor useful or necessary, please don’t say anything at all.”
This model may just protect you from becoming another embarrassing body; remember the maxim – attributed to many a scholar – “A lie is halfway round the world before the truth has got its boots on.”
© Ian Kirke 2023
@ianjkirke
Title photograph by Photograph by Keira Burton