Xoxo, Gossip Girl

The New York ambiance moves in a rhythmic patter to the beat of stilettos hitting the pavement. Show me your face; I can't see you in the faint city glow. What's your name? Who are you with? Where are you headed down Fifth, in those snake skin Manolos? And are they Forever 21 knockoffs? If so, I can tell by the crooked stitching on the side. And if not, bravo.

That's all for now, I think I spot Sienna Miller on Park.

You know you love me,

Xoxo,

Gossip Girl

***

You do love her, don’t you? Gossip Girl, I mean. After all she is far better dressed and even more sophisticatedly trained in the art of manipulation than the snake from the Garden of Eden. And nearly all fall prey to her cunning. Drawn in by the sound of her conniving voice and her sparkly bells. But you, you have more class than that. After all, you're clad in snake skin Manolos and sashaying down Fifth. So where have you buried your conscious, my friend? And don't you start to feel dirty after scooping precious hours out of your life to speak, shamelessly, about others?

I've been flirting with gossip on and off ever since I can remember. Mostly on. I could never explain what made it so addictive or how it fell almost involuntarily to my lips. It was never my intention to hurt anyone. It was just too easy. Too natural. I'd go through those rare phases, though, when I'd be abstinent for a while, and the idea of scrutinizing people I called friends, as it should, suddenly became gross to me. But inspiration doesn't stay for too long without an invitation and at some point it tip toed out, without leaving so much as a note.

The thing is, in this age our self-esteems are so shaken, we've become addicted to secretly reveling in the failures of others in order to distract us from the disappointments in ourselves. We've become so obsessed with comparing our victories and letdowns with that of our peers, so accustomed to dragging others with us into our woes, it's become standard. It seems Misery doesn't just want company; it wants a full blown gala!

But the truth we've all be neglecting for so long is that talking about B.'s zit won't make us any prettier, the fact that M. got an F on her paper won't change yours into an "A+" and discussing D.'s debt isn’t going to put a penny in my piggybank. Consider it. Does highlighting the shortcomings in others ever really make you feel any better about yourself?

A wise Rabbi once said, 'If you want to feel taller, don't push your friend down instead put on a pair of killer heels."

Okay, I paraphrased that. But it was something to that effect. What he meant was, stop putting your friends down so you can feel awesome. It's lame.

Indulging in gossip is about as tacky as sporting a rip-off Dolce. It may be tempting, it tends to appear real to the raw eye but in essence it is fake and it falls apart the moment the trained eye exposes its inauthenticity.

But we all know that, somewhere, deep down it rings in our conscious. It's the voice in the back of our minds we chose to ignore. Because too much of the time we're too busy listening to the sound of our own voices to hear anyone else's.

Except that one distinct voice. Hear that? That's the patter of razor thin stilettos strutting down Broadway. Whispering, "You know you love me..."

So what if you do? You don't owe her anything. Bring your manicured fingers to your ears. Turn down 7^th.

Until her voice becomes but a hum in the distance...

"Xoxo…"