On my OurBus trip back from Spring Break, I chose to pass the time by listening to the Hamilton soundtrack, naturally. The beat of “The Reynolds Pamphlet” pounded in my ears, and it was at that moment that I really hoped that my second generation airpods weren’t allowing the song to spill out for all of the other passengers to hear (they definitely were). However, the song (which is basically about people finding out Alexander Hamilton had an affair) did get me thinking about the shape gossip took in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. If even our founding fathers found pleasure in spilling some tea, does the rumor mill ever really stop churning?
In one of my classes, we just finished reading The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, a novel about money, class, beauty and (maybe most importantly) gossip. It follows the downfall of New York high-society member Lily Bart, who is originally from an upper class background but falls into debt throughout the book and is unable to recover, neither financially nor socially. Her fellow socialites spread rumors about her, covering topics ranging from a gambling addiction to illicit affairs with her friends’ husbands. Of course, the book is commentary on how intertwined money, class, gender and status are, but it is also an example of how destructive gossip can really be (taken to an extreme).
Now that we’ve covered that gossip existed for both men wearing wigs in the 1700s and women in poofy dresses in the 1800s, let’s move to the present day, shall we? In high school, I must say, I consumed an exorbitant amount of gossip — it was who was applying early decision to which colleges, what parent called in which favor for their kid to the school and “she got with WHO?” at the party. If you can imagine it, some of my fellow classmates even created a Google Docs spreadsheet detailing where their “competitors” were applying to school, under which decision deadlines they were applying and predictions for whether or not these students would get in. That was my life — everyone’s life — at the time. It all feels so irrelevant now.
I always thought coming to college would change things on this front. After all, with approximately 16,000 undergraduate students, who and what could possibly grab people’s attention long enough to warrant a conversation? I have learned, though, that the social circle is not as immeasurable and anonymous as I had presumed it to be. Last year, it was the fact that all of the first-years lived on North Campus that had me running into recurring characters (or campus celebrities) left and right. Especially as an ILRie, I was chit-chatting all over the place, as I went from class to class with the same people on rotation. Then, we would all go back to North and either eat at Morrison or Appel (this is not a safe space to call it “North Star,” btw).
Now, I’m in a sorority, which you can imagine is a breeding ground for many things that would normally be considered “gossip worthy.” But it expands beyond just my house, as most of us have many friends in other sororities who also witness riveting drama and overhear juicy stories. The stories consist of tension between friends during spring break trips in the Caribbean, reasoning for why it took so long for the planning committee to announce the Slope Day artist and the connections one used to secure a coveted summer internship. Rumors never stop — they evolve in accordance with new phases of life.
My argument is grounded in my observations of gossip in the lives of generations before me. My great aunt once showed me the text messages of a chat consisting of women in the party planning community for her residential community. The texts were nothing more than pettiness toward one of the women on the committee, whom they were looking to eject from the group; she was a newcomer to the community, and they gossiped about why she didn’t deserve to be included in the birthday dinners thrown by the committee. She was the new student in those coming of age movies who is mercilessly picked on by the mean girls, even though she was probably in her 70s. When I stayed with my grandparents in Florida in December, my grandma and I took walks around the neighborhood and talked about how those in her community gossip about everyone and everything: kids, marriages, divorces, and the list goes on and on. If you think people are over gossip by the time they retire, you’d be painfully mistaken.
When I think about various stages of people’s lives and look back on my own life, I realize that gossip has colored all of it. Even when we were toddlers, when our biggest struggle was picking which ice cream flavor we wanted from the ice cream truck in the park, we talked about our peers having cooties and how Jimmy “kissed” Jenny on the playground. I am coming to terms with the fact that rumors and gossip have always existed and will always exist. They’ll take on different forms and tones, and they may vary in topics and targets. Gossip never disappears — it just changes scenery. Whether you’re five or 75, it will find you. The only question is: Are you listening?
Maia Mehring is a Lifestyle co-editor on the 143rd editorial board. She is a sophomore in the School of Industrial and Labor Relations and can be reached at mmehring@cornellsun.com.
