Guilty Pleasures: Fact or Fiction? [First Draft]

Although the phrase ‘guilty pleasure’ conceptualizes a social misunderstanding laced with judgemental eye rolls and ferocious mocking, in reality, guilty pleasures are nothing but a psychological nag in the back of your mind reminding you that maybe you shouldn’t be watching a fifth episode of ‘America’s Next Top Model’ before you go to bed, and maybe listening to One Direction isn’t exactly the definition of ‘cool’. But who decided that ANTM isn’t as impressionable as BBC News? Who labelled One Direction as being lesser to the likes of The Beatles or the Jackson 5? Surely entertainment is entertainment, and whether or not it’s described as socially acceptable is another matter entirely. I think it’s time to own up to our interests, no matter how crazy or undesirable they are.

It seems that labelling things as a ‘guilty pleasure’ has become a desperate fall-back after media snobs have taken it upon themselves to decipher what exactly is appropriate to like and what is shamefully unacceptable to admire. For example, it’s okay to enjoy any film that stars the prestigious Brad Pitt, however if you were to admit a love for ‘’Desperate Housewives’ or ‘The Only Way is Essex’, you’re immediately criticized for possessing shallow entertainment levels. The undeniable issue at hand is that, 80% of the time, Desperate Housewives is a lot better and certainly a lot more enjoyable than some of Brad Pitt’s movies – including the recent crashing disappointment of World War Z, the predictable and blatantly over-the-top Mr & Mrs Smith, and the monotonous and dreary Meet Joe Black. It’s become a particular habit of the 21^st century in general to believe you are a musical aficionado, and by doing so, you’re allowed to listen to whatever the hell you want, as long as you do so ‘ironically’. I’m not sure about you, but there’s nothing ‘ironic’ about dancing around the kitchen to Justin Bieber’s latest song, but not before devastatingly persuading all of your friends that once you’re home, your Radiohead playlist is your best friend.

The notions of what is adequate and what isn’t have been automatically approved for us by the leading critics of the world – most of whom are middle-aged, middle-classed, white-haired males who seem to have permanently bored expressions and wouldn’t dare to tap their feet to the latest Lady Gaga song. They themselves have crafted a musical timeline, with little variation from angry men with guitars throughout the different stages of the 20^th century. Pop music is nothing less of a sin in their eyes, something that should have been extinguished the second it was invented. Critics are led to believe that pop music is as easy to write as a children’s storybook, the thoughtless lyrics spat onto tracks within ten minutes of entering a studio. The likes of Max Martin (the genius behind the Backstreet Boys’ Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) and Britney’s Hit Me Baby One More Time) and Brian Higgins are paid high amounts of money to pen bubble-gum pop songs, and here’s the reason why. It’s ten times easier to write a dreary, heartfelt ballad than an enthusiastic, overwhelming pop song, and evoking happiness is a far harder task than making someone cry.

I think I’m right to believe that at some point in your life, somebody has tried to give you a hard time for something you like. Whether that be a movie, a television programme, a music video, a song, an album or an artist or band in general – there’s probably been a time when you’ve been forced to justify your adoration for something. So, instead of exhausting ourselves by feeling ‘guilty’ about our interests, we should channel our energy into perfecting the art of self-confidence. The only way to truly escape the concept of unworthiness is to push away the concept of ‘guilty pleasures’ and instead, replace it with an assertive positive regard.

I’m not talking about ‘casual interests’ here. This isn’t about you singing along to Michael Bublé when they play his song on the radio, or recording missed episodes of the Great British Bake Off to watch while you’re eating your Chinese Takeaway. This is about the things you unconditionally love – whether it’s Oasis’ Greatest Hits or Bridget Jones’ Diary. For me, it’s always been Coldplay, and the amount of criticism I’ve been given for this adoration is beyond unreasonable. The arguments ‘ve heard array from “every single song on every single album is slow, miserable and unpleasing to the ear,” to “they make, rubbish, pedestrian music for people who don’t like music,” – but of course, the individuals making these declarations have an immensely superior music taste to myself. My only reply to Coldplay critics is that I’m not really bothered by your opinion. The fact that you think Coldplay make ‘music for bed-wetters’ isn’t going to make me take Fix You off repeat, and the fact that I love every single album they’re produced isn’t a distressing opinion for me to admit. At the end of the day, I will not let your enjoyment, or lack of enjoyment, affect my own personal enjoyment.

As David Grohl once said, “I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If you f**king like something, like it. That’s what’s wrong with our generation: that residual punk rock guilt, like, “You’re not supposed to like that. That’s not f**king cool.” Don’t f**king think it’s not cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic.” It is cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic”! Why the f**k not? F**k you! That’s who I am, goddamn it! That whole guilty pleasure thing is full of f**king s**t.” And, as a censored, more child-friendly reply, I couldn’t agree more.