A few weeks ago, I tried to stop gossiping. Let's just say it wasn't one of this column's most dazzlingly successful experiments. I'd been intrigued by how often the topic arises through the history of self-help, starting in books of advice influenced by major religions - all of which seem greatly exercised by the evils of gossip - and culminating today in hypnosis CDs that promise to help you break the habit, and in books with titles such as Gossip: Ten Pathways To Eliminate It From Your Life And Transform Your Soul. For a couple of days, not participating in scurrilous tittle-tattle was doable. But then I had a paralysing insight: think too hard about what gossip is, and you realise it's almost everything. Saying anything unflattering about someone who's not present seems to qualify, unless it's done for selfless reasons. It doesn't need to be malicious: often, the only motive for gossip is the warm glow of belonging engendered among the gossipers. But by that standard much conversation would be impossible. So would most journalism. Do private thoughts count? Teetering on the brink of an existential crisis, I abandoned the experiment. I don't need that kind of stress in my life.
The counter-argument to the anti-gossipers is that gossip fufils crucial social functions. As the psychologist Nicholas DiFonzo writes in his new book on rumour and gossip, The Watercooler Effect, it serves as "a useful warning about harmful people", while also regulating behaviour: "Wanting to avoid granting others the opportunity to gossip about us may serve as an effective deterrent for engaging in socially unacceptable acts." Even as it tears some relationships apart, gossip binds others together: possessing gossip-worthy information confers status, and passing it on is an act of friendship. No wonder most academic studies of gossip conclude that it's ubiquitous: it rarely occupies less than a fifth of the average person's conversation.
But just because something serves a function doesn't mean it's right - or conducive to happiness. I can't say I've often felt soiled by gossiping, something the anti-gossipers seem to think is universal. But the detrimental effects may manifest themselves in other ways: the US researcher Ralph Rosnow found a strong correlation between those who gossip most and those who are most anxious. These worrywarts were also more likely to believe the information conveyed in gossip was highly important. That's a trait they share with those who see themselves as the victims of gossip, even though such people spend more time worrying about damage to their reputations than actually suffering it.
But is the answer really to stop gossiping? The problem with self-help's admonitions that some behaviour must be eliminated is that they only fuel this notion that it's a Big Problem in the first place. Is it, though? I swiftly failed to stop gossiping. But I did stop trying to stop. So maybe that's something.
oliver.burkeman@theguardian.com
