Freeing ‘guilty’ pleasures
by Emily Cathcart
They’re the easy enjoyments we love, despite knowing they’re not generally held in high regard. More critically, guilty pleasures are our dirty little secrets—something we might well be embarrassed by if exposed to the wider world.
Why should we feel bad about what makes us feel good? When we’re overly concerned with other people’s opinions, the ‘guilty’ part of the pleasure becomes less about the intrinsic qualities of what we like, and more about what our tastes say about us. At that point we’ve stopped fully enjoying, and have begun worrying whether our preferences fit someone else’s idea of what’s worthwhile.
Less-than-complimentary adjectives are applied to these diversions—cheesy, tacky, trashy. Though it’s all meant in a lighthearted-enough way in modern usage, this inbuilt value judgement has its roots in the more censorious origins of the phrase. When ‘guilty pleasure’ first appeared in the New York Times in 1860, it described a brothel. The guilt attached may be of a less puritanical variety these days, however there’s still a lingering air of disdain, disapproval and overall disposability.
But popular culture isn't meant to have the aesthetic longevity of a Shakespeare masterwork. And even the Bard’s own output hasn’t been considered high art across the board: in 1662, Samuel Pepys said “...we saw Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, which I had never seen before, nor shall ever again, for it is the most insipid ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life.” Leo Tolstoy wasn’t a fan either, calling Shakespeare’s plays “trivial and positively bad” and the playwright himself “an insignificant, inartistic writer.” So through the centuries, ‘twas ever thus… everyone’s a critic.
There are hundreds of ‘guilty pleasures’ playlists on Spotify featuring everything from ABBA to ZZ Top. It doesn’t matter whether you fancy the euphoria of frothy pop or the release of raunchy 80s guitar rock—there’s clearly something for everyone. When you covertly hum along to Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls tracks on your daily commute, you’re not alone. Perhaps that’s the paradox of these pleasures—they may feel niche for each one of us, but they’re truly universal in that everybody has one (and they’re often widely shared whether we realise it or not).
These humble indulgences are the things we find deeply soothing and soul satisfying. Their straightforward nature is what appeals—guilty pleasures don’t challenge, nor do they provoke. They’re often nostalgic or comfortingly familiar. With no requirement to try something new or wrap our heads around complexity, we can settle into our happy place like a favourite well-worn dressing gown—fittingly, just the right attire for that weekend Real Housewives binge or Sharknado movie marathon.
“Guilty pleasures don’t challenge, nor do they provoke. They’re often nostalgic or comfortingly familiar.”
This is an almost meditative state of relaxation where we’re not tasked with edifying ourselves, we’ve nobody to impress and we’re not trying to show off our cool, edgy credentials. We don’t need to learn or grow… just be. The counselling profession advises that these moments keep us perfectly healthy and well-adjusted, with Psychology Today ultimately suggesting that “guilty pleasures are just pleasures.” So let’s get past the idea of needing to validate our cultural choices.
Nobody needs to give us permission to like something, and the tide seems to be slowly turning against use of the phrase ‘guilty pleasures’ when there’s nothing to be ashamed of in the first place. Goodness knows I’ve embarrassed myself in plenty of ways over the years, but I refuse to apologise for what I enjoy. And if loving Cher’s Believe is wrong, I don’t want to be right.