BY ALEX ISRAEL

In print | September 25, 2008

I should probably start this column by saying that I enjoy intellectual pursuits just as much as the next Swattie. I read Dostoevsky for fun, I strain to understand the symbolism of Bergman’s “The Seventh Seal” and I will talk to my friends about the political concerns that underlie the distinction between a language and a dialect until their brains turn to mush. I’m not ashamed of any of these things; on the contrary I am quite content to let my nerd flag fly.

Some people, after reading the previous paragraph, might find it difficult to understand why I would watch something that has been described as “over-the-top escapism” (by the “New Yorker,” a publication that can itself be seen as a form of escapism for heady intellectuals) or, more bluntly, as “a nasty piece of work” by, of all publications, the “New York Post.” I’m not denying that I revel in the escapism and trash of “Gossip Girl;” I love watching beautiful people hook up with each other and the constant stream of designer clothes, shoes and handbags brings out my inner fashionista. “Gossip Girl” also has the advantage of writers who consistently turn out witty, savage and wonderfully unrealistic dialogue and actors who make that dialogue seem like a natural outgrowth of their characters.

“Gossip Girl,” however, is more than just a fun, trashy and well-written escape from the enormous and seemingly insurmountable quantities of work that are a fact of life at Swat; it is a show that speaks compellingly about the problems that face any high-school student, regardless of zip code. If you take away the designer fashions, luxury apartments and fairy-tale bars that never appear to card anyone, you are left with a group of real, complex human beings who are just struggling to make it through senior year.

You may be thinking that I’m completely off-base and delusional and that this is just my way to justify the trashy TV that I watch, but, intelligent and oh-so-socially-conscious Swattie, you are wrong. Every time I watch “Gossip Girl” I see reminders of my own high-school days; some are subtle and some are not-so-subtle, but they are most definitely there.

Now, it should be said that I went to a private school that contained students who, though not as obnoxiously rich as the characters on the show, owned second and third homes, got BMWs for their birthdays and routinely spent vacations in Europe. More importantly, however, I went to a school that, like the Constance Billiard School for Girls and the St. Jude’s School for Boys, was so small that it made Swat seem like a paradise of anonymity. When Serena van der Woodsen, a subject of constant gossip on the part of her classmates, said early in Season One that all she wanted to do was “finish high school in peace and go away to a state with lots of people who don’t know who [she is] and just start over,” I heard my own high-school self. And when later in the season Blair Waldorf, who had been publicly humiliated by a vindictive ex, begged her mother to let her finish the school year in France, I recognized myself telling my parents that there was no way I could return to school.

I realize that my high-school experiences were atypically unpleasant, and that others wouldn’t identify with the crises faced by Blair and Serena. There are many other identifiable moments on the show, however, most of which would probably seem familiar to the majority of people on this campus: the constant pressure to be accepted to a top-tier school, as well as the tension between those who aren’t legacies and those who are; the unequal application of justice on the part of a school’s administration just because one student’s parents can fund a new library and another’s can barely afford tuition; and, most universal, the constantly shifting alliances between so-called friends and the continuous drama of hook-ups and breakups.

The wonderful thing about “Gossip Girl” is the writers’ abilities to combine fantastically melodramatic situations—Blair slept with Chuck! And Nate! And now she’s dating a British Lord! Whose mother is sleeping with Nate!—with real-life situations and concerns, such as the pressure to be perfect that drives Blair to an eating disorder, or the class tensions that drive Serena and her boyfriend apart. So the next time you see me in Mephistos, completely absorbed in the dramas of privileged teenagers whose lives seem nothing like mine, don’t mock me or my show; just quietly walk away or, better yet, sit down. You might learn a thing or two in the process.

Alex is a sophomore. You can reach her at aisrael1@swarthmore.edu.

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