Everyone has that song – the categorically terrible Top 40 jam they’re ashamed to love. But why the guilt? Vv Magazine’s Sarah Botelho dives deep into the human history of guilty pleasures.
You’re hosting a killer party. The vibe is great, drinks are flowing, and most importantly, the music is a seamless blend of trendy and hip. You’re about to introduce yourself to that cute Bay St. Bae you had your eye on when, all of a sudden, the unspeakable happens. Your beloved iPod has betrayed you as Lou Bega announces that, “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Mambo No. 5.”
The chatter stops. Everyone looks up from their phones, some with surprise and confusion, others with a nose held high in disapproval. Some can barely stifle their laughter. Your ultra-cool party is unraveling right before your eyes. But, just as you accept cruel defeat, something strange happens – Bay St. Bae starts tapping his foot to the beat. It seems that he too needs a little Monica in his life.
In 2014, Spotify asked users what song they were most embarrassed to like. The number one track was “Mambo No. 5,” even though we all undeniably know – and love – the words to it. As it turns out, there’s actually a sociological reason we can’t resist listening to the latest Top 40 hit that everyone else claims is complete garbage. And it dates way back to our good old friend Aristotle.
Way back when, Aristotle decided that only virtuous action should be associated with pleasure; everything else was “evil,” and considered a vice. But he didn’t stop there; Aristotle also proposed that pleasure should only come from things that require intellectual effort. (We’re willing to bet that Aristotle wouldn’t be keeping up with the Kardashians.) While these philosophies were established centuries ago, they laid the groundwork for the modern-day concepts of low- and high- brow culture.
The reason “Call Me Maybe” falls under the category “guilty pleasure” is because it’s a song whose composition is tragically basic, a quality we’ve been conditioned to see as low-brow. While you need a floor length gown and some elegant long gloves to enjoy a night at the opera, you can belt Top 40 into your hairbrush wearing only your comfiest unicorn onesie.
The quintessential guilty pleasure song typically consists of a simple yet contagious beat with lyrics that are easy to remember. It’s what you put on when you just want to jam out after a long day at work (“You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful” by 1D or Jesse McCartney’s “Beautiful Soul”). And that’s precisely why we’re taught to feel totally mortified for singing them at the top of our lungs; they only exist for fun, have no real intention for edification, and are thus a waste of our perfectly good, cultured time.
The term “guilty pleasure” was born in 1860 in the New York Times. It was used to describe a brothel. The phrase finally put a name to an age-old phenomenon. People could finally confess their pop culture addictions guilt-free; as long as you admit that you’re silly for liking what you like, you can be the biggest “ironic” fan of Carly Rae Jepsen you want.
So why can’t you resist replaying “Shake it Off” even though you know it’s no good? A recent study at Northwestern University found that guilt biologically drives us full-tilt towards our vices. Thanks to all that Aristotelian shaming, feelings of sin and remorse actually trigger desire in the brain. It’s the same reason that stuffing your face full of fries seems so much more satisfying than a salad; you know it’s bad for you, but it feels so good to be bad.
This accounts for the whole “So bad it’s good” phenomenon. (Please see any early-2000’s chart-toppers for examples.) The more we know we shouldn’t like it, the deeper we’re entranced. You completely hate “Crank Dat” by Soulja Boy (and why wouldn’t you? It’s awful!), but you better believe that when it comes on at the club, you’re busting out the moves.
Maybe the songs you hate to love annoy you so much because they disrupt the precious territory of middlebrow enthusiasts. That’s right, there is a middle ground – though it may not be a happy one. In fact, Virginia Woolf actually argued against the term, saying that this blend of high and low brow was just a classic case of people trying to act like they’re big proponents of what the cool kids like.
The truth is, calling something a guilty pleasure is just a scapegoat. Some people claim they don’t really like Jason Derulo, insinuating that they prefer the works of Zeppelin and Bach in their countryside parlour rooms. But why does loving low-brow culture preclude us from loving the high-brow as well?
New flash: It doesn’t. People are multidimensional and can’t be whittled into one standard of taste. So the next time you’re freaking out about your über cool playlist, prescribe yourself a chill pill.
And remember, way-back playbacks are always a hit.
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What’s your guilty pleasure jam? Let us know in the comments below or at @ViewtheVibe.