At Home Transgressions & the art of gossip

Updated: 2 days ago.

The Town Gossips, 1914, The Art Institute of Chicago

By Cate Murphy

Every time I go home, the strangest phenomenon occurs: I revert back to my high-school-self.

It’s as if all the adulting I’ve done since leaving—every small independence I’ve built, every boundary

I’ve learned to assert—dissolves the instant I step through the door. My posture slackens, my voice

softens, and suddenly I am seventeen again: a little restless, a little unsure, padding barefoot through

the kitchen at midnight in search of leftover pasta, trying to avoid questions that begin with, “So,

what’s next?” My old bedroom greets me like a ghost of myself. My bookshelf still leans in the corner,

its contents a strange time capsule: Sylvia Plath beside dog-eared issues of Teen Vogue, a diary with the lock broken off, perfume bottles whose scents no longer match what I wear now. And yet, I slip back into that version of myself without resistance, as if she had been waiting, patient and unbothered, for my return.

What fascinates me most is that this regression isn’t mine alone. My sister feels it too. Away

from home, our relationship blossoms—we talk nearly every day, our conversations ranging from the

trivial to the tender. We compare notes on adulthood, send each other screenshots of text exchanges

for analysis, and reassure one another that we’re becoming real people, whatever that means. But at

home, the spell breaks. We revert. It’s almost ritualistic, this return to our younger selves: the petty

arguments over borrowed clothes, the familiar rhythm of mutual irritation, the simultaneous laughter

that follows every disagreement. We’re like actors who’ve played the same roles for years, slipping

effortlessly into dialogue we know by heart. And yet, beneath the bickering, there’s a strange

tenderness. We end the night the way we always have, curled up on my bed with glasses of white wine

(tea’s modern replacement), revisiting the old tradition: gossip. But it isn’t the idle cruelty people so

often accuse it of being. It’s an act of care, of observation. We speak about people not just to judge

them but to understand them, to make meaning of their choices and, in doing so, of our own. Some

things change, but the art of gossip never dies.

It’s the thread that ties the years together, the ritual that keeps us grounded in who we are. No matter how far we go or how much we evolve, that one constant always finds its way back to us. It is, in its own way, a language of belonging. A reminder that even when everything else about us changes, some parts remain beautifully unchanged.

Growing up, my world was built through whispered sentences floating under dinner tables as ice

clinked in glasses of chardonnay. My grandmother would hold court on our landline, recounting

stories about her friends and coworkers with the dramatic flair of a Tennessee Williams heroine. My

aunt would perch in her flamingo pose on the couch, scribbling wry notes in magazine margins while

listening to the latest scandals from the women of Malibu. And my sister and I, tucked into our bunk

beds, would stay up for hours gossiping about our parents in hushed tones, trying to make sense of

their mysterious adult world through scraps of overheard conversation. To me, gossip was never rude,

it was sacred. It was how we made sense of people, how we transformed the mundane into the epic.

Good-natured, smart, evocative gossip was a family tradition, a kind of storytelling that revealed who

we were and how we loved. It shaped my understanding of politics, friendship, and desire. The way

someone gossips—the tone, the details they choose, the sympathy they extend—tells me everything

about their value system. In many ways, it’s more intimate than sharing a meal or a bed.

So, with that in mind, allow me to present the dos and don’ts of gossiping:

DO

● Gossip with the inner circle, but try not to gossip about the inner circle

● Gossip with strangers. I can't stress this enough. I'll be talking with my man at the muffin stand at the farmers market, and it will be the highlight of my day

● Try to prioritize low-stakes topics where everyone involved is removed from the subject

● Talk with your hands and use exclamation marks

● Use gossip as a productive form of information sharing

● Admit when you are wrong, went too far, or were simply just being a bitch

● Understand your insecurities well enough to know when you are gossiping for the ego

DON’T

● Talk ill of someone’s appearance, as it will always be extremely uninteresting and unchic.

Grow up!

● Involve yourself in the gossip unless you’re in the mood for some drama and can handle the

ricochet

● Gossip with someone who can’t handle it

● Judge someone’s life choices they made in the earnest pursuit of happiness