Gossip

Let’s examine the phenomenon of gossip more closely – not for the purpose of condemning or defending it, but just to understand it a little more fully. My thesis is that gossip offers a short-term social benefit and a long-term social cost; while shutting down gossip works in exactly the opposite way: conferring a short-term social cost and long-term social benefit.

Back when I was an undergraduate, I would periodically get together with one of my psychology professors for discussions. On one occasion, I entered his office at the appointed time, but he was having trouble ending a phone call. He made several attempts to wrap up the conversation, but each time the person on the other end would raise a new topic or just keep talking. After a few minutes, my professor gave me an apologetic look and made a hand gesture that looked like a quacking duck. I smiled and nodded in sympathy.

Afterwards, he said: “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t do that. It’s a bad habit.” He mentioned that a few months earlier he was in the middle of a perfectly enjoyable phone conversation with a friend when his friend suddenly paused and said, “I should stop talking. You’re probably doing that thing with your hand.”

It was a small thing, but it stuck with me - I think because it was such a clean illustration of what family therapists call “triangulation.” The basic idea is that groups of three are inherently unstable: two people tend to form an alliance while the third person is excluded.

To some degree, this dynamic is an inescapable and relatively harmless feature of human interaction. It becomes a problem, however, when people try to re-create it purposely and habitually. We have all encountered people whose standard method of joining with others is to criticize someone else (e.g., “Can you believe what Jane said in the meeting?” or “Jim really pisses me off!”). These statements function as an invitation of sorts: let’s share a secret and come together as a team by criticizing or laughing at someone who doesn’t know what’s going on.

In the short term, these efforts are often successful, which is why gossip – the most obvious form of triangulation – has existed for thousands of years. Over time, however, the alliances tend to fluctuate. The person who wanted to gossip with me about what Jane said in the meeting will, when given the opportunity, talk trash with Jane about me. Because of this, the long-term effect of gossip mongering is to communicate a negative message about yourself: I am not someone who communicates directly when something is bothering me and I am not to be trusted.

This damage to one’s interpersonal relationships is delayed, however, and delayed effects are far less powerful than immediate consequences in affecting behavior. Think of it like drinking champaign on New Year’s Eve: another glass sounds fun right now and you won’t have to worry about a hangover until tomorrow.

Also, the pernicious effects of gossip (and other forms of triangulation) are less obvious than a hangover. The feedback my professor received from his friend about the hand gesture undermining trust was the exception, not the rule (and he was perceptive enough to take the feedback seriously). Most people will simply avoid those they view as untrustworthy without saying anything. Confrontation is uncomfortable, after all. Also, it’s not clear that providing this kind of feedback would do any good (i.e., Why should I try to communicate directly with someone who avoids direct communication? Won’t they just deny responsibility and then criticize me behind my back?).

The result is that habitual gossipers tend to have smaller social circles, which, in turn, makes soliciting gossip more appealing because it provides a quick hit of social intimacy when that is in short supply. Additionally, those who choose to remain in close contact with a habitual gossiper are more likely to condone this behavior and engage in it themselves, rendering the entire social circle less trustworthy and stable.

So, given all this, what is the best way to opt out of gossip situations? One approach is to just verbalize your discomfort (e.g., “I hear what you’re saying, but it also feels kind of uncomfortable to be talking about Jim when he isn’t here to respond.”). Another option is to say something to signal that direct communication is an expectation (e.g., “How did Jim respond when you talked to him about this directly? Oh, that hasn’t happened. Well, maybe that’s the next step.”).

It is worth noting, however, that refusing to engage in gossip carries a price tag. The person trying to include you in these conversations is offering a form of social connection, so refusing to participate can feel a bit like refusing a handshake. Also, you are passing up an opportunity to learn about something you may be genuinely curious about.

Conversely, the advantages to minimizing gossip tend to be delayed. For one thing, people will feel more comfortable and secure in your presence because they won’t need to worry about you harboring secret grievances. Also, bringing up difficult topics and resolving problems is a skill, and like all skills gets easier and more efficient the more you practice it. Finally, there is a tendency for people who communicate directly to attract others with similar communication styles, which leads to social circles that are more secure and more stable.

In raising these issues, my intent is to expose the trade-offs of different communication styles – not to moralize. Just about everyone I know occasionally indulges in gossip (including me). The trick is to recognize that there is a long-term social cost to this practice and to minimize it. I think of it like junk food: if your diet is generally healthy but you occasionally eat a cookie, you’ll probably be fine; but if you eat two pounds of cookies a day, your health will suffer.