My weekly magazine ritual started in college, with People magazine, but I quickly grew bored of its articles. To get to the good dirt, you had to page past feel-good stories about small towns coming together and crossword puzzles that appeared to be written to make a very sleepy child feel good about herself.
I soon moved on to more exciting magazines, like Us Weekly and In Touch, which were relatively new to the market in 2002. I bought them even when I had only in my account, wincing as I tabulated the deduction, berating myself for spending what amounted to a seventh of my worldly assets on trash.
These days, I’ve nearly given up my gossip habit — the stories have gotten so boring, the same scandals, with different players, recycled over and over. But Meghan Markle forced me back into the habit of checking blogs every few hours for the latest update. She fascinates me less because I identify with her and more because she acts as a kind of Rorschach test for whoever happens to be reading and writing about her.
She is a figure who would usually be beneath the standard gossip blogs — a mixed-race working actress, over 21, divorced, leading a rather uneventful life shooting television. But her marriage, and the stories forced upon her relationship, wedding, pregnancy and imminent childbirth, mutate and change for whoever happens to be reading them.
She is either a beautiful symbol of a hoped-for pan-racial harmony or a treacherous, ill-mannered black woman who somehow tricked a blameless white man into marrying her. Both takes are so predictable that they become boring. But I keep reading about her because the beats of her story are so familiar, because it is fascinating to see the frothing rage she inspires in some and the myopic, fervent worship of celebrity as social balm in others, as if the ascension to royalty of a single woman of African descent could change the history of an empire based on racial subjugation.
Perhaps the reason Ms. Markle sticks is because her story seems to so closely follow tabloid rules, and then swerve past them. If a tabloid editor could script reality, the prince would have already dumped her for a more suitable love interest.
When I first started reading gossip magazines, uncovering the rules was part of the fun. Back then, it was at the beginning of the age of early-21st-century gossip, when there was a rise of celebrity and a new economy of paparazzi. But gossip blogs were still in their infancy, so if you wanted to watch the show, you had to read the magazines.
In the tabloids, breakups were always wars. Any women over 21 were always “hoping for wedding bells.” Men were always avoiding marriage, unless they happened to be starring in a coming children’s movie franchise, in which case they were “finally ready to settle down.” Queer people didn’t exist, unless they were connected to scandal.
I found these rules absurd and fascinating in the odd world they described, a world that operated according to logic I was certain, as a naïve and liberal-leaning college student, was about to be tossed aside in this world. It all seemed so obviously fake, so contrived. I assumed that the photos and stories were justified, because they were clearly written by someone in on the joke. It was the classic mistake of someone who has read a lot of books but not interacted with a lot of people.
But here’s the thing about reading trash ironically. It still seeps into your worldview. Many of the tropes we’ve become accustomed to — bump watches, “flaunting body after baby,” the endless scrutiny of women’s bodies for the slightest fluctuation in weight — were just becoming established as story lines. I read these too, through a feminist lens, pointing to the pictures and saying, “This is messed up!” But I still bought my magazines every week.
This habit lasted for more than a decade. Sometime in the middle of all of it, in my mid-20s — around 2008 or ’09 when I did a search on OkCupid for all the straight men who listed James Baldwin on their profiles and came up with two accounts in all of New York City — I began to think that maybe these magazines were on to something. Maybe the rules they were describing weren’t so ludicrous after all. I began to read these less as texts of a retrograde country to deconstruct and more, even though I couldn’t even really admit it to myself, as an instruction manual.
Unsurprisingly, it did not yield great results in dating or in life.
Even as I’ve worked to disregard the rules of tabloids, I still believe in the validity of gossip. Gossip lives a weird half-life. People invested in our current definitions of respectability and civil discourse will claim gossip is damaging, worthless, the refuge of the unintelligent. But if you are ever trying to find stories of people left off the official historical record, gossip becomes a place where you can maybe catch a glimpse of them, a distorted version of them trapped in scandal.
What’s the instruction manual in the saga of Meghan Markle? I am not sure. I think there is something to learn about the falseness of narratives. I read gossip most ferociously during the time in my life when I was trying to figure out how to create an adult life, and the silly stories seemed, because of their dumb cruelty, to be sharing some kind of rude truth.
It must be strange to live as Ms. Markle does, to experience a pregnancy — somehow a universal experience and something intensely personal — with millions of people deciding what it must mean for you. I can only imagine that you look straight ahead and keep moving.
Kaitlyn Greenidge is the author of the novel “We Love You, Charlie Freeman” and a contributing opinion writer.
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【时】【间】【过】【得】【真】【快】，【钟】【小】【兵】【把】【钟】【大】【娘】【和】【钟】【甜】【妮】【接】【进】【城】【后】，【他】【又】【在】【兴】【兴】【工】【业】【园】【连】【续】【工】【作】【了】【一】【周】【时】【间】。 【一】【周】【时】【间】【无】【法】【回】【家】，【终】【于】【迎】【来】【了】【又】【一】【个】【休】【息】【日】。 【想】【着】【在】【家】【可】【以】【整】【整】【休】【息】【一】【天】，【钟】【小】【兵】【的】【心】【格】【外】【激】【动】。 【星】【期】【天】【早】【晨】，【钟】【小】【兵】【从】216【宿】【舍】【出】【发】，【踏】【上】【了】【归】【家】【的】【路】【程】。 【回】【到】【家】【里】，【一】【家】【人】【其】【乐】【融】【融】。 【为】【了】
【安】【思】【瑶】【一】【愣】，【指】【着】【自】【己】【道】：“【我】【吗】？” “【对】，【就】【我】【和】【你】。” 【向】【崇】【烨】【眉】【峰】【微】【拧】，【下】【意】【识】【的】【往】【前】【走】【了】【一】【步】，【将】【安】【思】【瑶】【拦】【在】【身】【后】，【一】【脸】【防】【备】【的】【盯】【着】【廖】【云】【菲】。 【廖】【云】【菲】【看】【出】【了】【他】【对】【自】【己】【的】【防】【备】，【眸】【光】【微】【凛】，【却】【没】【有】【退】【让】。 【安】【思】【瑶】【见】【状】【忙】【主】【动】【握】【了】【握】【向】【崇】【烨】【的】【手】，【低】【声】【道】：“【没】【事】，【就】【一】【会】【功】【夫】，【你】【到】【车】【里】【等】【我】。”
【震】【怒】【之】【下】，【他】【奋】【力】【抵】【抗】【着】【想】【要】【控】【制】【他】【的】【恶】【念】，【想】【要】【靠】【着】【蛮】【力】【挣】【脱】【这】【份】【不】【祥】【的】【羁】【绊】，【却】【发】【现】【每】【当】【他】【攻】【击】【自】【己】【的】【新】【主】【人】【时】，【苍】【穹】【之】【中】【的】【群】【星】【便】【会】【有】【一】【颗】【永】【久】【地】【湮】【散】【成】【灰】。【奥】【瑞】【利】【安】•【索】【尔】【困】【厄】【于】【一】【种】【更】【强】【横】【的】【魔】【法】【之】【下】，【逼】【迫】【着】【他】【不】【得】【不】【将】【自】【己】【的】【威】【能】【置】【于】【巨】【神】【的】【掌】【控】【之】【中】。【他】【与】【撕】【裂】【宇】【宙】【天】【幕】【的】【披】【甲】【巨】【兽】【和】【深】【空】【中】【其】【他】【可】【怖】www.hg877688.com【唐】【淼】【进】【宫】【的】【时】【间】【算】【不】【得】【早】【也】【算】【不】【得】【晚】，【薄】【言】【这】【人】【对】【踩】【点】【这】【个】【技】【术】【活】【儿】，【一】【向】【都】【得】【心】【应】【手】【的】【厉】【害】，【唐】【淼】【一】【脚】【踏】【进】【的】【天】【子】【寝】【殿】【的】【时】【候】，【却】【是】【瞧】【见】【了】【早】【已】【搁】【置】【在】【小】【桌】【上】【的】【吃】【食】。 【不】【是】【皇】【家】【御】【用】【的】【金】【器】，【也】【没】【有】【繁】【杂】【的】【龙】【纹】，【那】【餐】【具】【平】【常】【的】【好】【似】【平】【头】【百】【姓】【家】【的】【瓷】【器】【一】【般】，【甚】【至】【连】【釉】【面】【都】【不】【是】【十】【分】【的】【光】【彩】。 【唐】【淼】【扫】【了】【一】【眼】【菜】
【话】【音】【刚】【落】，【就】【走】【进】【来】【两】【位】【雍】【容】【华】【贵】【的】【妇】【人】。 “【小】【寒】！【小】【枝】！” “【小】【枝】！【小】【寒】！” 【冷】【寒】【冬】【与】【元】【小】【枝】【对】【视】【一】【眼】，【同】【时】【看】【了】【眼】【气】【定】【神】【闲】【喝】【着】【茶】【的】【冷】【君】，【同】【时】【在】【心】【里】【暗】【叹】，【果】【然】，【姜】【还】【是】【老】【的】【辣】。 “【母】【后】，【干】【娘】。”【冷】【寒】【冬】【对】【着】【自】【己】【的】【母】【后】【和】【元】【小】【枝】【的】【娘】【亲】【行】【礼】【道】。 “【娘】【亲】，【干】【娘】。”【元】【小】【枝】【则】【是】【对】【着】【自】【己】
【手】【上】【极】【为】【的】【粘】【稠】。 【方】【京】【能】【够】【感】【受】【道】【德】，【便】【是】【极】【为】【粘】【稠】【的】【感】【觉】。 【极】【度】【的】【恶】【心】，【让】【人】【感】【觉】【到】【身】【上】【毛】【毛】【的】。 【不】【过】 【并】【没】【能】【够】【什】【么】【刺】【痛】【的】【感】【觉】。 【方】【京】【还】【是】【没】【能】【够】【看】【清】【这】【片】【地】【方】【到】【底】【有】【什】【么】【东】【西】。 【原】【本】【光】【线】【就】【暗】，【方】【京】【在】【经】【过】【了】【这】【么】【一】【段】【时】【间】【的】【适】【应】【之】【后】【也】【并】【没】【能】【够】【看】【清】【一】【些】【黑】【暗】。 【就】【好】【像】..
【第】159【章】【治】【病】【下】【针】【把】【人】【气】【走】【了】 【桑】【柔】【咬】【了】【咬】【牙】，【最】【终】【还】【是】“【平】【心】【静】【气】”【的】【向】【他】【道】。 “【公】【子】【还】【是】【多】【关】【心】【自】【己】【的】【身】【体】【状】【况】【吧】。” 【两】【人】【沉】【默】【几】【许】，【在】【她】【埋】【头】【在】【药】【箱】【里】【找】【着】【药】【瓶】【之】【时】，【耳】【边】【又】【响】【起】【那】【幽】【淡】【的】【声】【音】。 “【若】【仅】【仅】【是】【服】【药】，【那】【麽】【你】【可】【以】【把】【药】【交】【给】【下】【人】【便】【可】，【何】【必】【亲】【自】【来】【一】【趟】？” 【桑】【柔】【一】【只】【抓】【住】【药】【箱】