“Hey, Upper East Siders … ”
So began all 121 episodes of “Gossip Girl” — with a mischievous greeting from anonymous blogger Gossip Girl herself.
For most viewers, it was a tantalizing invitation: Their rare chance to join the exclusive group of Manhattan residents who live north of 59th Street. Well, for 42 minutes at least.
But for teens who actually lived there — like myself — the reality was a little bit different.
The CW drama, which premiered 10 years ago this fall, was an immediate pop culture phenomenon. The six-season show centered around a gaggle of attractive teenagers at an Upper East Side private school.
That high-class setting was as much a main character as Chuck or Blair. The show’s teens inhabited a world of summers abroad and jewel-embellished school uniforms.
Their nights were filled with raging house parties and elegant galas. They seemed to never have one iota of homework.
Technically, as someone who grew up on the Upper East Side and attended a private all-girls school there, I’m part of that crowd. None of this was unfathomable or exotic to me, except for the no-homework thing.
But I was just as obsessed with the show as any poor sod streaming from Iowa (or, heck, even China) — we all were.
Even if you didn’t love it, you watched it. You had to, because when you got to school the next day, everyone would be talking about whatever backstabbing jerk Georgina did the night before.
It’s a fascinating thing, to see yourself and your life acted out. There were the same Met museum steps, Scoop bags and Dean & DeLuca coffee cups — but, suddenly, they seemed more beautiful and exciting. There were our plaid school skirts … somehow, theirs were actually cute.
The plotlines were like our lives, but on steroids. Oh, someone I knew kissed the son of a nightclub mogul? Well, Blair married an actual prince. And yes, our real lives had nuggets of the show’s intense drama —car crashes, substance abuse, mental health scares, affairs — but, like any good fantasy, the per-episode frequency was exaggerated. We saw one scandal a semester, tops.
As for the characters: They were relatable — sort of. Of course, we weren’t all Blairs or Serenas, queens of the cool-girl clique. Nor were we all dork-turned-fashion goth Jenny, or activist-artist Vanessa, or glasses-wearing nerd Nelly Yuki. But there were ripples among my peers as they internalized bits and pieces of the overachiever, the it-girl, the pariah, the fake ID flasher, the deeply hurt little rich boy. I imagine non-New York viewers felt the same: After all, teen angst is a universal language.Oh, someone I knew kissed the son of a nightclub mogul? Well, Blair married an actual prince.
“Gossip Girl” wasn’t as aspirational for us as for a layperson, but it was still aspirational. In fact, I’d guess that it was even more compelling because some of the backdrops (hello, Palace hotel) and locations (yup, Cipriani) were in our orbit. Their lives — full of glitz, glamour and drama — were almost attainable. Almost.
So we watched. We couldn’t help it. Part distorting mirror, part guilty pleasure. It’s almost reassuring to hear that a new generation of fans is streaming the show on Netflix — another cohort sucked up by themes that manage to be simultaneously trashy and elite. Gossip Girl, whose catchphrase “you know you love me” applies as much to the series as to her, knew what she was doing all along.
XOXO, Upper East Siders.
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