Guilty Pleasures

Pleasure, With a Side of Guilt

I’m a big fan of guilty pleasures.

Part of the appeal is that no one wants to admit to another what theirs are. If we like standing naked in front of the refrigerator and squirting canned whipped cream down our gullet, we never tell anyone that.

I think people cheat when they speak to their dark, secretive sources of pleasure. I’m excluding illegal and pornographic pleasures here—I’m talking of the ones you do alone, or mostly alone. In the midst of a boring, long-winded meeting at work, for example, do you privately, mentally look forward to whatever it is you’re going to do that evening? It’s probably a guilty pleasure.

Because guilty pleasures are restorative. Guilty pleasures call for us to have greasy hair, wear unwashed pajama bottoms and fantasize about revenge—while petting our dog. It just feels so damn good.

ChapGPT (and she won’t say her source) says that there are reasons we all have them:

Psychology:

• They’re called “guilty” because they don’t align with how people want to see themselves (healthy, productive, sophisticated, etc.).
• But research shows guilty pleasures can reduce stress, boost mood, and offer a harmless escape - and

Universality:

• Nearly everyone has at least one guilty pleasure—though what counts as one varies across culture, age, and personality.
• They often blend comfort, nostalgia, and rebellion against daily expectations.

I don’t want to overthink it so I’ll go first: I read every Ann Rule true crime book she ever wrote. Then I made my sister and my daughter read them. They, too, thought the stories juicy and Ann Rule, to my mind, invented true crime, long before 2,864 streaming platforms (bulging with some poorly produced true crime) ever thought of it. But sometimes there’s some good true crime in there and, if I find it, I watch the whole thing – all 8 or 18 episodes.

I usually eat or drink or both while I do this.

The other is eating really crappy food like pizza rolls. I used to eat enough for six lumberjacks in one sitting, but now that I’m Tirzepatiding, I can only put away three or four, but I still eat them – loaded with salt. Sometimes I chase them with Ben & Jerry’s caramel Pretzel Swirl.

I love not getting dressed. I love 24 hours after I wake up, to still be in those pajamas and those underpants, having never brushed my teeth. TMI? I mean, who cares? Dateline’s Keith Morrison wears red Converse tennis shoes and he’s almost 80 – so go judge someone else.

Guilty pleasures remind us we are human. They drop away all pretense, all striving, all productivity and anything effort-making – guilty pleasures are the opposite of all that.

Hitting the movies all by myself with the largest popcorn on the planet and a snuck in Starbucks cappuccino with two pumps of caramel syrup and a Splenda that’ll allegedly kill me—by the time that afternoon’s over? I can’t remember why I had insomnia last night because I’m happy and carefree. Brad Pitt shirtless or Javier Bardeem in a steamy scene?

Guilty. And pleasurable.

So there’s no big moral to this story. It’s just a reminder to go do something few know you do (and even then, you still hide it). Do that. As long as you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else (although – I don’t know – maybe the “self-harm”, on a minor scale, is the restoration you’re longing for?)

The point is not to judge, but to indulge.

You’ll do better on Monday if you watch six football games over the weekend, refuse to shower and leave your phone on ignore.

It’s pleasurable.

Try to Be Nice

Jacalyn Forleo watched a man hit my car – twice! – forcing his SUV into too small a parking space behind me, and drive away. She took pictures of the damage to his vehicle and to mine, plus a nice, beautifully clear photo of his license plate. The police found him. My insurance company found him. He had to pay for the damage.

Jacalyn did not know me, but she left her business card and now I’m reimbursed the $1,500.

She can be reached at jacalyn@loansbyjacalyn.com if you’re looking for a mortgage – and a very nice person who went the extra mile for a stranger.

Things I Find Cool

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