You should be ashamed.

Guilty pleasures.

We all have 'em.

The first time I heard this term was when my mom was chuckling at the flaming antics on an episode of Will & Grace.  It's a silly show, she knew that.  It can be risque and stupid, she knew that, too.  But there are some things for which we abandon our usual snobbishness or high-minded preferences.

Let's be clear.  That we all have "guilty" foods is a given.  B. loves her brownies.  I indulge in crappy fast food every once in a while.  We know it's bad for us, but we ignore that fact and pig out.  I'm not talking so much about food here, though.  We all have something non-edible that for one reason or another, we just can't let go of.

What is it about that particular shamefully tasteless piece of junk that pervades our walls of classiness and strikes a chord with us?  It could be a Hank Williams, Jr. album, a Dixie Chicks poster left discarded under our bed, an old Aquaman comic book brought to light, those parachute pants left at the bottom of our drawer, the action figures/dolls we're suddenly too old/cool for... or so we claim.



I'll admit it, I have one.   A few, actually.


I know they look ratty.  I know they're faded and wafer thin.  I know they have holes everywhere and the edges are frayed.  I know I've had them since sophomore year of high school.  But I looooooooove my comfy jeans.  They're like an old friend, fitting the contours of my oddly shaped raptor legs and prominent calves perfectly.  They're baggy where they should be baggy, they fit snugly where I need them to.  It's a dance, it's teamwork.  I love them so.  B. has threatened to throw them out on more than one occasion.  I've thought about hiding them until I can patch them up and start wearing them in public again (they're my Saturday jeans, usually).  Everyone should have some comfy jeans, no matter what Stacey London or Clinton Kelly or Tim Gunn or... ok I'm out of fashion gurus, but no matter what anyone says I will always love those jeans.




I remember buying NSYNC's album No Strings Attached and bringing it to a friend's house.  We started rocking out to "Bye Bye Bye" (come on, who hasn't?) when my friend's older brother scorned us into submission.  The oldest myself, I was new to the "bully older brother" element.  His derision was enough to spoil our fun.

... Until the second track, during which all three of us sat around the kitchen belting along in cracked falsetto, "It's Gonna Be MEEE!"





I've never really watched any Fast or Furious films (it feels like there are enough now to rival the Land Before Time franchise).  I saw The Pacifier and nearly died laughing it was so bad.  XXX should have been nixed from production before ever hitting the box office.  Vin Diesel is a joke.  We all know it... but... Chronicles of Riddick is this weird, space-age acid trip for your eyes.  And there's Vinny, standing in all of his awkwardly stoic theatrical splendor.  But I don't hate it, dang it!  It's so stupid and so cool.  Maybe it's the conceptual design riddled through the film, maybe it appeals to my inner nine-year-old.

...a nine-year-old with a concussion.

I'm fully aware it's a weak movie.  Starring a weak actor who got hired for his biceps and chrome dome.  I know I shouldn't like it, but I do anyway.  Against my better judgement, I don't hate it.  Other guilty pleasure movies I wish I didn't secretly think are cool?  Hellboy.  League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Speed Racer.  Insert other franchise-less sci-fi/fantasy niche here, the list goes on.




Why can't we just enjoy what we like, unafraid of the judgement of others?  




My wife shocked me a few weeks ago by suggesting we go see Pacific Rim.  Even I had dismissed it as just a transparent conglomeration of Power Rangers, Transformers, and Godzilla.  We knew going in that it would be Independence Day underwater.  We didn't expect a moving script or a twisty, convoluted plot.  No depth, just big robots beating monsters senseless with their mechanical, rocket-powered fists.

And we got what we wanted.

We both loved it, ignoring the film critics looking down their noses at our enjoyment.


I think it helps having someone in which to share the burden of others' judgement.Geek out, embrace the corniness of your guilty pleasures, you might just find a kindred spirit in the process.




What are you ashamed to enjoy?  What's your guilty pleasure?

Come on, give.



S