In Defense of Gossip

Specifically regarding my annoyance over bro fraternity ego in media

Image: Dafydd Jones 'New York: High Life, Low Life' | THE WORLD OF INTERIORS

“When celebrities and socialites have complained that they’ve been unflatteringly snapped by the paparazzi, Dafydd Jones might have been the photographer raising the collective ire. Back in the 1980s and 1990s, no visual chronicler of Manhattan’s high life was more prone to recording infuriated glances and mortifying moués than the Welsh-born talent, who was employed by Vanity Fair way back when to point his camera, come what may. Imagine Weegee with a British accent. Manicured fingers are snapped in j’accuse mode, partying finance types are frozen in mid-prance, financiers gaze wonderingly at mysterious canapés, and muttony matrons in pouf skirts are ambered for all eternity pretending to be lambs.” —RICH PICKINGS

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Are we still blaming everything on a post-eclipse hangover?

Because I’m still feeling defensive—caught in a fresh wave of feminist rage. And typically, a uniquely positioned moon is my favorite instigator.

For the past week I’ve been unloading grievances via text about my growing disdain for podcast bros—the ones slouched in hoodies on dimly lit man-cave sets, tossing around “bro” and “dude” as they dissect world events with the unchecked confidence of fraternity boys raised on praise, privilege and a steady diet of Joe Rogan.

They used to bore me. Now I find them insufferable. I went from indifferent to outright insulted by their predictable dominance in media—their smug assumption that the conversation belongs to them.

They’re confident, sure. But they’re not all that interesting. Mostly because they all follow the same script and cadence.

Low key I think they loathe women in their space. But maybe that’s just my pesky hormones talking.

I’m also obviously fed up with the recycled rhetoric aimed at me—at what I do—as men in this industry struggle to comprehend how a woman influencer was welcomed into the White House.

As they see it, you can transition from a sports broadcaster, a basic Barstool commentator, a mediocre comedian in an ill-fitting shirt on YouTube or even an inarticulate Bitcoin bro into a media voice. But God forbid they let a mother-slash-lifestyle-blogger into the elite corner of the presidential press pool to relay information to the masses.

I remember once, early on during RFK’s campaign, a man on staff told me I might be too controversial to snag an early interview. This stemmed from backlash I’d weathered during the Danny Masterson trial. I laughed—first because this man assumed he could define my controversy risk. Second, if RFK was fine appearing on Bobby Lee’s podcast after Lee publicly described having sex with a scared 14-year-old prostitute, he could surely drive me around in his old dirty dog van.

It’s also unfortunate how none of these guys stop to consider what a mother juggles on a daily basis. Many of us do it in addition to a full-time job.

In my case, for example—between covering real-time political updates, curating news for IG (for other mothers to read), answering emails, taking calls, texting sources, flying cross-country to cover events—I’m also coordinating post-care for my middle son’s eye surgery this week, checking in on my homesick oldest, offering love advice to a 10-year-old, signing off on homework, packing for science camp, tracking screen time and monitoring four boys’ locations at all hours. Even when I’m not in town. And then making sure I’m present at dinner. Attentive to my family. All while a million other demands pull at me in every direction every minute of every day.

A mother’s list is endless. We know that. And yet my work and integrity are consistently berated and mocked by misinformed egos in media who I’m positive tackle and execute far less on a daily basis.

At this point, aside from demeaning gender wars, the question isn’t who is the most credible—but who do we like in news these days? Amid the great media shake-up, that’s become the new crux. It’s not even about credibility. It’s about connection. About trust. The media has fractured. Legacy outlets are dead. Cable news is deader. Try watching it without cringing. The delivery is flat. The anchors, robotic. Watching it in a hotel room feels like punishment.

(Which reminds me—Jake Tapper, you’re the worst. I’ll get to the anonymous remarks about you soon enough.)

What finally pushed me over the edge was a clip from The Bulwark Podcast—the one that triggered this rant. I don’t care what these men think of me. But their arrogance is a perfect case study in how deeply sexist male-dominated media still is. In the clip they mock me for being a lifestyle blogger turned civilian sleuth. A “character” to watch. As if I’m some kind of untamed spectacle who wormed her way in. A pampered influencer in over her head. No mention of the fact that my Instagram story slides pull 200 to 300 million views monthly—numbers that dwarf most network news broadcasts. No acknowledgment that my newsletter alone reaches 5 to 8 million readers.

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In a world where viral views dictate influence, take note—my audience (96% female) matters just as much, if not more, than the interchangeable male audiences these bros cater to.

Their issue isn’t content preference. Their issue is that they don’t understand—or care—what women think, crave or cling to when it comes to news and culture. So they dismiss it as trite. They don’t view us as competitors. They see us as sporadic irritations.

They’ll mock me in the Maxwell tee but ignore the fact I sat through that trial for six weeks and spent years tracing the Epstein web. Have any of them followed a trial in real time? Of course not. But they’ll feign expertise on the files from behind a podcast mic, wrapped in the comfort of their own ignorance.

Even Ian Carroll—who I respect—went viral this month on Rogan by rehashing essentially everything Whitney Webb already reported in print, in excruciating detail, about Epstein and Maxwell’s ties to Israeli intelligence. Yes, they were spies. We know it all thanks to Whitney’s immaculate reporting condensed into a hearty two-part volume. And yet Rogan sat there feigning shock over every detail Ian dropped—as if it were groundbreaking information.

As a man, you can dissect the psyche of a serial killer all day long. But humanize a female coconspirator groomed for self-destruction and you’ll be ridiculed to no end—if you’re a woman.

Tim Dillon wore the same shirt with the same slogan and a smile on stage. Twice. Because he’s also on board with Maxwell as scapegoat. No one batted an eye.

Their remarks—predictable as ever—are designed to undermine women like me. Women who’ve emerged as independent journalists on our own terms, outside the structures they’ve gatekept.

The problem is, most of these men are lazy. Not curious in the way that transcends tired talking points. Women in my text chats don’t relate. Women don’t speak like Joe Rogan or Tim Pool. Most women I know don’t care what a sports commentator or a stand-up comedian thinks about anything.

We want different things. Drama. Conflict. Obsessive detail. Deep dives into the absurd and the profound. Fashion. Zodiac interpretations. Heartbreak. Coded symbols. Ghost stories. Family feuds and mental breakdowns. Toxic love stories. Glamour. Grit. Tales of harrowing fate and unexpected revival.

We do not care about long-winded rants on hot-wing reviews and neocon finger-pointing.

Last week on his live radio show, Glenn Beck read my scoop on Barack and Jen. He did it with a semi-satirizing tone just to point out how “beneath him” gossip is. As if he doesn’t know that everyone loves gossip. The great human equalizer.

I see it as art.

Gossip, at its peak in the 90s, was an art form—not just about scandal, but about access, timing, and knowing exactly how to read a room. In the heyday of splashy print, rousing ladies like Tina Brown, Liz Smith, and Cindy Adams didn’t just report the news—they were the news. Their columns had personality, point of view, and power. They didn’t chase clicks. They shaped narratives. With a wink and a well-placed line, they turned gossip into cultural commentary—intimate, iconic, and impossible to ignore. It wasn’t fluff. It was influence dressed in style and wit.

This is what I grew up enchanted by. Clever and intuitive women telling the story behind the story, with prose sharp enough to cut glass.

Personalities in this era are starting to see it too—not for the art, but for the profit.

So many talking heads have shifted course by leaning harder into gossip and scandal. And other outlets—notoriously defined by it—are now mirroring my signature stylistic preferences outright. Years ago, I started pairing low-brow clips about culture with Mozart’s symphonies. Back then, it was a unique concoction that humored me. Now that pairing is used everywhere. Most frequently by Daily Mail to hook scrolling interests.

And yet, aside from the criminally confident podcast dude mentality—brain rot for those of us craving something compelling—even the big media personalities seem to be losing their grip lately.

Tucker Carlson is on a weird bender. Have you noticed? Veering from recounting a demonic attack in his sleep to wishing Andrew Tate well on a podcast, while pushing increasingly blatant Iranian propaganda. He’s hard to take seriously these days. And I say this as a fan.

Candace Owens, too, seems to be floundering—re-examining #MeToo through the Weinstein lens as if she just discovered politicized trials. I tried to watch, but I had to turn it off. Nothing will make me tune into Harvey again. I lived through that trial. No one cared then—when it was actually happening. Because Hollywood is seeded by perversities and morally handicapped people in power. This isn’t news. It’s the status quo. Always has been. The final take was that he was as gross as the victims who showed up to testify after decades of seeking him out in hotel rooms to “pitch a script” in bathrobes next to champagne buckets at midnight.

Megyn Kelly and Candace Owens—two of the most prominent women in male-dominated media—are clearly pivoting. Whether consciously or not, they’re shifting toward the one thing that reliably pulls in the most valuable audience in media: women.

For years both built brands that catered mostly to conservative men. Kelly as the sharp-tongued Fox News anchor who sparred with Trump. Owens as the firebrand conservative unafraid to take on feminism. But now their focus is changing. Both are leaning into narratives that resonate with women. Celebrity scandals. Political gossip. Interpersonal drama.

They’re drifting from rigid ideological debate and into the storytelling that fuels female-driven media.

Why?

Because while male listeners may be louder, women dictate the market. Women are the most engaged. The most loyal. The most lucrative audience in media. Advertisers know this. Networks know this. Even the most hardened political commentators are starting to realize it.

Men in media are good at tricking us into thinking they own the grip on cultural commentary. They can repackage old information and be called brilliant. Women can break new ground and be mocked. The podcast bros. The legacy anchors. The media fraternity. They aren’t gatekeepers of truth. They’re gatekeepers of each other.

And most of them don’t care about accuracy, influence or impact. Only that a woman who built her own empire is sitting at the same table—whether they invited her or not.

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Up Ahead: Speaking of gossip- keep an eye out for a fun feature detailing what I learned from conservatives at the Chateau.