Picture this: there I was, enjoying a beer with my friend Hugh when he dropped a bombshell. Hugh was uncomfortable with the amount of gossiping and warned me that I should resist talking about people when they were not in the room. I was confused. What else was I supposed to chat about over a frothy, cold beer: solve the mysteries of the universe? Pfft, please – I’d need more than beer if that was the plan.

Everyone seems to detest a woman who is known as a gossip, but this year, I decided to take up the habit full-time. After all, women have always been revered gossipers; it’s one of our superpowers, among other talents like predicting exactly the moment someone is about to cry and the inability to say a simple “thank you” when given a compliment.

Gossip isn’t just mindless chit-chat. Unlike spreading rumours or misinformation, gossiping is a social art that can only be done in real life and face-to-face. It’s uniquely spicier than venting and more benevolent than a bitchfest. The best quality gossip can usually be found in the women’s bathroom at a hen’s night or across dodgy coleslaw at a workplace BBQ, but the possibilities are endless.

I describe it as fizz-wizz for the brain—a juicy, wriggly sort of sensation that shoots from your lips and ears down into your boots. This feeling intensifies when one obtains, often through salacious means, a fresh chunk of gossip, making it feel like someone has shaken up the can of Passiona inside my heart.

But here’s the kicker: we still suffer a hangover from a bygone era that branded gossiping as “a silly pastime for girls”. If we’re all honest with ourselves, we’d admit that all Australians love a good old gossip session, and so do I. For one thing, there is a look on friends’ faces when I share some gossip with them, especially when they’re not expecting it. The sparkle in their eyes, the flare of the nostrils, and the gasping! Lord, forgive me, I adore the gasping.

And when you’re on the receiving end, it feels like that sharp inhale of air after being dumped by a wave at Tamarama Beach – refreshing, exhilarating, and oddly salty. It is truly one of life’s simplest pleasures.

To my fellow gossip connoisseurs, I’m here to defend our beloved art form as more than just frivolity; it has improved humans in profound ways, from its roots in evolutionary psychology to its significance in shaping history. Our primal ancestors needed to have goss sessions around the fire to protect themselves. “Big day. Janice got nibbled by a sabre-toothed tiger, and Kerry was thrown into the pit for grunting Dua Lipa too loud”. Done right, having a goss is how humans survive.

This form of communication has allowed women to navigate complex power dynamics within their communities. It simultaneously brings truth to light and is a way for women to communicate and exert their power in a patriarchal society.

When I first decided to take up the joy of gossiping, I was curious as to how the negative stigma began. There’s a stark contrast in how we view women’s gossiping compared to men’s, which is both utterly absurd and delightfully hypocritical. When women talk, it’s “gossiping”, but when our male peers say the same thing, it’s “the news” and “history”. I discovered it had historical echoes from the mid-century.