Have you heard the goss?
DeuxMoi, Feed Me & how a survival instinct became brand strategy
JD Vance paid a visit to Greenland this week and received an ice-cold welcome. One local reportedly said, “Who’d want to put our couch in danger like that?” Because, as the rumour goes, JD Vance was once caught dry-humping a sofa. And FAKE NEWS or not, the story’s so sticky it’s followed him around the world.
The ancient art of gossip
Gossip is back. Although maybe that’s like saying stories are back, oxygen is back. The urge for people to talk about other people is so deeply human it doesn’t need explaining. But here we are.
Substack’s hottest newsletter, Feed Me, increasingly reads like a telling of the scandalous lives of Manhattan’s VC elite (xoxo). The most compelling relationship in White Lotus season three is the trio of friends who are constantly waiting for one of them to leave the room so two can go in for the debrief. The Justin Baldioni and Blake Lively trial lives rent-free in our minds.
I have friends who salaciously start phone calls with “Got any goss?” And others who feel physically anxious about it – like talking about someone who isn’t in the room is an act of betrayal. (She’s Catholic though, and apparently gossip traces all the way back to Eve).
Journalist Kelsey McKinney – who we all know and love from Normal Gossip, and has just published You Didn’t Hear This from Me – argues that gossip is not a sin, but a virtue. Gossip is a way of understanding the world. Even a way of staying connected to it. “Without the self-awareness gained by gossiping,” she writes, “we would become husks of ourselves, so uninterested in the world around us that we become separated from it entirely.”
Yuval Noah Harari takes it even further. In Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, he writes that gossip may have been essential to our survival. “It is not enough for individual men and women to know the whereabouts of lions and bisons. It’s much more important for [humans] to know who in their band hates whom, who is sleeping with whom, who is honest and who is a cheat”.
Same energy, different group chat
So gossip is not only a way of showing healthy interest in the world, but also a way to survive within it. And maybe – when the going gets tough – a challenge to it. The art of a counter-narrative, of a small story within a big story, feels like a form of resistance. A way to chip away at systems that don’t work in your favour. (Hence, perhaps, why it’s so associated with women.) It can hold power to account. It can spread truth when no one’s offering it officially.
To take a practical example, let’s look at Fishbowl – an anonymous workplace chat app full of industry gossip and unfiltered career convos. Or Glassdoor reviews, which often read more like tea: “Toxic work culture at JP Morgan.” What better way to reclaim power over a toxic boss than to take your exit interview to the chat? Right now, when it feels harder than ever to check power, to trust institutions, or to get consensus on the truth – of course gossip is back.
The gossip economy
Brands know it. During its early days, DeuxMoi was a private Instagram account you had to request to join – a digital speakeasy. Its gossip was (and still is) unverified. That only made it feel more exclusive. Now it’s a kind of evil mini empire built on vanishing stories, merch, events and a community that isn’t afraid to admit they love a little drama.
Emily Sundberg’s Feed Me has done something similar. What started as a newsletter has become a social scene with events with 500-person waiting lists. “She’s almost like a Carrie Bradshaw of her generation,” writer Janice Min told The New York Times. And like Bradshaw, Emily takes on an insider-y, first-person-y tone of voice: “I couldn’t help but wonder…” / “I texted a few friends who work on Wall Street this morning…” I am not at all part of the parallel New York City universe Sundberg writes about, just like I was never wearing SATC Manolos. But I kind of feel like I am?
And maybe that’s kind of the point. Gossip as brand strategy – making people feel like they’re on the inside scoop. There’s a growing wave of retail brands – especially in beauty, fashion, and lifestyle – that use gossip culture as aesthetic, tone, and strategy. They aren’t necessarily reporting gossip, but they live in that flirty, nosy, whispering world.
Nasty Gal was built around the attitude of the girl who’s always got the inside scoop, with copy and branding that leans into “hot mess meets It Girl” energy. And Reformation’s much-revered tone of voice is pure gossip column, with product descriptions that sound like overheard convos: “She’s cute, she’s responsible (sustainably made), and she’ll probably ghost you if you don’t act fast.” Flirty, snarky, in the know.
Gossip works because it feels like a secret. Like access. Like context. Like knowing something no one else does. It’s how we test our read of a situation. How we prepare for things we haven’t lived through yet. What would I have said if my best friend had just slept with the person she’d been pushing on me behind my back? What would I have done differently?
I guess that’s why we gossip – to figure it out before it’s our turn.
“When we say ‘women's talk’, we're talking about the fact that women use it to protect themselves. You tell your colleague if you think a boss is creepy. You tell your friend if a guy you went on a date with was uncouth. You’re spreading information in an attempt to keep your community safe. And people have always done that. Even at a tribal level, we know that people were telling each other, this person is the strongest one, or watch out for that guy.”
– Kelsey McKinney
The Vortex
Feed Me is where the dealmakers and strivers get their gossip
Apparently, men like gossip as much as women
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