I have a confession. Nay, a proclamation: I love Justin Bieber. Do you think I’m joking? What if I said it in sparkling purple letters?
It wasn’t love at first sight. Or even first listen. I mean, I knew who he was and I knew all the little girls in the world were in love with him, but I hadn’t listened to a second of his music. Then one day he somehow came up in a conversation with The Brother and our BFF X. I made some dismissive remark about the Biebs and The Brother (the musician, you know) said “Have you even heard “Baby”?”
“You have to listen to it. It’s pure pop genius.”
“It really is good,” BFF X affirmed.
And so they made me listen to Baby. Pretty soon, we were listening to it on repeat in the car running around Austin. A lot. But it wasn’t until we finally rented Never Say Never (from Redbox, because it was a last minute movie decision and there was no way in hell we were going to walk into I Love Video and rent it) that I became a Belieber. A 26 year old Belieber who pre-orders his upcoming Christmas album. Yes. This has happened.
Thirteen year-old Christine would be so ashamed of nearly 27 year-old Christine. Young teenage Christine shunned EVERYTHING her peers were into back in the day. ‘N Sync, Hanson, JTT (Jonathan Taylor Thomas, in case you have somehow forgotten how hot he was in the ’90s), nail polish, lip gloss, Clueless…I could go on for pages. Instead, I listened to Glen Miller, read Dickens and Austen (“I’ll stick with reading the book that Clueless ripped off, thank you very much”) and watched Casablanca approximately 47 times in one year. Maybe that is how I justify my Bieber love. “Look, World, I wasn’t into the Backstreet Boys, so I am allowed Justin Bieber as my guilty pleasure, okay?”
Honestly though, the idea that I should somehow feel guilty over something that makes me happy is just plain absurd. Who made up these rules, anyway? I love reading young adult novels. I love Radiohead. I love Justin Bieber. I love Jane Austen. I love watching The Fashion Police. I love David Foster Wallace. None of these loves are mutually exclusive. I’m happy to say that at the ripe old age of almost 27, I have finally learned to openly embrace what brings me pleasure while leaving the “guilt” behind.
So, dear readers, what are YOUR so called “guilty pleasures”? Whatever it is, I hope you have learned to embrace it, own it and love it! And tell me all about it in the comments.
Forever a Belieber,