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From “The New York Times,” I’m Anna Martin. This is “Modern Love.” Every week, we bring you stories about love, lust, heartbreak, and all the messiness of relationships. And I don’t know what can be messier than gossip.

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Maybe you were raised to believe it was morally or spiritually wrong to gossip. Maybe you’re OK with it, as long as it’s not about you. Or maybe you love it. Harmless gossip can be a way to make friends, to keep your group chat going. Good gossip makes you want to lean in.

For example, I still remember being told that the hottest guy from my high school started speaking in an Australian accent the second he got to college. My high school was in Maryland. I have no idea if this guy’s family was from Australia or if he’d gone on a very meaningful trip to Australia. Who knows? Very nice guy, but I am told that the second this guy got to college, he basically started speaking like the Crocodile Hunter.

This is a piece of gossip that my friends and I returned to time and time again. It’s just delightful. Also, apparently, this guy was very good at the accent, which is very impressive. Now, no one, I would say, understands the thrill of good gossip quite like our guest today, Kelsey McKinney.

Until recently, McKinney hosted a hit podcast from Defector Media called “Normal Gossip,” where she told juicy, anonymous secondhand stories in every episode. Her guests would laugh and chime in along with her. It was so much fun. And this month, she published a book called “You Didn’t Hear This From Me — Mostly True Notes On Gossip.”

Today, on the show, Kelsey McKinney talks about some of the joys — and, yes, OK, some of the problems — that gossip has brought into her life. And she reads a “Modern Love” essay about a woman who used gossip very strategically to help her decide how to respond to a marriage proposal. Stay with us.

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Kelsey McKinney, welcome to “Modern Love.”

Thank you so much for having me. I’m so happy to be here. It’s such a pleasure.

OK, let’s kick it off with just sort of table setting definition. How do you define gossip? I feel like everyone thinks they know what gossip is, but you’ve really dedicated your life and your work to it. So what is your definition?

And my social life, yeah.

[CHUCKLES]:

I take the most baseline definition of gossip. So I think that any conversation between two people about someone who is not present is gossip. So that means if you and I are at a bar and we’re gabbing it up about someone we hate, that’s gossip. But also, if two doctors are conferring over an X-ray about a patient that’s not in a room, that’s also gossip.

It’s interesting, too, because when you use this sort of broad definition, it removes maybe the negative connotation that we might associate with gossip and makes it neutral or all-encompassing?

Yeah, I think there has been a shift in the way that people talk about gossip in probably the last five years, where people have really pushed back against the idea that gossip is negative, that it’s women being little frilly ponies talking back and forth.

[LAUGHS]:

And I myself have been part of that, right? I’ve said, I don’t think that it’s negative in every single circumstance. And pendulums of popular opinion swing, right? So we are currently at a point where people have been saying that gossip is, quote unquote, “good” or immoral good for so long that it’s starting to swing back. People are starting to buck against that. And I think that that’s a little simplistic.

What do you feel like gossiping has done for your relationships with other people?

Mm, I think — this isn’t just me talking, right? Anthropologists have proven this. Sociologists have proven that by sharing information with people, you creat bonds with them. In saying, I have a piece of information that you might want, there’s something fundamental about that, right?

If you and I lived in a community where someone was dangerous, whether that’s a workplace or a tribal system or anything, and I come to you and say, hey, this person, I think, is really dangerous, and here’s where I heard this information from, that’s me sharing information with you that could protect you. And so we know that it creates bonds.

In your new book, “You Didn’t Hear This From Me,” you talk about loving gossip from a very young age. Can you tell me a bit about who young Kelsey was around the time you discovered the joys of gossip?

Sure, yeah. I mean, I’ve always been a yapper, right? Like, my mom used to joke that I could talk to a tree, which is probably true, right? I love to gab. And if you are a person who talks a lot, the easiest thing to talk about is other people, right? And I always loved doing it.

And I think for me, there was partly an interest in humanity that that spurred from, right? I wanted to know why people did the things that they did and why they behaved the way that they behaved. And so I wanted to ask other people why they thought someone did this, and that is gossip.

But I was also raised extremely evangelical. And the evangelical church is very clear in its stance on gossip. And it is that gossip is a sin, black and white, the same as adultery is, right? And so I was taught, you can’t be doing this. You have to stop.

I wrote Bible verses on my mirror. I tried to remind myself constantly, right? I would write notes to myself in my planner not to do things. And the thing is, none of those things ever, ever worked at all. And because of that, I felt a lot of guilt and shame because I believed that something that I was doing and couldn’t really stop doing was evil.

And there’s a lot of literature in evangelical circles and also just belief systems and verses in the Bible that say that it’s actually good if you can’t stop sinning because it will draw you closer to God. And in some ways, I believed that, right? I believed that it was the metaphorical thorn in my side, that gossip was the thing that would constantly remind me that I was flawed in this way. And I guess for a while, it was really effective.

Do you have a specific memory of gossiping that you remember as like a moment where your views on it started to change?

One of the most vivid memories I have about gossiping I write about early in the book, and it’s about being a teenager and being at a lock-in, which is, in the Christian culture, when you go to a church that they lock you in so that you can have a sleepover with people who may or may not be your friends.

It’s supposed to be fun.

It’s supposed to be fun. And I went to one of these in high school, and someone got news from outside the church that a girl in the high school had died. Not someone who I was friends with, not someone who was in our church community, just truly a friend of a friend. And so I was trying to figure out what happened, right?

I had heard this vague rumor about it. My friends were upset. I was asking around. And this woman came up and was like, you girls need to stop gossiping. You need to stop talking about this. And it made me feel kind of crazy because I was like, well, this, I don’t think of as gossip, right? Talking about someone’s crush, that’s for sure gossip, but trying to help your friend who’s hurt feels like something different.

It was this really stark dichotomy of being told, don’t gossip about something that I thought was a form of care, and then being told, well, the answer here is to pray about it, and then listening to girls in a circle praying and realizing I was learning information from their prayer requests, right? Because I didn’t know who had died yet.

And then suddenly people are praying and saying her name, and I’m like, wait a second. Wait. This also seems like gossip, right? Like, if me gossiping to create care is just that sharing of information, then, also, someone praying to God in front of me is a form of gossiping, right? And so it created this spiral that I think it took me years to really grapple with and figure out. But it was just a moment of — there’s always a moment where the scales fall from your eyes.

Do you have a philosophy about what makes the difference between harmless gossip and harmful gossip? Like, is there a clear line to you between good and bad? Or is it more complicated than that?

I think it is really complicated. I think, often, you know it in your body. Like, you know if you are intentionally deploying something that could hurt someone. I will also say, I make a really sharp divide in my mind between gossip and libel and slander, right?

There is a difference in telling someone something that you think is true and have reason to believe is true, and spreading a rumor that you know is sketchy, right, that came from 8 degrees away, and you aren’t sure whether it’s true or not, and it’s just salacious. And I think when you’re doing that, you are in a really dangerous position of hurting people. And you should try very hard not to.

OK, so Kelsey, the “Modern Love” essay you’re going to read is, honestly, the kind of story I could have heard on your podcast, “Normal Gossip.” There are luxurious vacations. There’s a whirlwind romance. There are other women. I can’t wait to dig into this with you —

Great.

— after the break. [MUSIC PLAYING]

Kelsey, the “Modern Love” essay you chose to read today doesn’t actually have the word “gossip” in it, but it feels very relevant to you and what we’re speaking about. Can you share, without giving too much away, what drew you to this piece?

Sure. So I often say that part of the reason I became a reporter is that I realized that there was an excuse to ask people questions. It’s a professional reason to be nosy. And I always find it really interesting when people do reporting on their own personal life, whether that’s like trying to look up a guy that you’ve matched with on Tinder by doing Google Photo results or putting someone’s address into Zillow to see how much they paid for their house.

Oh, my god, my favorite hobby.

I love that. I find it so interesting because it’s such a messy game that can get you really into trouble with yourself and in your own experience of the world. And it also is your life, right? So on some level, it is protective to try and figure out what exactly you’re doing in certain situations. So that’s why I like this story, is I think she is reporting on her own life in it.

So one of the things you did on your podcast, “Normal Gossip,” is that as you would tell this gossip story over the course of an episode, you’d pause for some commentary with the guest as you went along. And I love that format, and I would love to replicate it. As you’re reading, is it cool if I stop you a few times so we can sort of gab as we go? Is that OK?

Totally. I would love to do that. I also think that’s a really fun way to do this because this is like a true gossip in that this is an edited story by someone who neither of us know and won’t know, right? So any perceptions or judgments we make off of this are kind of based in nothing —

So true.

— which is the goal of gossiping.

OK. I can’t wait. I’m so glad you’re down for that. Whenever you’re ready.

“We Were a Party of Two, But Never Quite Alone,” by Linda Button. “During our four months of dating, he had asked me repeatedly to move in with him. Now, with a smile, he was asking again. ‘I want to talk to a few of your exes,’ I said. His smile faded.

‘You can choose who,’ I said, ‘anyone you’ve been with six months or longer.’ ‘No problem. I’ll give you a list.’ My heart tightened. ‘I don’t want a list, just a couple of names.’ ‘I’ll give you a list,’ he said. Then he reached over and held me.

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Several years earlier, I had ended a long marriage. Depleted, I went man-free for two years, raising my 19 and 11-year-old alone. I didn’t feel ready for another serious relationship, but I missed the fun. ‘Go online and meet people,’ my business partner, Marilyn urged. ‘Cast a wide net.’

He was my first coffee date. He had retired early and been single for 15 years. Twice divorced and having earned millions from the sale of his business, he filled his life with longtime friends, his small grandsons, and women. He collected art, ate expensive meals, traveled.

After a month, we managed a road trip to Manhattan, our first real getaway. I had business, but he wanted to play. He drove the steering wheel, and extension of his left arm, his right thumb stroking my thigh. ‘I have something to ask you,’ he said. I nudged the computer bag at my feet and squeezed his hand.

‘I’ve been lucky in life, except for one thing — a great relationship. And you?’ he said, lifting his hand to my cheek. ‘You’re the one. But if you don’t think so, we can call it off. Do you know what I’m asking?’ I pretended to open the car door. ‘You’re either kicking me out or proposing.’ ‘I’m asking you to marry me,’ he said.

For a moment, he looked like a small boy, unsure and hopeful. I blushed deeply to be so wanted. ‘Thank you, but I don’t know. Can I talk about it to my friends?’ He beamed. ‘Of course. And I want to meet your parents.’”

OK, hang on. I’m going to jump in here and ask you, at this point in the story, if you have thoughts on this scenario. A month into dating, Linda gets a “marry me or it’s over” ultimatum.

[CHUCKLING]:

Like, if you were in Linda’s shoes, what would you be weighing in this moment?

I would feel nuts, I think.

[LAUGHS]: OK, yeah, right.

I mean, there’s a lot of words that get thrown around for this now, right? Like, we call it love bombing most commonly, this kind of, like, pure affection that is blazing-hot.

And I think it’s hard because it’s so nice to be wanted, right? Everybody wants to feel that way, like you’re the only one and the only thing that could work. And I think there are cases where people meet, and it’s just kind of hot and bright and it works. And so that’s a really complicated situation to be in because you failed once.

Yeah.

You know to have skepticism about your life and about love. And yet, it could also be really nice to simply be married to a really, really rich guy who seems to have a lot of fun. [CHUCKLING]

Yeah, we have language for this now. And love bombing, you’re hitting it because it feels so good, and at the same time, folks are so wary of it. And I feel like Linda is exhibiting both of those signs where she’s blushing, it feels great, they’re going on this trip, and she’s also like, hang on, there’s a little bit of an alarm bell going off in my head.

Yeah, what’s so complicated about love bombing is, is it love bombing, or are you just in love?

I know.

Right? Like, it’s not love bombing if you mean it, and it’s not manipulative. It requires something kind of dark for it to be love bombing.

That’s a whole spin-off episode — is it love bombing, or is it love?

Sorry, sorry.

We don’t even have time to get into that, Kelsey. So why don’t you keep reading the essay from that point?

OK. “He gave me a key to his house and put his credit card in my name. He drew hearts with our initials in the steamed up mirror. He put my photo next to one of his daughter and her family. On his birthday, he gave a party and invited everyone to meet me. ‘Wow,’ said my son’s friend when he stepped into the foyer. ‘Someone might think you’re a gold digger.’

I felt like a gold digger, even though I had no interest in credit cards, was embarrassed by the $500 dinners, and couldn’t imagine a life of travel and indulgence. But still, to have someone love me so certainly? Divorce had left me bruised. This man made me feel adored.

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He talked about our future. We would live on the top floor of his house and my children could live below. He loved that I practiced Taekwondo and would tease me about sparring. He preferred games of logic and strategy — chess, Giotto, and Words With Friends. ‘I usually win,’ he said. ‘Can’t help it.’

We played hooky and went skiing. We snuggled in front of his fireplace while my youngest child stayed with friends. Occasionally, he would ask if I needed my reading glasses — I don’t wear them — or recall the time we played in his copper tub — we hadn’t. He mentioned ex-wives and girlfriends.

Once, while cooking, he talked about how little he bothered with security and how a woman once hid her PIN from him at the bank machine. He shook his head. I mean, we had just been intimate. And I dropped my chopping knife, reached up, and turned his head toward me. ‘I’m really not interested.’ He apologized and said, ‘I have nothing to hide. I believe in being honest, and I am strictly monogamous.’ Then he stopped talking about other women completely.”

All right. I’m also bumping in again because I want your thoughts. When you’re dating as an adult who has, in Linda’s case, decades of history and past relationships, is it necessarily a concern, do you think, for that history to come up? Like, is someone else’s past something we have to be prepared to deal with at some point?

Ooh, I think it can be, right? Like, I see the boundaries she’s setting as saying, I don’t want to hear about the specific sexual acts that you did with someone who’s not me, which I think is a fair boundary in a moment to have. That is not really going to be necessary to your future with someone, unless there’s something specific.

But I do think if you are dating someone and you want to remain intimate with them, you have to be willing to know them. And that includes knowing the person they were before you.

Mm-hmm. That can be so hard, though. Him bringing up the copper tub, though, that would really irk me when it’s like, we didn’t do that, you know?

Ugh, I would love to be in a copper tub.

That does sound nice.

[LAUGHS]:

So you’re a fan of this guy. [LAUGHS]

Well, no, I just — I am a fan of copper tubs — I assume. I’ve never been in one. But I think you’re right. There is a jealousy aspect there that the question is hard because it’s like, how much of jealousy is an acceptable amount of jealousy? And there’s an answer to that. But the answer is different in every relationship.

Right. Keep going, Kelsey.

“I struggled with my jealousy. Really, what was my problem? I had poked my head out of a relationship cocoon after 30 years to see that life was no longer a freshly paved road. We all had acquired potholes and patches. But the ghosts of his exes followed me.

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At his pied-a-terre in Manhattan, when the doorman wheeled our luggage into the room smirking; at the sushi restaurant when the maitre d’ welcomed me back, then smoothly caught himself; and at dinner with his high school buddies, when one leaned across the table and said to me with a wink, he’s had a lot of girlfriends — a lot.

We traveled to Paris, Florence, and Rome. He bought me a supple leather jacket and a necklace that bathed my face in light. ‘I’ll take care of you,’ he said. I drifted toward that intoxicating notion to be taken care of. ‘Don’t move too fast,’ said Marilyn, who had lived an exuberant life packed with lovers. I laughed. Who was she to give me this advice?

His list of exes had six names. He had left off one because he said she would still be hurt. All had lived with him for two years or less. My stomach curled. One owned a shop nearby. She sat behind the counter, an attractive woman with a low cut blouse. My shirt clung to my back with sweat.

The store was empty, so I mustered my courage and told her why I was there. ‘He wants me to move in,’ I said. ‘But I have kids. So I asked, and he gave me your name.’ She looked me up and down. ‘How honest do you want me to be?’ ‘Everything,’ I said. ‘Let me tell you what it’s been like,’ she began.

And then she described not her relationship with him but mine — the “I love you” after two weeks, the hearts drawn in the steamed mirror, the party in my honor, the dinner with his high school friends, the trips to New York and Paris, the gifts of jewelry and scarves. My face burned.

‘How did it end?’ I asked. She crossed her arms. ‘We were lying on a beach when he turned to me and said, this is heaven. And it was. Then we drove home. And as we unpacked, he said, it’s over.’

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Emails from the other women rolled in, saying things like, ‘He treated me to a whirlwind romance, then said it wasn’t enough.’ And, ‘We had lots of fun and adventures together. I was a little surprised when it ended, to be honest.’ The women seemed kind, smart, funny, and attractive. I was no more special than any of them. I texted him, ‘Heard from your exes. Need to talk.’”

All right, last time I’m butting in. What would be going through your head at this point if you were her? Would you be glad to have this kind of info? Would you wish you’d never asked?

I think both, right? If you have this kind of information about someone that you are considering being really intimate with, you can’t unknow it, right? You can’t put this back into a bottle. You know now that this is a pattern and that he does this, and that means that you can still choose to recede.

But you’ll be proceeding down a path that you know how it ends or that you think how it ends. And that taints everything, I think. So it’s good to know. And also, I would cry a lot. [LAUGHS]

A lot. I know. There’s no going back. And why don’t you read the end of this essay for us?

“I cut up the credit card, pulled his house key off my chain, and put them in an envelope. His house was dark. I left the envelope in the entrance next to my photo. I found him upstairs on his sofa. ‘Are you breaking up with me?’ he asked. ‘You were going to end it anyway,’ I said. ‘It was just a matter of time.’

For weeks, he sent me scathing texts, cursing, insulting, coaxing. My heart had clamped shut so quickly. Had I deluded myself into love? Or was I just another opportunist?

‘If this is real,’ I texted, ‘let’s check back in six months. Maybe we’ll get back together. Or maybe you’ll finally find the real love of your life.’ ‘It took me hundreds of women to find you,’ he replied. ‘I loved you best.’ Maybe he really did. Maybe he didn’t. That’s the price of ending it first. I’ll never know.”

Kelsey, ow.

I know.

Give me your immediate reaction. What did it make you think about?

I feel like it is a bold and brave move to end it first, right? You’re offered two years of opulence and ease. And you say, no, I don’t want it. I am looking for something else. I find that very brave. And up until that point in the essay, I’m still willing to say, like, maybe she was special, right? I’m still willing — because I’m a sap, right? I’m willing to be like, maybe love is real, right?

He’s different this time. Yeah, totally.

Maybe he’s different this time, right? People do change sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes. And then you get this kind of heel turn, which is, I call it off with him, and suddenly the nice man who loves me is sending me scathing texts.

Like, I hate that because a person who really loves you might be broken that you’re leaving, but they won’t lash, in my opinion. And it feels manipulative, right? It’s not, well, I understand your choice, and I hope you’ll change your mind, and I’ll be here in six months. That’s a play that would probably work, right? And instead, you choose a kind of, like, ego bruise.

It’s so interesting to me that Linda’s boyfriend willingly gave her —

I know.

— the list.

It’s so crazy.

Why do you think he did that? I mean, to me, it’s like — yeah, why do you think he did that?

Hmm.

I think he might have called her bluff. He might have thought he was calling her bluff, right?

A game of chicken. Yeah, totally.

What if everyone who was trying to decide about committing to someone did what Linda did and asked all the exes for the goss? Would anyone be in love? And that is kind of a hypothetical question, but I’m pointing it to you.

Ooh. It’s hard because people’s exes are always going to be the least generous readers of them.

Certainly.

And I think there is a danger in not allowing people to have evolved. What’s interesting about asking other people for their experiences is like, some people really are very different with lots of different people. And it’s like, well, you don’t know if they were just a bad match or not.

Right.

That’s the complicated thing about trying to find someone to love is, like, you can’t save yourself from pain.

What I think is telling here is, one, that this early, she felt like she needed to do it.

Right, mm-hmm.

This wasn’t just of her own volition, randomly deciding she wanted to talk to exes, and that they all had the same story.

That’s chilling.

Right?

That’s tough.

If you talk to three exes of anyone’s, in most cases, they’re going to be like, well, we broke up for this reason. We broke up for this reason. We broke up for this reason. And if all three of them are the same, run.

Yeah, that’s the real pattern.

Because that mean it’s a constant pattern.

Mm-hmm. OK, so Linda Button’s essay was originally published over a decade ago. So we reached out to her to ask if she wanted to share any updates.

[GASPS]: Ooh, hoho!

I know. And she had this to say. She said, the experience with the guy in the essay helped Linda understand, quote, “the kind of man I wanted in my life.” And then she wrote, “A month later, I met Peter —”

[GASPING]:

”— a kind family man. We have lived together for nine years and enjoy sprawling Thanksgiving dinners that he cooks with our combined brood of five-plus kids.”

Oh, my god.

“PS, I also asked around about Peter when we started dating, but don’t tell him.”

[LAUGHS]:

Isn’t that amazing? I kind of, like, can’t imagine a better ending than that.

Ooh, Linda. Oh, my god.

Linda.

I have goosebumps.

Goosebumps.

I’m so happy for her.

Right?

Also a great moral, if you think about gossip as a moral storytelling device, a great moral here, which is that if you stand up for what you want, it becomes easier to find it.

God, it really does. I’m so happy for —

Congratulations, Linda.

Cheers, Linda. And cheers, Peter. And honestly, I hope the guy, unnamed guy in the essay, is doing well with his copper tub and his $500 dinners, but —

I’m sure whichever girl of the two-year period he has is very happy right now.

But let’s end it on Linda. Linda, we’re happy for you. We’re really happy for you.

I’m so happy for her. It’s beautiful to me.

It’s beautiful. Kelsey, this has been beautiful. Thank you so much for this conversation.

Oh, my gosh.

What fun.

I had a great time. Thank you for having me.

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This episode of “Modern Love” was produced by Reva Goldberg and Emily Lang. It was edited by our executive producer, Jen Poyant. Production management by Christina Djossa. The “Modern Love” theme music is by Dan Powell. This episode was mixed by Daniel Ramirez, with studio support from Maddy Masiello and Nick Pittman.

Special thanks to Mahima Chablani, Noelle Gallogly, Jeffrey Miranda, and Paula Szuchman. The “Modern Love” column is edited by Daniel Jones. Miya Lee is the editor of “Modern Love” projects. If you want to submit an essay or a “Tiny Love Story” to “The New York Times,” we’ve got the instructions in our show notes. I’m Anna Martin. Thanks for listening.

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