Gossip Girl

You would think that the producers of The CW's hit high school drama "Gossip Girl" would battle against such harsh criticism of their show. Quite the contrary. This summer's ad campaign for the show's second season had magazine pages and bulletin boards all across the country flouting an unusual pairing of critics' quotes and original images. They featured excerpts from the aforementioned bad reviews of the show combined with blurry, sexy images of the show's young stars topless in pools and dangling ripe cherries in their mouths.

Therein lies the genius of "Gossip Girl." It is very, very bad, and it knows it. I don't just mean "bad" as in "inappropriate," though the show is that too (anyone who's seen this week's episode already knows what I'm talking about - shocking, right?). The true beauty of "Gossip Girl" doesn't lie in its lavish sex appeal, though that certainly doesn't hurt. What really makes the show worthwhile is its wholehearted embrace of its kitschiness, bringing a new level of self-awareness - and self-ridicule - to the over-the-top drama of the small screen.

For one thing, "Gossip Girl" has no qualms about shamelessly exploiting every commercial ratings booster that it possibly can: the privileged setting (a private high school on the Upper East Side, where the word "couture" is never preceded by "juicy"), glamazon starlets (Blake Lively, Leighton Meester) and even completely transparent product placement (Vitamin Water, the latest cell phones).

More than that, though, "Gossip Girl" truly embraces the opportunity inherent in its genre: Everyone knows that a high school drama's storylines don't need to make sense. Forget realism, television is our escape! Each turn of the plot is perfectly timed to deliver the strongest punch, not to fit into the characters' emotional developments.

But that's true of any drama series, right? Well, yes, to a certain degree. What makes "Gossip Girl" special, though, is that it protects itself from mockery in all its corniest aspects - outlandish stories, overwritten dialogues and unconvincing acting - by taking it all up a notch, so that the show walks that clever tightrope between serious drama and self-conscious parody. Every bitchy scheme by queen bee Blair Waldorf (Meester), for instance, goes just a little bit too far, so that instead of embodying the popular-girl stereotype, she becomes its very caricature.

It's no surprise, then, that watching "Gossip Girl" with a group of friends involves more laughter than it does gasps. Seeing the gorgeously blonde and buxom Serena Van Der Woodson (Lively) lick her fingers sensuously while eating chocolate-dipped strawberries on a bus (an unrealistic travel snack choice to begin with) ... that's way too much for anyone to keep a straight face.

Other teen dramas - including "The O.C.," the earlier brainchild of "Gossip Girl" executive producer Josh Schwartz - have fallen prey to their own self-importance. As soon as a high school saga starts taking itself too seriously, the fun is dead. The characters get too angsty, the marketing too desperate ("THE television event you won't want to miss!"), and suddenly watching the show is all anxiety, no wit and certainly no fun.

So far, "Gossip Girl" has avoided the trap of serious drama, and I pray it never falls in. As it is, "Gossip Girl" is the ultimate guilty pleasure, heavily laden with glitz, glamour and, of course, gossip of the juiciest variety. The best part is that the show itself gives you explicit permission to indulge in its pure, self-conscious kitsch. In the sign-off to every episode, the show hands you a pre-packaged excuse for your continued viewership: "You know you love me. XOXO, Gossip Girl."