Guilty pleasures have
always perplexed me. They exist – somewhere, sometimes. When you eat Christmas
puddings all through the year, that’s a guilty pleasure. When you drink too
much – before it smacks of addiction, that’s a guilty pleasure. Not
necessarily, but could be.
When it comes to art – there’s no such thing as a guilty
pleasure. If you like a Katy
Perry song, that’s you liking a Katy Perry song. Plain and simple. I’m not
saying there’s nothing wrong with that (and who am I to judge?), but ‘guilty
pleasure’ is just a silly excuse invented by confidence-lacking people to cover
their gaping insecurities.
