I have to confess that I’ve never “got” Oprah Winfrey, even though some people whom I quite like and respect are devoted fans. I tried watching her once or twice, but she just seemed like a kinder, gentler Jerry Springer. While I’m sure she is a force for good in terms of literacy, having single-handedly encouraged millions of people to read, most of the books she has espoused through her Book Club don’t appeal to me that much either.
I admire the way in which she transcended the rigours of a childhood blighted by sexual abuse and rape, although it could be argued that her unending, highly public battle with her weight indicates some lingering trauma. The way in which she showers gifts on people reminds me of girls I knew in boarding school who bought their so-called best friends by sharing with them their lavish food parcels from home. And I really had to laugh at her implicit threat to call on her devoted fan base to boycott Hermes for not treating her after-hours arrival at their door in Paris as she thought fit. Store clerks in Paris treat everybody, regardless of their skin colour, like crap. Somehow, I couldn’t see too many Oprah-watchers being in the habit of forking out thousands of dollars for Hermes bags!
Worst of all, she is also responsible for unleashing the ghastly Dr Phil on the world, a crime for which she can never be forgiven. And now, she’s hawking the latest self-help garbage, The Secret. As Peter Birkenhead points out, in this article in Salon, “Oprah hasn’t just endorsed “The Secret”; she’s championed it, put herself at the apex of its pyramid, and helped create a symbiotic economy of New Age quacks that almost puts OPEC to shame.”