The 10th anniversary issue of O magazine just hit newsstands. The glossy is just one part of Oprah Winfrey's media empire -- which also includes the eponymous show, a cable network, and a new cable network that is a joint venture with Disney and may host reruns of her show after she departs ABC, the network she's been at for 25 years. This month also marks the release of an unauthorized biography of Winfrey by Kitty Kelley. O magazine was the final step in Oprah's transition from talk show host to self-affirmation guru. She has become, to an insufferable degree, a force of nature that teaches Americans to pat themselves on their backs.
In the beginning, the Oprah Winfrey Show featured standard talk-show fare -- people who had either gone through or performed heinous acts. There is (paging American studies) not a large amount of scholarly work on talk shows, but what there is shows what we already know to be true: Comparing one's life to the lives of those comparatively worse off makes you feel better.
In the mid-1990s, Winfrey shifted the focus of her show in response to criticism that daytime talk was becoming too voyeuristic. Now, her show is a monthly affirmation of the power of self-help for the true believers. After Winfrey endorsed Barack Obama for president in 2007, MSNBC did a breakdown of her demographics. Her 7.4 million viewers are predominantly older women, most of them are white, though 11 percent of older black women watch her show regularly. Some of this is probably situational; her show airs during the daytime in every part of the country, so it's hard to watch if you work during the day.
It's hard not to admire Oprah's rise from a childhood of abuse and poverty to the richest woman in entertainment, with a net worth of more than $1 billion. From shilling books like The Secret to praising a chimpanzee-attack victim's indomitable spirit, Oprah serves as a vehicle for self-actualization for her largely white, middle-class audience, something made even more problematic by the racial implications. Viewers can feel better about a world in which suffering makes one a stronger person, so long as it's other people doing the suffering.
Not everyone loves Winfrey. The Atlantic Wire had a nice roundup of Oprah takedowns last fall, when she announced her show was ending. Among the critiques -- she gives bad medical advice, promotes consumerism, and has complete control over how well books sell. Weston Kosova and Pat Wingert summed Winfrey up best: "Feel-good voyeurism." In a 2009 Newsweek profile they argued that her ability to frame her guests' problems as something viewers can feel good about is what really sets her apart from other talk shows. They chalk it up to, in part, Winfrey's own ability to succeed despite a terrible childhood and her subsequent abhorrence of "the celebration of victimhood." But acknowledging to her viewers that they live in, take part in, and support a world with power structures that screw over vulnerable people wouldn't sell well. In Oprah's world, everyone should feel good, and it's their own fault if they don't.
In her 10th anniversary editor's note, Winfrey closes by saying, "Most important, we're focusing on the good things around us right now, and the joy to be found in the present moment." She then directs readers to contributors in this issue who are living their "best life," including a piece about Byron Katie, a 43-year-old spiritual mentor. Katie picked herself out of addictions and depression, and believes others can too. Caitlan Flanagan writes that after she saw Katie on Oprah's show, she came to realize, "All the suffering that goes on inside our minds ... is not reality. It's just the story we torture ourselves with." Those in an Oprah universe rarely need the actual cancer treatments or medical care so many are truly lacking; they just need more "me-time."
All of this amounts to Oprah making her viewers feel good, which is, frankly, something they should already be doing. When Winfrey says the women who watch her can take control of their lives, it resonates because it's largely already true. Middle-class women can, of course, be unhappy, but their complaints are not the sort, like wage inequality or food insecurity, that are outside of their control. And books like The Secret, the 2006 book by Rhonda Byrne that Winfrey helped make a best seller, tell these women they can solve their problems just by wishing them solved; good energy brings success.
By world standards, Americans are extremely successful at the basics. For many, problems are somewhat self-inflicted. If that's the case, then Byrne's spell works. I'm sure some of Oprah's viewers have had bad things happen to them. But it's probably not the ones who think something bad has happened to them. I do not want to disparage Oprah's personal philanthropy. She has launched several charities, including a school in South Africa, and donates a substantial portion of her income to various organizations. But overall, her show helps create a world in which suffering is a collective good. Martha Beck, a regular columnist, says as much in her 10th anniversary piece "10 Rules I've Unlearned." The first one is, "problems are bad." She goes on to write, "People without real problems go mad and invent things like base jumping and wedding planning. Real problems are wonderful, each carrying the seeds of its own solution." The real problems listed include job burnout and confusing tax forms.
It's no less puritan a message because it comes from a modern, inspirational woman who broke so many barriers to become so successful. The flip side of this logic is what is truly dangerous -- bad things happen to the people because they failed to think happy thoughts. It's the downtrodden's fault that they're downtrodden, and since their suffering renders special meaning, we don't need to worry about it. It's easy to feel good about the world if you believe everything is just the universe trying to send you a message, and it's up to individuals to read the signs correctly, or not. That's the Oprah show's true affirmation.
