The truth about 'You Be The Judge'

The Guardian’s inane, insane bickering column.

Word Count picks out popular columnists, columns, or regular features in the media and has a closer look at them. Not in a horrible way. Just… in a way.

Background photo by Mateusz D on Unsplash. Headlines by the Guardian and insane people you hope never move in next door.

It doesn’t matter whether you find yourself the dullest, most ordinary person in the world, there will be something about you, some small facet of your personality, a habitual quirk you barely notice, that will be fascinating to someone else. Friends may mention it to your face affectionately, or behind your back at bottomless brunches organised on a WhatsApp chat you don’t know exists. Strangers, too, might catch a glimpse of you and think what you are doing is interesting. Or weird. Or awful. Or a very good idea that they will copy. Never make the mistake of thinking you are vanilla, a magnolia wall in serious need of graffiti – to someone, somewhere, you are a one of a kind. We should all revel in that a little more. Even if we’re making someone think to themselves, ‘Thank God I am nothing like them.’ Your impact. Wow.

Time was these little quirks or foibles would remain within a limited audience. Your peccadilloes remained private, or wonderfully obscure. Step forward, the Guardian’s You Be The Judge column, which aims to remind us that everyone’s brains contain vines and roots and cables and ropes and razor wire – gnarled and entangled and straining. How else would you explain someone writing into a national newspaper to say this:

For the uninitiated, You Be The Judge has been running in the Guardian’s Saturday supplement since autumn 2021 and features a different, purposely petty quibble every week, usually between a couple who should’ve divided their Blu-rays and put the flat up for sale years ago, but also sometimes families or long-suffering flatmates. The idea is not to tackle life-changing crises; these are dealt with briskly by agony aunt Annalisa Barbieri in the two remaining sparse columns of the double page spread. YBTJ aims to confront the domestic spats no person in their right mind would seek counsel about from anyone they know. Outdated and myopic as the term ‘first world problems’ is, the cap is a snug fit here. And to cement the fatuousness of each quandary, instead of professional advice, there’s a ‘jury’ of readers – most of whom could do with sleeping with a window open and losing all their social media logins. The final verdict, however, rests with Joe Public, whose vote result is revealed the following week, at the bottom of another problem that would have concerned friends booking them sound baths or asking when they had their last citalopram.

You Be The Judge is the latest in the Guardian’s fine tradition of a) masterful clickbait and b) holding a mirror up to their deranged readership. In the magazine, it’s the pudding in a three-course banquet of insanity, after the ever reliable ratings juggernaut Blind Date, and the exhibitionists’ favourite This is How We Do It – a reader sex column which, once read, will make you wish you had bonsai trees under your brows instead of eyes. Much like Blind Date, YBTJ offers both sides of the ‘argument’ so you can let your imagination run riot wondering how these appalling people get anything done, and how much unopened mail must lie on their kitchen table.

A selection of You Be The Judge headlines so you can see what we’re dealing with, from the inane to the insane:

– Should my girlfriend spend less money on her cats?
– Should my brother give me better birthday presents?
– Should my boyfriend close the kitchen cupboards after himself?
– Should my husband stop dusting with a dry cloth?
– Is it OK for my boyfriend to keep butter in the cupboard?

I could go on, but for the sake of my mental health I feel I shouldn’t.

Let’s look at a little closer at the dilemma that sent me over the edge: that double-knot shoelace row. Correspondents across the world are poised, not since the Ruth Ellis trial (zeitgeist references as ever) has there been an issue that has divided the nation so fiercely. The long and short of it (pun intended) is Margy thinks her boyfriend Derren (very few Steves and Sharons propping up this column, quelle surprise) should tie his laces better because she’s sick of him dropping to the floor every verse-end to re-tie. Or at least that’s what she says the problem is, but some choice quotes suggest otherwise:

I think he’s got weak fingers.

Would be interesting to know how she has evaluated this.

I guess he can be a bit slovenly.

I’ve suggested changing his shoe style, but the only slip-on ones he has are ugly and also full of holes.

Not exactly sounding like a keeper, Margy. Do you actually like this man?

We’ve been together five years, but we were long distance for the first four of those so I didn’t notice the trailing laces.

Bingo.

Margy is suffering a version of buyer’s remorse. The Derren who she snatched precious moments with on long-distance visits will have been more spruce, on his best behaviour, still eager to impress, in order to make the long periods of separation unbearable. He may have even gone into a different room to fart. The things we do to be missed, or desired. A novelty. However, now Derren’s got his lace-ups under the table he’s gone into boyfriend mode – the laces trail free, the ugly slip-ons rest in the hallway, and he’s probably boiling his underpants in your slow cooker while you’re out.

In Margy’s defence, I think I’d need a mouthguard 24/7 living with Derren, to avoid grinding my teeth away to dust. Some quotes from his defence:

Seek forgiveness, not permission.

Very bad advice FYI.

I love coming home and kicking my shoes off quickly while everyone else fiddles with complicated-looking knots. I think: “Ha!”

Have you ever seen a shoelace? Perhaps a CAT scan would be a good idea.

Bending down to tie my laces connects me to the world.

And also the gutter.

Margy thinks it’s funny that I have a book about knots.

Can you imagine playing Monopoly with these two?

As insignificant as this row seems, YBTJ actually performs a huge public service – and I genuinely mean this, having read quite a few of them – in exposing its readers to different forms of control. For example:

Sweet, succulent Christ.

Or how about: