You complain that your boyfriend lies to you. "Is this your 'victim story'?" Dr. Phil asks you warily.
Your boyfriend admits to lying. "Is this something you do because you're gutless?" Dr. Phil sneers at him.
You want some advice? "Tell him, 'I'm not taking this from you anymore!'" Dr. Phil commands.
Mr. Manners he's not. Whether you're overweight, overworked or undersexed, Dr. Phil—host of his own top-rated TV talk show, advice columnist in O, The Oprah Magazine, best-selling author and full-throttle public personality—knows what's best and he's not afraid to tell you. Dr. Phil issues counsel as marching orders, and despite fiery disapproval from the chattering classes and many in the mental health community, his readers, viewers and even chagrined on-air guests love him for it.
Dr. Phil, aka Phillip C. McGraw, Ph.D., a clinical psychologist turned courtroom consultant turned Oprah-anointed self-help guru, didn't create the demand for quick-fix media therapy—he answered it. Dr. Phil is a far cry from the earnest concern of Ann Landers or the measured cluck-clucking of Dear Abby and their hospitable brand of social guidance. Perhaps the death of Eppie Lederer (aka "Ask Ann Landers") sealed the fate of the old-school advice columnist.
Likewise, "Dear Abby" is no longer written by Landers' twin sister Pauline, who suffers from Alzheimer's disease, but by Abby's daughter, Jeanne Phillips. In Ann's and Abby's stead, a new generation of advice givers is achieving multimedia popularity. While some accuse the new guard of confrontation for ratings' sake, and trumpet the dangers of not-so-nice-advice or advice without follow-up, their success may not be the death knell of sound counsel in the public arena.
"Advice giving is the oldest racket in the civilized world," says E. Jean Carroll, whose sharp-tongued, wisecracking advice column in Elle magazine has spawned numerous books, TV appearances and a Web site. "The Old Testament is nothing but advice on how to live, how to eat and how to marry." According to Carroll, advice has always been a literary form, a narrative and a source of entertainment. "All advice givers are essentially performers and writers before they are problem solvers, and that's what makes them so popular," she says.
The success of 21st century advice givers can be attributed in large part to changes in the way advice is conveyed. Rare is the columnist who in addition to a syndicated print outlet doesn't also have a Web site, several self-help books and a television show in the making. Ann Landers was identified at most by a grainy black-and-white photo. Dr. Laura Schlessinger, acerbic queen of the conservative airwaves, can be reached by TV or radio call-in, letter and e-mail. In their lust for the lucrative youth demographic, every media outlet has adopted an in-your-face MTV style, applied as equally by Dr. Phil as by reality TV programming.
Once, racked with fear and chagrin, a lonely spinster could anonymously write to Ann Landers for solace; MTV's 1990s advice show, Loveline, found Gen Y teens tripping over microphone cables to divulge details of their budding sex lives to co-host Dr. Drew, like so many bachelorettes clamoring for The Bachelor. People reveal their most private problems with a ripe eagerness that belies the schadenfreude of those who voyeuristically tune in. Neither party seems particularly prone to embarrassment, humiliation or, for heaven's sake, shame.
Given the proliferation of media outlets, it's no surprise to see a fragmented pool of advisers, each targeting a niche demographic—be it 20-somethings (Carolyn Hax and Harlan Cohen) or African-Americans (Harriet Cole). Not only do they cater to specific ages and ethnicities, they home in on psychographic profiles (hipster intellectuals for Slate's Dear Prudence, right-wing moralists for Dr. Laura, stylish urbanites for E. Jean Carroll) and subject matter (Dr. Joy Browne for the psychologically "stuck," Suze Orman for the financially insecure, Judge Judy for the legally challenged).
Their advice goes well beyond the etiquette imbroglio or family feud. The new advisers and "media psychologists" weigh in on the latest movies, diet fads and sexual techniques. They blurb books, explain pop culture phenomena and offer unsolicited counsel to celebrities in crisis.
But the ubiquity conferred by contemporary media is not the sole reason these advisers have triumphed in multiple domains. In today's savvy self-help culture, people are keen to outsource a wide array of their needs, from personal finance to parenting. Armed with more education and a better grip of psychological language, Americans' expectations are greater than they were in the 1950s and even the 1970s, when columnists patiently outlined basic psychological principles and helped de-stigmatize mental illness. Those Psych 101 lessons are now obsolete. People want direct, personalized ways to deal with their pushy mothers-in-law or their own obsessive behavior.
Advice from Ann and Abby and etiquette tips from Miss Manners have always reflected the social mores of their times more than the circumstances of a particular reader. They encouraged readers to adapt to others around them. "If Miss Manners tells you what's appropriate behavior, she's not diagnosing you, she's diagnosing the world," says Steven Berglas, a Los Angeles-based clinical psychologist and executive coach. "Dr. Phil offers a specific diagnosis. He says, 'This is what mentally healthy people do, therefore this is what you should do.'"
Stuart Fischoff, a clinical psychologist and professor of media psychology at California State University at Los Angeles, calls it postmodern advice—directives that reflect our individualist society with its emphasis on "me first." According to Fischoff, this approach draws from humanistic psychology, with its emphasis on self-actualization and personal growth. "The Ann Landers and Dear Abbys were based on traditional values, privacy, propriety and putting social institutions ahead of yourself," Fischoff explains. "They appealed to the superego, whereas today's advice givers appeal to the id. Now they talk about disencumbering yourself from relationships and situations that prevent you from having a peak experience."
The traditional advice columnist acted as middleman between readers and psychologists; today's advisers assume the expertise themselves. And though some, particularly those doling out sex and relationship advice to teens and 20-somethings, have little or no formal training in psychotherapy, for better or worse, most are more credentialed than the advisers of old. Drs. Joy, Phil and Drew are several degrees ahead of Ann Landers, who had no psychological training. In fact, she never graduated from college.
"Ann considered herself a kind of clearinghouse," says Carol Felsenthal, a Chicago-based writer working on a biography of Landers. "She had a Rolodex to kill for, and rather than call herself the expert, she would refer readers to social workers, psychiatrists or other specialists."
Fischoff points out that far from being a charlatan, Dr. Phil offers solid psychological advice, grounded in today's more dominant cognitive and behavioral—rather than psychoanalytic—practice. Says Fischoff, "Dr. Phil is doing what a lot of therapists are doing, just in a more theatrical way." But Dr. Phil prefers to call himself a "life strategist." He says he lacks the patience to practice therapy; he's always quick to find the solution himself rather than waiting for the patient to arrive there on his own.
For a "life strategist" or coach (Dr. Phil's purview before his consulting firm was hired to prepare Oprah Winfrey's defense against libel charges by the Texas cattle industry), giving counsel is about teaching clients to do what works, not about fostering an understanding of the whys that underpin their behavior. Because coaches are hired on an as-needed basis, they're expected to resolve and wrap up problems within a maximum of six months. Executive coaches in particular insist on bottom-line answers that can be easily resolved and reported to higher-ups.
Such solution-driven advice taps into a larger societal impatience, in which a double-click mentality has accelerated expectations of psychiatric diagnosis and resolution to hyper-speed proportions. What began as years-long Freudian analysis became less labor-intensive but still long-term psychotherapy. Then came HMO-mandated short-term therapy, 10-session packages of life coaching, and now, a quick-hit radio call or an afternoon on a TV soundstage. "Real change is difficult and long-term, but Americans today want to believe that a 15-minute exposure to an answer will fix things," says Ellen McGrath, Ph.D., a New York City-based psychologist.
Answers are comparatively easy to come by. Many psychotherapists concede that Dr. Phil is a brilliant diagnostician who immediately isolates his subjects' problems—but caution that this very skill can be dangerous. Psychotherapy isn't about the practitioner finding the right answer, but about guiding the patient to an answer and helping him deal with it appropriately. Delivering a diagnosis in the wrong way or at the wrong time can be counterproductive. "Even if Dr. Phil is right, it's likely to be disruptive," Berglas says. "Alcoholics know that drinking is ruining their lives and philanderers know they're destroying their marriages. Dr. Phil is identifying a problem with no follow-up-and that's where the work takes place."
In Dr. Phil's defense, he does tend to stick to day-to-day challenges and refuses guests who have been hospitalized, prescribed major psychotropic drugs or would otherwise require ongoing consultation. Even so, the current brand of cure-alls pedaled by Drs. Laura and Joy rouses the ire of private practitioners. "The problem with psychologists practicing advice-giving is that it's not the role of the psychologist to give advice," explains Sean Kenny, Ph.D., a psychotherapist based in Grand Rapids, Mich. "As a therapist, I need to be humble enough to realize that I don't know you, what really makes you tick or what you should do with your life." But then again, as Kenny points out, most Americans like that kind of beat-you-over-the-head psychology.
For the new advisers and their disciples, the goal isn't just fast answers—it's also finding the "right" answers. Americans seem to yearn for a set moral standard and firm "Father Knows Best" guidance. "There's a cultural starvation for that kind of knowledge," Ellen McGrath says. "Dr. Laura will say, 'Here's what's wrong and here's what's wrong.' And Dr. Phil will say, 'Stop whining and start acting.' Dr. Phil is the harsh, loving father and Dr. Laura is the stern, caring mother."
Deborah Carr, Ph.D., a sociologist at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, N.J., sees the tough-love, pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps message of today's advice givers as a reaction against decades of Freudian methodology and the victim mentality of the 1970s and '80s, when one's "inner child" could easily blame everything on Mom and Dad. Today's doctrine holds that the only impediment to personal change is your own limitations; you have to accept the problem and take responsibility for resolving it. Dr. Phil's emphasis on personal responsibility, self-control and rugged individualism fits squarely with fellow Texan George W. Bush's controversial "do it yourself" resolution of his drinking problem.
Such a self-oriented, proactive approach can be a double-edged sword. "On the one hand, it's a very empowering message," says Carr. "But if you can't lose the weight or leave the man, you're left with yourself. It's your own fault." For most practicing psychologists this what-kind-of-idiot-are-you approach is a recipe for failure, placing the blame on the subject proper without providing the necessary tools to deal with the issue at hand. Moreover, the implication is that change is easy, and not succeeding is a sign of insufficient willpower.
Yet most of Dr. Phil's critics quibble less with his insight than with the way in which he delivers it. Rather than coax, he confronts; he criticizes rather than encourages. He sometimes gives a guest a firm dressing down. The flip side of fostering that "eureka" moment is creating a sense of embarrassment, even shame, among his guests. Miss Manners urges restraint; Dr. Phil demands unfettered self-expression—as he says, "a wake-up call."
Judith Martin (aka Miss Manners) declares that "Using humiliation to correct is like shouting at a child to be quiet" or, less politely put, it's rude, ineffective and possibly immoral. No spoonful of sugar, this. According to critics, the harsh, judgmental tone employed by Drs. Phil and Laura is precisely the worst approach.
Fans disagree-strongly. They describe Dr. Phil as giving simple, smart and pragmatic advice uncluttered by mealymouthed psycho-jargon. Lea James, a 50-something film and Web producer from Queens, N.Y., who reads Dr. Phil's books and watches him on television regularly, admires his directness. "I've been to therapy, and didn't like beating around the bush," says James, who also takes cues from Suze Orman, Martha Stewart and Dr. Andrew Weil. "I prefer to have the information I need to correct myself. Tell me if there's spinach in my teeth!"
Tempting though it may be to view the cozy quaintness of Ann and Abby through rose-tinted glasses, advice columnists have always been known for downright chutzpah. Neither doyenne of propriety was immune to remonstrance, nor were they nonjudgmental. For years, Ann Landers refused to acknowledge homosexuality, and though she belatedly modernized with contemporary social mores, she was continually drawn to the unequivocal morality of the Catholic Church. Abby's and especially Ann's columns could be controversial and elicit angry letters to the editor.
The enduring reality is that Q-and-A advice, whether delivered in print or on-air, has never been a substitute for psychotherapy. Part of the criticism of gonzo-style guidance and solutions-or-bust language is simply a necessary evil of the evolving media, with its overriding business of delivering entertainment.
In only a two-paragraph column or 15 minutes of airtime, most problems cannot be effectively explained, diagnosed or treated, psychological change being a slower, less dramatic and less entertaining process. Were viewers subjected to the oft-mundane recounting of childhood slights and daily frustrations typical of a psychotherapy session, TV ratings would plummet. Audiences would be alienated, bored and annoyed. Legions of fans and followers would be let down.
Miss Manners would certainly disapprove.