Dr Oz, and how Oprah’s weakness for crackpot theories tarnishes her legacy

I view my weakness for Oprah Winfrey – which has been lifelong and surprisingly dedicated – akin to my fondness for Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and 1980s Steve Guttenberg movies: inexplicable to the non-devoted and deeply, deeply American. I’ve loved Winfrey since I started watching her talkshow as a teenager. Her warmth and enthusiasm – by now so heavily parodied by Saturday Night Live and others – were downright entrancing to me when I was growing up in Britain in the 90s, where any display of emotion that wasn’t couched in irony or cynicism was derided as embarrassing.

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