One of the reasons that it is so easy to see echoes of real philosophy and political theory in Gossip Girl is that we can see the machinations of these teenagers as reflections of the real world; their sometimes-clumsy, sometimes-petty schemes recreate adult social structures. But what about when the show attempts to actually portray those adult social structures directly and with an attempt to actually say something, as they do with William “Trip” Van Der Bilt (Aaron Tveit) and his campaign for a seat in the US House of Representatives? Can the show do anything but flounder?

Other plots in this episode are the typical Gossip Girl filler: Blair makes a new friend in a hooker, Serena’s publicity job makes her act like a hooker, and Dan wonders if he can play “hooker” on the Scrabble board for the triple word score. Dan and Olivia get the thankless “contractually obligated filler plotline” about Olivia telling an embarassing story about Dan to Jimmy Fallon on his talk show, and then trying to keep that secret from Dan. Considering that Dan’s previous girlfriends’ dark secrets have been “I KILLED A MAN,” “I HELPED COVER UP KILLING A MAN,” and “I THINK I’M COMMITTING STATUTORY RAPE RIGHT NOW,” I don’t know how this Mad Libs plotline is supposed to even register, regardless of the cutesy anniversary ending. Honestly, the ups and downs in terms of writing quality this season are especially jarring. If the characters two episodes ago were in Bringing Up Baby, in this episode they’re in Blue’s Clues.

Take the A-plot about Trip’s election campaign. Perhaps the show shouldn’t have invoked the name of Mr. Michael Mann (blessings be upon him), if only to avoid reminding us what actual political intrigue looks like. The crux of the matter is that we can accept and even enjoy the petty and unrealistic schemes of the teenagers on this show — like Jenny sending her mean girls to throw eggs at her stepbrother’s boyfriend. But it just falls a little flat to do the same with some low-rent bizarro inversion of Chappaquiddick as the turning point for Trip’s campaign, and the oh-so-telegraphed moral dilemma for Nate and Vanessa over whether to reveal that the incident was a setup. This isn’t The Insider — I don’t think anyone expects The Insider — but it’s about as subtle as that episode where the mean girls rigged the election of prom king and queen. And yes, I’ve considered that this may be an actual commentary on the politics, but it doesn’t hold water. We’ve been conditioned to believe that Blair or Chuck or Jenny will embark on some ridiculous scheme, but to place that in the context of real, non-abstract politics, “not some high school thing with Blair and the mean girls,” as Vanessa puts it — it makes the seams on the show’s premise not only show but burst wide open. It’s “Chuck Bass and the Trilateral Commission” all over again.

To examine the faulty writing of this episode further, let’s go beyond the fact that the themes of the various plot strands fail to weave together; even the premises and conclusions of the individual stories to fail to line up. For example, the election is supposed to follow Nate’s descent and redemption: he initially tries to cover up the faked Chappaquiddick, but when that fails, he sacrifices himself and falls on his sword, taking responsibility but saving the election with a stirring speech.

Bullshit. First, the element of sacrifice is overblown. Nate is just some teenaged college freshman playing at being a political fixer. What real risk did he incur in doing what he did? What kind of damage would it really cause? Second, even if Nate claims responsibility, the dirty tricks still come from inside the family and the campaign; mere protestations will not be enough to prevent tainting the candidate. Chace Crawford is supposed to sell that Nate is such a political force that he can sway the election with his words, but he’s no Jed Bartlet. He’s not even Jeff Bridges from The Contender (a movie which did the reverse Chappaquiddick too.) Crawford, for all his charisma, simply does not have the gravitas to make what’s asked of him work. Finally, to have an effective moral dilemma, you need to have the characters’ moral compasses calibrated beforehand. If Trip’s main goal was to run a clean campaign and not take advantage of dirty tricks like the ones his grandfather sets up for him, why do Nate’s actions assuage him? It’s just another layer of political cover-up and lies disguising the fact that it’s Trip’s wife, who we’ve seen for all of sixty-two seconds, channeling Lady Macbeth and orchestrating everything. It’s like the show wants to telegraph something something about “power corrupts” or “politics is dirty,” but it can’t even find the footing for that.

At the very least, the Blair and Serena story helped form an interesting riff on the nature of moral accountability and ascribing judgment to someone based on labels. Blair’s new friend Brandeis may be an escort by her own avocation, but what about Serena, who may have a different title but fulfills many of the same tasks (except for perhaps the one that truly defines the job?) It’s a question of definitions, and there are some interesting philosophical questions half-raised about what defines an action or person as good or bad; is it intent or the action itself or the results? One suspects we’re supposed to link this to the election plotline, but the two fit together like mismatched jigsaw pieces; it just grates uncomfortably, and with Serena dropping the publicity thing and apparently chatting up Trip, it looks like they’re going to go the Eliot Spitzer route. Just great.

Chuck Bass is the one to have the poignant lines of the episode (and thus the only one to act like they have a three-digit-IQ) when he tells Serena that friendships are going to take more work as they all grow older, and the petty spats aren’t going to fade away like they used to — they’re going to fester, and it’s the friendship that will fade. The sentiment touches on things that are actually within the show’s reach, and it’s emblematic of the problems that the show is having in its transition between high school and college — away from the bubble where, for all their vaunted maturity, the characters were insulated and protected from the consequences of their actions. It’s the same chasm that The O.C. tried to traverse and fell into (God forbid Gossip Girl ever does an alternate-universe coma episode.) Perhaps the writers should turn a cultural landmark that made it to the other side — of course, I’m referring to Saved by the Bell: The College Years.

In all seriousness, the writers do grasp that they can’t extend this bubble of fakery forever — it’s just the characters and the plotting haven’t caught up with where the narrative is taking them. The characters (save for Jenny) can’t rely on the petty bullshit games of Constance — now the rest of world around them needs to behave like it.