MANY THINGS can ruin a marriage: infidelity, politics, scheming in-laws, and, of course, poisoning through bad cooking. Nothing, however, can match the destructive power of the most modern source of marital squabbles: taking sides in a celebrity divorce. Celebrities, after all, are powerful brands these days. And we judge people on the brands they choose.

None of which I had fully realised until I casually expressed my support for Jennifer Aniston while watching the former Friends star being interviewed on CNN.

“Oh my God,” hissed my wife, Lucie, who was sitting next to me on the sofa. “You’re Team Aniston!”

I turned slowly sideways, to meet her open-mouthed stare. There was a long, prickly silence. I wanted to laugh, but at the same time realised the profound emotional, philosophical and spiritual differences revealed by our respective celebrity loyalties.

“Oh my God,” I said, finally. “You’re Team Jolie.”

For those not familiar with Hollywood mores, it is traditional in the event of a celebrity break-up to align fiercely everything about yourself with the spouse for whom you have the more sympathy.

During the divorce of Aniston and Brad Pitt, for example, T-shirts and baseball caps bearing the slogans Team Aniston or Team Jolie went on sale at Kitson, the Los Angeles designer emporium. There is, naturally, an element of irony to all this. But irony, as every Angelino knows, is quickly going out of style. So the irony itself is becoming ironic, which means there is no irony: we’re starting to take this stuff quite seriously.

In hindsight, Lucie’s position shouldn’t have come as a surprise. No one, after all, wants to be Team Aniston. Wet, sappy, and by most accounts the dumpee in her relationship with Pitt, Aniston is about as much fun as a night in with a Lean Cuisine. Close your eyes and think of Rachel, Aniston’s character in Friends. What do you see? Teddy bears, Scrabble and frilly lace curtains?

Now try Jolie, Pitt’s new girlfriend. Ah yes, that’s more like it. I picture BMW motorbikes, black leather boots, vials of blood, lips like goosedown pillows and, er, other things not suitable to print here. No wonder the female in my life aspires to be Lara Croft, not Rachel Green.

So why Team Aniston, I hear you splutter? Because there is something less contrived about Aniston; something less try-hard. There are no adopted African babies; no UN missions to Trendistan. Just the sweet girl in the oversize jumper, clutching a mug of tea, who bursts into tears when the interviewer from Vanity Fair pops over.

And let’s not forget the matter of talent. Aniston is one of the most successful comic actresses of her generation, helping Friends to become a multibillion-dollar ratings juggernaut. What about Jolie? Anyone fancy another viewing of Cyborg 2? Or Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow?

My conflict with Lucie remained unresolved until a trip to New York last weekend, when we went to see her sister perform in the chorus of Carmen at the Metropolitan Opera. Towards the end of the short and violent fourth act, I experienced a pop culture epiphany: Jolie, with her tattoos, funeral obsession and multiple bad-boy lovers, is a modern-day Gypsy temptress; a Carmen for those who study the weekly libretto of People magazine.

That, of course, makes Pitt a 21st-century Don José: the hapless, libidinous foil, tempted away from his wholesome fiancée (Michaela) to a life of thwarted passion and banditry. OK, so maybe not banditry. But no one can seriously question the casting of Aniston as Michaela — the guileless peasant girl whose hand in marriage is approved by José’s nagging provincial mother.

At the Met, just as at Kitson 3,000 miles away, the castanet-bearing temptress beats the sensible marriage prospect every time. But here’s the catch, and the reason for my team loyalty: no one leaves Carmen thinking that the endlessly whining Don José is anything but an idiot.

“He was so pathetic,” spat Lucie, as we shuffled slowly out of the packed auditorium. With a shiver of disgust, she added: “And it just goes to show that you should always listen to your mother, and always stick with the nice girl next door.”

Then came a horrified gasp. Lucie slapped her hand over her mouth as she realised what she had just said. My wife had been Team Aniston all along.

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