More parties, please
If we’re not getting together in rooms, what the hell are we even doing here?
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More parties, please
I don’t consider myself to be an especially credulous person. I’d go as far as to say that scepticism is a pretty core part of my approach to life (in a “unexamined life is not worth living” kind of a way, not in a “trust nobody” kind of a way). But I think it’s fair to say that, when it comes to belief systems, I am open-minded. More than anything, I believe in the power of believing in things. So if you ask me about the fact that an article about how we need more parties was published on the same day as I held my annual Twelfth Night Burn, a party I created and have nurtured into being, I would of course say it is a coincidence. You would not, however, catch me saying it is merely a coincidence. It could be merely a coincidence, if I chose to take it as such. If I simply thought “Oh, how funny,” and never dwelt upon it again then, naturally, it would be of no consequence. It would have no impact on my life. But if I chose to take this coincidence, instead, as a sign from the universe, then the possibilities of what I might go on and do, in the wake of that feeling, are vast.
At the start of the month, The Atlantic ran a piece entitled “Americans need to party more.” The US, it seems, is in a festive recession (Festcession? Party slump? Func-crunch?) Millennials and Gen Zs have grown up and discovered that not only is the world of work not even a little bit like we were told, neither are our social lives. I may be British but I can tell you right here and now, that I too thought there would be more parties.
This is actually something my co-host Lucy and I talked about recently on Mag Hags podcast. Reading a 1997 issue of New Woman magazine, we were really taken with a feature on “How to throw a disaster free dinner party.” Quite apart from feeling like it could have been plucked directly from the pages of Bridget Jones’s Diary, we found ourselves plunged into a sensation, not of nostalgia, but of disillusionment. “Dinner parties aren’t about pretending your posh,” read the copy. “All you really need is decent music on the stereo, a steady supply of sluggable wine, and a gang of people who actually want to spend an evening together." This! This was the adulthood we had been promised and it had not materialised. Or, if it had once, it certainly hadn’t looked that way for a while.
Then, just last month, I was reading a copy of Red magazine, given to me by a friend who thought I’d be interested in reading an essay on Nora Ephron (a woman whose parties I would have chewed my own arm off to get an invite to). As I flipped through the festive fashion pages, scanning the beauty and styling tips promising to see me through “party season,” my overwhelming feeling was… what parties?
Who is going to these parties? It isn’t me. Perhaps I’m telling on myself here but I literally cannot remember the last Christmas do I went to. Granted there are a couple of solid reasons why I personally don’t get invited to many parties. Firstly, I am self-employed so there is no office party for me. There isn’t even an informal December ‘work drinks’ on the cards. Secondly, I have two kids and so do quite a lot of my friends. As I said last week, the mental load in December is next level (think: school plays, Christmas fairs, the fact that “decorating the tree” takes and entire weekend day when you let small children do it) and people are understandably reluctant to add “throw a delightful party” to their list.
It’s not just December, though. The parties simply aren’t happening. And I demand to know why. Don’t say ‘cost of living’ because I know it isn’t that. I know it isn’t that because some of the most cash-strapped periods of my life, as a student and in the early years after graduation, have been some of the most party-filled. But the other reason I know it’s not to do with money is because it doesn’t actually cost anything to throw a party. I mean, it obviously costs me money to throw a party because I insist on catering. But it doesn’t have to (dinner parties are not about pretending you’re posh, remember). People are really happy to bring things. In my experience, they bring things even when you tell them not to because it is culturally ingrained that one cannot turn up empty handed. I’m pretty sure we have more booze than we started off with after last week’s Burn. And the things they bring need not be expensive. Last summer I held a Solstice Salad Party which was essentially a BBQ but instead of bringing a bottle I got everyone to bring a salad or side dish to go with the grill. It was fabulous. If no one has any objections, I shall do it again this summer.
But maybe people do have objections. And that’s what I’m interested in. That I still throw parties in the depths of the func-crunch is not at all surprising to me because I love nothing more than having a house full of people. Simply put, being surrounded by friends, eating and drinking nice things, and having great chats is my number one ultimate happy place and, as such, I will always prioritise it. Plus, as you know, I believe in having fun as an act of resistance. So I will continue to throw parties come hell or high water, neither of which are particularly far-fetched scenarios given our climate trajectory (I live on top of a hill so there’s a good chance that, when the dams break, ours will be the last remaining party outpost).
What about everyone else? I know we’re all busy. I know the overwhelm is real. But if we’re not getting together in rooms, what the hell are we even doing here? I was astounded by the number of people who did not throw parties for their 40th birthday parties last year. Naturally, I had a big party for my own 40th but in terms of how many I went to… I’m gonna say two. Maybe three, at most. If we’re not partying for milestone birthdays, then when?
[Video: Me, happy as a clam, wine drunk and dancing like a tit to Footloose at my 40th]
When I got married in 2016, I confronted a lot of demons, both my own and those I perceived in other people, over my decision to have a big wedding. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it some time but for now let me say it came down to two things. 1. I believe in the importance of ritual. 2. I fucking love parties. I did, however, initially plan to keep it small. It turned out the guest list had a mind of its own. Or, rather, it had behind it the minds of both my mother and my mother-in-law. You know how it goes. One insists on inviting a certain relative so then the other wants to invite their equivalent relative. One asks if they might be permitted to invite a family friend or two, so then the other wants their family friends. This would probably annoy some people a lot. It bothered me only a little because ultimately they were prepared to stump up some cash to help us host a bigger bash. So fine. But I did put up a little bit of a fight and it was during one such exchange that my mum said something that stayed with me. “At some point in life you start getting invited to more funerals than weddings.”
I read and hear constantly about how folks are sick of expending their festive energy on marriage and babies. I sympathise with this to some extent. Being constantly called upon to celebrate the lives of others can feel unfair, particularly if you yourself have not got married or had babies. The flaw in these people’s argument is that I don’t actually see them throwing any parties for anything else? Because if they did, I would go. I totally agree that there is plenty else to celebrate in life beyond marriage and babies but you have to actually do it. I understand throwing parties for less universally recognised reasons can feel a bit vulnerable. Picking out your personal milestones and achievements and asking people to acknowledge them feels self-aggrandising. When Lucy and I held our podcast launch party back in October we certainly shared a twinge of embarrassment to be asking people to come and celebrate us. Perhaps other people feel that more strongly. Perhaps they are less extroverted. Perhaps they simply do not feel uplifted and nourished by the idea. That might be true of some people but I simply do not believe it is true for enough people for it to be the cause of the festcession.
The reality, I suspect, has to do with a tapestry of things. Certainly the struggle to actually get people into a room together is real. I feel this every time I throw a party; the voices in my head saying, Nobody can be arsed, Franki. You’re being too hectic, it’s off-putting. Imagine thinking you’re that much of a draw? The fact that ‘it’s raining’ is considered an acceptable reason for turn-out to be low (in London! In England!) goes some way, I think, to demonstrating what we’re up against. Above all, I think we live in a time of hyper clarity, self-awareness, and control. The see-saw between hustle and self-care, digital cultural engagement and mindfully logging off, the resulting anxiety and fatigue of having to constantly self-monitor and intentionally “take steps”, takes up a huge amount of headspace. Throwing a party unleashes all manner of unknowns: How will I feel on the day? Will anyone come? Will the right assortment of people come? Will they like it? Will the vibes be good? Will it stress me out? Will it deplete me? Wander any further down that road and you’re apt to throw the whole idea out the window.
At this point I would urge people to take a beat. And then tell their brains to, respectfully, shut the fuck up. No, not everyone will turn up. Some people will say no from the off, others will flake on the day. There might be moments of awkwardness early doors, when it’s just you, your neighbour, and a work colleague. Or even panic, when you realise that your husband’s girlfriend is chatting to the parents of a kid in your son’s class to whom you are not out as poly. You will probably stress about whether you got enough snacks, whether said snacks meet everyone’s dietary needs (I completely forgot my friend’s partner was coeliac last time fml), and why no one’s touched the dip you made. You will likely find yourself baffled by people’s insistence on standing around in the kitchen, when there are perfectly good sofas just through there. And, yeah, if you’re anything like me, you might find the last two hours are a battle between your body (I want to go to bed) and your brain (I want to play with my friends). But at the end of the night you’ll realise you surrounded yourself with friends, ate and drank nice things, and had some great chats.
So, in 2025, if there is any part of you that feels that “maybe it would be cool to have a party” then just do it. Not everyone I know has turned 40 yet (indeed many of them have a ways to go) so I hold out hope for a renewed season. But, honestly, you don’t even need to wait for your birthday. Finished a work project? Throw a party. Ronsealed your garden fence? Party. Got a new rug? You know what to do.
One final note: Here at Really Good Tomatoes, I have made a conscious choice not to caveat everything I say with an acknowledgement about the state of the world, the horrors of Gaza and Ukraine, a checking of my own substantial privilege. This is partly because I think it makes for boring, laboured writing. It’s also patronising. I grant you, my readers, with enough intelligence to witness the juxtaposition and feel your feelings about it, just as I do. I trust you to hold multiple truths in your head at once. In short: You don’t need me to remind you the world is on fire. But it was hard to write this piece today without images of California’s literal raging fires flashing through my head. People have lost everything. Do I really think having more parties is the answer? Of course it’s not “the answer”. But I do genuinely believe it is part of the picture.
“At some point you start getting invited to more funerals than weddings.”
Life is full of grief, and fear, and uncertainty. That is precisely why we have to party. Celebrate everything. I will be there.
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Trust by Hernan Diaz. I started reading this book last year but I gave up because the first section is really heavy on the financial jargon and descriptions of business transactions and I got bored. But I went back to it over Christmas after I saw someone raving about it on Instagram (I mean it also won the Pulitzer but apparently it took someone’s random social media post to cut through!) and I am so glad I did. Once I got into the second book and the narrative structure - and intrigue! - started to reveal itself, it was plain sailing. Adored. This pic is of a fairly throwaway observation by the final narrator, but honestly, what a great line!
This piece by
in his newsletter, Future Proof News was good and interesting and it very much underlines the precarity of what we’re doing here on Substack.
It’s hard to know how to feel about this, really. Every day I feel myself getting pushed further and further out of the world in which I can legitimately call myself a writer and journalist. When I first started writing on Substack in 2020 I was sceptical. I don’t want to write without editors, I thought. I don’t want my future to be one in which I am solely and entirely responsible for every single element of my work. A hyperindividualised world of solo creators fighting for a cut of the market is not good for audiences and it’s not good for writers. It’s lonely, it’s soul-destroying, the work you produce on your own is never as good as the work you produce with the collaboration of others (I believe this fervently), and most importantly, it’s too fucking much for one person. As a result of this resistance, I struggled to convince myself to go all in. And now here we are, almost at the apex. My opportunity to really build something, to actually turn this newsletter into a source of income, has slipped past me, and I am forced to consign it to the very long list of things I do that ought to be work (they feel like work, they look like work) but are so far from providing a living wage that have no choice but to to acknowledge them as vanities.
However, as I wrote last summer, there are things a newsletter can do and be, even when it is not by any sensible definition, a revenue stream. It can be a place to explore and play (and here, of course, is where the editorial freedom, the total creative control comes into its own). It can be a kind of workshop, an incubator for ideas. And it can be a community, a place to find other people interested in the things you’re interested in. So that’s my hope for 2025, and one of the reasons why, despite Substack saturation, I’m sticking with it for now.
Parenting is full of surprises. Apparently these guys live in my handbag now. Cool, I guess?
This reminds me a little bit of the wake scene in Bodkin. I've never been to an Irish one so I'm not sure if it's meant to be verisimilitude or a caricature, but it was certainly, to me, an in-your-face throwing of the party and a lesson in not overthinking it, and the strength of ritual where the social is part of it and vice versa. And you reminded me of just *how much stuff* actually used to happen at parties in the 90s. All the intrigue and drama, that moment when all the people are drunk enough to split up into little pairs and triplets to flirt or gossip, and then split off again and reassort and do it again. Nowadays we sit in one polite dinner-table group, generally nailed to a single chair, and try to make sure everyone's included, and worry that we're talking too much or not enough, and soon enough start watching the clock.
Also, I think the US is certainly in a festcession, but the word didn't bring partying to mind!
I am very here for fun as an act of resistance! I'm planning to have a big party when I get top surgery (which will *hopefully* be in the next two to five years). While I acknowledge that I'm still relatively young and might change my mind, I can't see myself ever getting married, but my top surgery will be just as meaningful to me as people's weddings are – and I'm 100% planning on doing it before the surgery itself and having a gift registry, so my friends have a way to support me (if they want to/are able to) to take time off work to properly recover after the surgery. Even though it will be years until it happens, I'm already excited (and thinking about/planning it probably helps mitigate some of my despair over how long it will be until I'm able to get the healthcare I need).
That said, I *do* worry that not many people would come. I don't live in the same city as my girlfriend or many of my closest friends, and travel is ridiculously expensive – and that's before factoring in friends who are parents, those who have other caring responsibilities, those who do shift work or have unpredictable work schedules, etc., etc. And while travelling a long way for a *wedding* is an obligation most people understand, it doesn't feel so acceptable to expect people to do it for something so much less traditional? (Apologies for the long comment – your newsletter has sparked a lot of thoughts!)