TikTok influencers spoil the fun of a dinner party | Life and elegance

I There has always been a deep skepticism about the concept of a “dinner party”. In theory, some pasta with your friends. Practically speaking, there was the awkward work of setting up the class and the adults being done by hyper-conscious kids—all planning meals and awkward conversations, warming wine and pretending to be our parents. And increasingly, an entire economy.

This does not mean that I do not enjoy it. No, I do it a lot on both sides. I enjoy inviting people into my carefully scented house, feeding them the food my friend has cooked, encouraging them to stay a little longer, a little later, and maybe some chocolate now. And I enjoy going to other houses, shoes at the door, some funny little rituals about chips, getting excited over homemade bread, and pulling secrets from new friends while we finish our drinks. But the culture and sophisticated business of the dinner party still made me shiver a little.

For example, a fancy dinner party? Well, your nerves! Expect Iggy Pop, Malcolm X, Self-Esteem, Bette Davis, and Boudica to Roll Free From bed and tomb to sitting around your breakfast bar as an avatar of the character you want to highlight? how dare you! If Marilyn Monroe could get up again for just one night, do you really think she’d choose your little suburban house for a little body image conversation over your attempts at Jamie Oliver Bruchetta? Would you honestly compel Gertrude Stein, Andy Warhol, Dostoevsky, and Kanye to listen to your thoughts on the Twitter problem? to drink your soup? To play Never Have I Ever just so you can bring out your own ornate story about the Manchester trio? Get a grip, seriously.

Did you know there are influencers at dinner parties on TikTok right now? I read a whole thing about it on Eater – after the pandemic, dinner parties are back. and “a growing niche of mentors, services and influencers is emerging to demystify hosting: Welcome to the new dinner party economy.” You can purchase downloadable guides that include a shopping list, menu, and recipes, with a checklist that breaks down tasks into days and minutes, “including little touches like lighting a candle in the bathroom and playing music from a Spotify code provided right before guests arrive.”

There are dinner party services that rent “dining tables,” and there are dinner party chat cards with “appetite prompts” like: “What’s your ultimate comfort food?” I don’t know, by the time we got to “What’s your absolute comfort food?” Part of the evening I thought I would smash my way out of the bathroom window, taking the host’s dog with me because he was a good boy and no one deserves a life like that, but each one belongs to him. However, I work for a table rental company that allows you to return plates that are still covered in sauce.

But on the whole, it’s a “mystery murder party” isn’t it? Rules, props, and performances wrapped in a cardboard box, for people who want to have a good time, but need to hold an adult’s hand for the spooky pieces. Which is a good thing, of course. Of course we all need a little hand holding every now and then, especially through dark friendship tunnels and through the busy roads of adolescence. But my concern is that in trying to get it right, with the fancy menus and dishes, those who throw dinner parties miss the chance to get it wrong. Which, surely, is where the fun is. This is where the walls between us break down, and by exposing our weaknesses, whether it’s a relationship or candy-based, new bonds can form. In the ruins blooming gladiolus flowers.

The pretentious aspirations of a dinner party, with the addition of an element of glamor (something rare, wonderful, and of little supply) to the meal also threatens to drain an evening of its soul. Give me pizza and TV, hosts accidentally high on gum, give me a half-ordered kitchen table of homework instead of a gorgeously designed wildflower bouquet. If I’m being honest, your fictional dinner party won’t consist of dead authors and a (sorry) model who hates you. Moss would not serve Dorothy Parker willingly. No, your imaginary dinner party will be your three best friends, a fish and a chipped-up bitch. It’s going to be standing in the kitchen with a newly single sister telling you what sex is in 2022 while trying not to burn yourself over the chicken. Your first love will be ringing the doorbell unexpectedly 10 years later and apologies for everything on Marmite on toast.

Much can be saved by simply removing the word “party”. Dinner alone does not require table coordination. Don’t count on an amazing and daring group of guests chosen because of their contrasting opinions, beauty or intelligence. Dinner is a big plate of food and gossip, maybe seconds. Please, Internet, capitalism, fashion, I beg you: do not take this away from us with your elegant persuasion. Don’t take away the simple nasty cooking fun of the ones we love. Don’t make me wow tea.

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