Last Sunday, I dusted off my tuxedo, buttoned up my suspenders, threw on my cufflinks, and tied my bowtie. And, you might ask, what was the occasion? It was a black tie dinner party at a friend’s apartment, planned spontaneously the night before, with six other young club rats, who yearned to dress up and do something.
One of the aspects of club life I’ve always treasured is the ability to dress up and feel special. As we sat around, sipping martinis I made, and eating cheese and crackers, we felt different. The world somehow made more sense; we were entering the workweek, the week of labour and toil, with something that removed us from the quotidian. All we wanted to do was to punctuate the pulse of our everyday lives, commemorating how special and precious our own lives were.
A fellow Southern Connecticut clubrat once told me that his club abandoned black tie for holiday dinners because it was nigh impossible to get fellow members to dress up. There was nothing like spending a few months at home in pyjamas to make me realise the importance of dressing to do something special. The tide, too, has turned; the generation that is blamed for the ills of athleisure has more or less come around to the world they eschewed for it. Look no further than the recent hiring of Rowing Blazers’ Jack Carlon by Ivy-style mecca J. Press and J. Crew’s upmarket push, replete with vintage cricket jumpers and classic tuxedos.
As the weather turns, bring out the wool—suits, sports coats, navy blazers, tuxedos—and wear them. Your clothes are meant to be worn, not reside in a long-forgotten nook of your closet, or stuffed away at your parents’. And, if you’re lost, the Clubland USA style guide’s section on holiday attire is a clubby place to begin.
At the end of the dinner party, I regaled my friends with tales of club holiday parties, which appears below in its entirety. I think I’ll have an even larger table this year. Leonard Robinson brings you Dispatches from Clubland today.—IJ
Metropolitan and the Club Holiday Party
Another reminder of pomp and circumstance came during my annual rewatch of Whit Stillman’s Metropolitan (1989) which details the going-abouts of a group of preppy young debutantes and escorts during the debutante ball season in Manhattan. Much can be said about the movie, and almost everything that needs to be said on the matter has probably already been. Pomp and circumstance in a world that is rapidly changing is the true theme of the movie. It was almost as if the revolution of the earth around the sun dictated that the holiday season be one of dressing up, socialising, and long nights of conversation and intoxication.
The last hope for pomp and circumstance lies in Clubland. New York’s University Club annual holiday dance, which yours truly was spotted at in a shawl-collar tuxedo, stipulates both good dress and dancing to the tunes of a chamber orchestra, a reprise for Stillman’s Metropolitan, and perhaps the last of the great club holiday parties. Boston’s Union Club requires its members and guests to adhere to the dress code while prohibiting electronic devices from everywhere but the dedicated study, nicely cordoned off in a back room. No sneakers and laptops, puh-lease. New York’s Union Club is similarly pukka, and ties aren’t optional, much like University Club.
Club-hopping in Manhattan is quite the night out: get off at Grand Central, wash off the dirt and the slime in the steam and sauna at the Yale Club, proceeding downstairs to play some pool and get their bartender JP’s double-strong drinks and pick up a tie from the JPress in the back, before slowly making your way downtown to The Players for their bartender Eddie’s renowned martinis, and eventually landing up at the University Club for dinner. No need to go black tie on your club-hopping soiree: khakis, an OCBD, and navy blazers are adequate to the task at hand. Ties are most certainly not optional, unless you want to dip into the bin of odd ties that almost never make for cohesive outfits at the door of the University Club (or Union, for that matter, if you’re an Upper East Sider).
Further north in Boston, the circuit looks similar: start at the Union Club, conveniently located steps away from the Massachusetts State Legislature, with a drink at the Everett Bar, where Shawn’s pours are rather clubby, as are his stories, before making your way to University Club, about a fifteen-minute stumble away, and then to Harvard Club. Take your dinner at the Union; it has the best food. On the plus side, you’ll pay less for drinks overall; you’ll be in beautiful surroundings; everyone around you will be well-dressed, and you’ll never have to hanker for attention. The only downside here ought to be the five minutes it takes a man to get dressed.
There is a certain air of nostalgia around, to be clear. But it’s not just that. Who needs Woody Allen and a forlorn alley in Paris to be whisked out of the humdrum of everyday life and into some fantastical world, when there’s something right in front of you, easily accessible, fun, and frankly frugal? The pomp and circumstance of going clubbing—our clubbing—is the possibility of having a civilised night out while Rome burns.
And, then, when holiday season rolls by, you’re never going to feel alone again. From one club holiday party to another, you’re going to be at home, well-dressed, polite, and then, when the clock turns after-hours, and you move from the dining room to the bar, a tad rambunctious, nay, even boisterous. You start looking forward to the pomp and circumstance, and to the inner elevation it gives you. It’s almost like you gained half a foot in height. Deb season might be on the wane, but, you, my Urban Haute Bourgeois reader, have something else to look forward to. — IJ
Dispatches from Clubland
No More NeueHouse. The non-Gold Standard Club with outposts in Los Angeles, Venice, and New York City filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy giving members roughly 2 days to remove their items and holding the bag. Our condolences to them and best wishes on finding a club that can stand the test of time.
THC in Clubland? Why can't one order a mocktini with a few drops of THC oil, or some other cannabis-forward equivalent? That's a question that some readers have posed and we’re curious about. Clubs are positioning themselves to be attractive to younger generations who notably drink less but are more open to cannabis. Or, as many have come to know it, going “California sober”.