The irony of socialising over Christmas
In general, I like Christmas, I enjoy cocktails and I love going to parties. However, I hate Christmas cocktail parties.
For one thing, it is the busiest time of the year. Often, I am booked every night for work and social holiday gatherings. One day, it's a Christmas party thrown by clients, the next it's a semi-formal seasonal fête hosted by a friend of a friend I can't turn down, and the day after I am obligated to attend a charity gala to rise money for Third World destitute children - ironically, it's a Buddhist organisation benefiting Muslim youngsters. Nobody involved actually gives a damn about baby Jesus' birthday, but they all love Christmas because it's the best great excuse to decorate yourself like a Christmas tree and score appearances in society rags.
Lots of socialites live for this time of the year, but some of us attend soirees because, well, we just have to. If we don't go, then we lose a bit of face and the host feels slighted and insulted you didn't support their cause. There's no real repercussion, per se, but it just means it will be an awkward year of avoiding eye contact when you run into your declined hosts at other socials.
The work-related cocktails are more straightforward. You just need to show up at these things even for a brief time, do the rounds, schmooze everyone you need to schmooze with and suck up to the clients that you need to suck up to. This ritual is followed by the sending of gift baskets as the holidays approach. The shallowest of executives will keep all the top hotels and chocolatiers' brochures in their desk, not for when they need to send out baskets to people - they leave that to their secretaries - but to check out which associate has gifted them the most expensive hampers.
The Christmas functions I most detest are our own office and company parties. It's the one time of the year when colleagues let their hair down, office formalities go out the window and people generally lose their behavioural filter. It's like after the market has closed and a bowl of spiked punch is served in the conference room.
On the one hand, it's kind of scary. On the other, it's really fascinating. Normally subdued accounting clerks now have their shirts untucked, spilling cheap wine on the carpet and munching on cheese cubes when the rest of the year they are lactose intolerant. Off in one corner, a normally mousey secretary is suddenly throwing herself all over a senior partner. Down the hall, the sales guys have metaphorically whipped it out as they compare girlfriends, cars, portfolios, and who can drink the most. In reality, they're empty boasts. The only thing these loud little boys should compare is whose face turns the reddest after the smallest amount of alcohol?
It's all far too gauche a scene for me. But once a year I tolerate it, not because I have any fun at such tacky revelry but it's great blackmail bait the rest of the year.
Merry Christmas and have a guilty new year.
The Aristocrat
'Tis the season for pretentious gatherings, chit chat and office parties