I’m spending New Year’s Eve at my mother’s house, and she is threatening indoor fireworks. Unless there’s been heavy investment in the indoor firework industry since I last endured them in the 1990s, I predict it will be an underwhelming spectacle. Smouldering fragments bearing an unfortunate resemblance to ageing squirrel turds, on an old baking tray, do not make for a festive scene.
Because my podcast is about dressing up and fashion history, over the years I’ve collected hundreds of stories about the greatest parties of all time. My encyclopaedic knowledge of bizarre and beautiful moments from these epic occasions is absolutely not useful on a daily basis but it does come in handy for some inspiration during the festive period, especially for decorations and details. Let’s review some ideas that might be ripe for revival.
Legendary parties are not always lavish ones. In fact, it’s notable that the most expensive parties ever are often remembered as tasteless at best, era-ending at worst – either way they don’t belong on this list. Consider, for example, the Shah of Iran’s celebration to mark 2500 years of the Persian Empire which took place in 1971 in a tented city built from 37 kilometres of silk. 15,000 trees were air-lifted in to create a forest for the 50,000 songbirds shipped over from Europe. They all died within days because of the heat, before they’d even begun to rehearse the opening number “Let’s Get This Party Started”. I’m joking. But, if I’d spent £100 million on an event, I wouldn’t want to tiptoe around bird carcasses, either on or off the plate (roast peacock was served, and I much prefer chicken nuggets).
If you are not in possession of an empire, you’ll know that if the company is sparkling enough, you can have a rollicking good time with nothing more than a few packets of Pringles. But it’s also true that the best parties are exercises in world-building. They stop the clock and transport guests to a temporary, alternative paradise. They exist in their own microclimate of beauty, flirtation and plentiful catering, for one night only. And the best way to build is to decorate…
Let’s first acknowledge that, for most of us, there’s a layer of decorating I like to call “stuff all your worldly belongings into cupboards” before the real fun can begin. Unless you’re Deeda Blair and even your domestic detritus is picturesque, you probably need to factor in around four days for this tedious part of the process. So it’s fine to take shortcuts; my mother insists you should never, ever clean mirrors because everyone is flattered by a fine filter of dust (this is especially true if your indoor fireworks have smoked out your sitting room).
My favourite decorating idea belongs to Regency dances, where floors would be covered in chalk, an idea born originally out of a practical need to make the surface less slippery for dancers. This evolved into a fashionable party piece in its own right. Artists would be hired to create intricate chalked designs which would be gradually danced away as the night progressed. I love the ethereal, romantic quality of this concept, with an added Health & Safety bonus.
Later, the stately homes of England were still teeming with artists and designers adding their contribution to merriments as late as the 1960s. In his stonkingly good book Noble Ambitions: The Fall and Rise of the Post-War Country House, Adrian Tinniswood describes this trend for elaborate entertaining. “Then there were the decorations. At the very least, there must be flowers for the hall and the drawing room and the long gallery, enough flowers to exhaust the resources of several florists’ shops. The marquee on the lawn must be disguised as something else – a jungle, a Parisian street scene, a South Sea island or Neapolitan nightclub. There should be a fountain, and at a country house the younger guests expected a pool – falling, jumping or being shoved into its icy waters in the early hours was a necessary part of the fun.” Adrian deliciously details this decadence, including the work of celebrated party decorator Felix Harbord – a man I’d give anything to go back in time, and apprentice for.
For someone who’s aesthetic tended not towards the pretty, Salvador Dalí was a bit of an expert in this field. His surprisingly hilarious cookbook, Les Dîners de Gala, is still in print and features yummy highlights such as Frog Pasties–it is the only recipe book that’s ever made me want to give up eating altogether. His mates probably knew to have supper beforehand, especially since the food at Surrealist parties was often served on a fur plate. Let’s ignore the menu then, because it would be simpler to instead recreate his 1936 Aphrodisiac Dinner Jacket using a glue gun and lots of shot glasses because it is literally a dinner jacket covered in lots of shot glasses. His contained crème de menthe (which no one likes) and dead flies (ditto). Flies never enhance a situation, dead or alive but I maintain that the idea is still solid, and perfect attire for a host. It screams “WELCOME PARTY PEOPLE!” without having to make any conversational effort.
“Immersive” is an overused word: it's designed to entice people in, but I’ve often found it means things get a bit claustrophobic. Dalí and chums were however committed to immersive revelry. At his 1941 Night in a Surrealist Forest (held as a fundraiser for European artists exiled as a result of the Second World War), guests were told to dress as their favourite bad dream. Local artists transformed a ballroom into a pretty terrifying grotto and real porcupines and bobcats were rented from San Francisco Zoo (because they wouldn’t let him have a giraffe). He went so over budget that in the end, the event didn’t make a bean. I think Dalí would embrace technological advances that deliver more affordable options; at London dining concept Le Petit Chef, animations of food, creatures and scenic wonders are projected onto the tables. Way too interactive for me, I freak out if the menu’s a QR code.
But the winner of most immersive experience goes to George Kessler, who flooded the entire courtyard at the Savoy hotel in 1905 to imitate a Venetian canal. Dinner was served in a garlanded gondola, all staff and guests were costumed, and the five-foot birthday cake was delivered by a baby elephant. Naturally!
Even if you have an elephant planned, it’s important to save it for the big reveal. And be careful not to over-promise on an invitation. One of my most disappointing school days was when we were studying the Romans. We were told to come wearing togas for, AND I QUOTE ‘A Bacchanalian Feast’. I’d forgotten all about this crushing experience until recently, when I was staying at The Newt and had an authentically Roman nice time at their amazing villa recreation. In Year 5, I really believed the head teacher would be feeding me grapes while I reclined on a tastefully upholstered daybed. What actually happened, was an almost completely normal school day, with standard lunch fayre of miscellaneous meat, only we were all dressed in sheets instead of school uniform. AND it was a wet playtime (even more miserable if you’re in a sheet). The school hadn’t been transformed into a frescoed palace and the head teacher was (wisely) off sick.
Children are tough crowds. For my daughter Bunny’s second birthday party, I invited only her five closest friends and ten real live bunny rabbits. They arrived in a transit van with their handler and proceeded to urinate over all my rugs. The birthday girl barely even made eye contact with the wildlife, but I think the rabbits enjoyed themselves. A better bet for a kid’s party is just to wrap your table entirely in brown paper and put crayons next to the cutlery. Better still, do the whole room for full Christo and Jeanne-Claude vibes. I love a DIY approach but when I lack the time or energy, it’s straight to Meri Meri who can supply magical decorations on a myriad of themes with just the right amount of razzle dazzle. And Konges Birthday Trains are the perfect, perennial table centres for anyone aged 0-100.
Homemade can go wrong. For my 18th birthday I spent months lining jam jars with tissue paper, cut into patterns with nail scissors. My lanterns were an attempt to channel the spirit of the Georgian Illuminations – currently the subject of a wonderful exhibition at The Soane Museum. The Georgians understood that something as insubstantial as light is the perfect medium with which to make magic. But my efforts looked makeshift in our suburban garden, and on reflection, my time would have been better spent on A-levels.
I reckon “style over substance” is a compliment in a party situation, and the person who understood that best was Truman Capote. Capote was a famously arch character and never more so than in the planning of his Black and White Ball in 1966. For months he made a hammy performance of the guest list, carrying around a little book, scribbling (and crossing out) names according to his urges and grudges. The dress code, inspired by Cecil Beaton’s racecourse scene in My Fair Lady, made for marvellous monochrome glamour. Masks were compulsory, all the women looked sensational, and the men didn’t have to bother much in their standard issue black tie (I’m looking at you Mr Sinatra). The ones who did bother did it with flair; Oscar de la Renta was resplendent in a full animal head which must have been a bit toasty on the dance floor. The host wore a mask he’d bought for 39 cents from F.A.O Schwarz. A confusing menu of scrambled eggs, spaghetti and meatballs, chicken hash and pastries was washed down with 450 bottles of Taittinger. Cheers!
Golden candelabras, simple white candles and a few balloons were the only additions to the Plaza’s décor. Because who needs spectacle when your guest list glitters? The attendees were so newsworthy, the list was published in The New York Times. A friend, Leonora Hornblow said later, “My memory is entirely of my beauty. I had my hair painted white. I had a mask made with beautiful white feathers to go with my beautiful white hair. I was so glorious I couldn’t believe it” - Capote instinctively knew that the setting shouldn’t outshine the stars; his guests were the decorations. It was a two for one deal that has inspired more copies than any other party on record. "To me, that party’s greater than any of his books." Norman Mailer summarised rather tartly.
I’m a big fan of weird stuff happening at midnight (when Capote had everyone remove their masks with a flourish) because it’s often the point where people start to flag and it’s wise to change the tempo. Consider doing like the Vanderbilts did in 1883 and having a Hobby Horse Quadrille. All you need is a few horse heads on sticks, a belting disco classic and enough guests willing to prance about a bit to lift the mood.
Because perhaps what matters most is atmosphere. My daughter (and I’m pretty sure this is true of all toddlers) is of a disposition which means, if you give her so much as a glass of tap water while sitting on the floor she shouts “PICNIC!” with pure delight. The thing that makes it a picnic in her mind is the proximity of bum to floor, with drink or snack - that’s all you need. At the other end of the spectrum, I’ve been to exquisitely executed events where the art direction cannot detract from the host’s lurking, committed toxicity and the overall impression that they can’t wait for everyone to leave so they can start the bitchy debrief. Maybe the best possible theme is just a gorgeous attitude? How many of us have enjoyed the greatest meal of our lives sitting in an empty room on a packing crate, drinking from a paper cup with only you, the person you have elected to build a future with and the Deliveroo driver? Sometimes, you don’t need any decoration at all, just a bit of imagination.
Lucy Clayton is the host of DRESS:FANCY podcast | @mrslucyclayton
