If you spend enough time in New York City, one’s taste comes down to where they go out to dinner. Your friends talk about how they can’t believe Meredith was able to snag a table at Polo Bar or that James has an extra seat at Carbone if you want to join. Resy, OpenTable, ResX, Beli, Blackbird, inKind, etc. have reoriented our phones around dining out.
Reservations have become more than reservations. They offer proof of social capital by providing a way to communicate adherence towards an agreed upon definition of discernment. When you arrive at a fashionable restaurant, all of the difficult decisions have already been made. As you settle into your chair, the restaurant speaks on your behalf. You move through someone else’s aesthetic more like a tourist than a participant, leaving with photos and a matchbox to display.
Let me pause to say that I have no intention of bashing restaurants—I love them as much as anyone. Instead, I want us to pressure the idea of restaurants as a status symbol… For me, this begins in our living spaces.
You can tell a lot about people by the way they curate their homes. A Matisse poster says a lot less about you than the painting your grandfather made. The collection of your decor ultimately becomes a mirror of yourself, like an Instagram feed that you have to physically invite people into.
Unlike choosing a fashionable restaurant, your living space pushes back against consensus. At home, life intrudes—a catchall of keys disturbs what otherwise would be an immaculate entryway. The guest has room for interpretation in a way a dining room already decoded by thousands of strangers rarely allows.
And let’s face it, curating a space takes thought and effort. Taste requires you to know what you like; hosting requires you to exercise that knowledge. Dining out allows us to outsource creating “a vibe” to someone else, but by doing so, we miss out on an opportunity to express ourselves to others by sharing the things we love.
I want to encourage us to create spaces that tell people what we can’t find the way to communicate about ourselves. To do this requires a willingness to be as specific as possible. Try thinking of your space as a stage for you to communicate your unique point of view.
A great host creates an evening that feels unmistakably their own, while still anticipating what their guests need before they have to ask. For me, this is the ultimate marker of style.
We may have leaned too far into leaving our taste up to other people and places. Instead of searching for the next cool restaurant, what if we tried to create an equally compelling night out for our friends at home?
Hosting makes us stop and think about preferences, know enough about our friends to shop without inquiring, and have more than an array of old beverages shoved into the back of our fridges. Inviting others into your space brings you closer together. Many of my most memorable moments have occurred inside a private place—one that wasn’t bookable.
I want to shift status away from “where people want to be”, and toward “making people want to be where you are”. Should you agree, here’s a selection of suggestions to consider:
Glassware makes a world of difference. The thinner the better.
When cooking, don’t use your guests as guinea pigs. Go with something you’re confident about.
Have a drink you’re synonymous with. This could be Old Fashioneds, Negronis, Martinis, you choose.
Always have music on. It kills awkward silences and tells your guests about you. Pick a playlist and let it run.
Don’t make people ask for another drink. Take note of their glass.
Invite people from different friend groups. The best nights involve an element of the unfamiliar.
People grow tired. Have some way to make coffee. A moka pot or French press is always reliable.
Invest in a proper bar setup. At a minimum, have a shaker, Hawthorne strainer, jigger, and mixing glass. Large ice cubes do matter. Get a set of silicone ones for the freezer.
Have something unexpected. Maybe that’s a new box of cigars, an unusual digestif, or a whiskey outside of the mainstream. In the summer, no one seems to turn down limoncello.
-
Relax. No one will notice the thing you worried the most about. Try your best to remain in the moment and not compulsively scan the room.
