The politics of dinner party dressing
Kitchen suppers, bring-a-plate dinners and curated mixers are the new dinner parties. But what on earth do you wear to them, asks
Nobody has dinner parties any more, apparently. Or at least, nobody calls them
dinner parties. We have kitchen suppers (no starters, one pot mains, brownies for pudding); or serve sharing plates in the garden, or just do “bits” from the deli.
The problem with these unclassified “gatherings” is that no one knows what to wear any more. Do you wear a frock and heels, only to find that you’re sitting in the kitchen eating crisps and hummus, and Nigel’s put the washing machine on a three-hour spin? Or do you wear jeans, because it’s 5pm on Tuesday, only to be presented with homemade sourdough and whipped butter?
“Dinner parties have changed in that they are less stuffy and – hopefully – less about impressing,” says Fiona Leahy, event designer and creative director, who has planned dinners and parties for everyone from Louis Vuitton and Dior to Damien Hirst. Though firmly against phones at the dinner table, Leahy credits social media for reviving interest in hosting dinner parties of all sorts. “Group gatherings have become more normalised. A kitchen supper is less formal, but if you’re having a candlelit drama affair for 12 on a Friday night, that’s an occasion to dress up.” If the invitation wasn’t clear, consider the night of the week – Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays suggest smarter – the host, and their home. “If the host is super casual then you can take a cue from that, but if they love to dress up, I wouldn’t show up in jeans. Think about whose home you’re going to visit, and what they would expect.”
Leahy’s dinner party look is “a floor length dress, usually in silk, or a jumpsuit. If I’m hosting, I like long and barefoot, I like to look like a chatelaine. I love a good apron too and sometimes make my own.”
There are some benefits to the casualisation of the dinner party – namely, less pressure on the host. My experience of hosting a proper “dinner party” verged on scarring; I chose to mark my birthday with nine friends and nine Ottolenghi dishes that called for ajwain seeds and baharat and moghrabieh. It was gone 5pm by the time I’d made it out of Waitrose; dinner wasn’t at the table until 10, the sea bass undressed, the hazelnuts burnt, the chicory still in the packet.
Sam Taylor, editor of The Lady magazine, notes the “rise of ‘fake bake’ food – delicious dishes bought at the designer deli and then passed off as the host’s own”. Equally common, she says, are “men colonising the kitchen and showing off with a spatula”. And, in my experience, using every single
‘If the host is super casual then you can take your cue from that’
pan, chopping board and utensil in said kitchen.
Even so, Taylor would always recommend dressing up, rather than down – her go-tos are a vintage dress and an up-do. And while she doesn’t set a dress code for her own dinners, here’s a note for any chaps on the guest list: “Men in ‘tycoon wear’ jeans with pressed shirts make me squirm.”
Shoes can be tricky, since heels often feel just plain wrong in someone’s home. For a stylish, carpet friendly shoe, try velvet smoking slippers, or this season’s backless loafers (at the suggestion of Lisa Armstrong, our fashion director). If you can’t bear to wear flats, then make sure your heels are of the stacked variety. No one will thank you for a stiletto, even a little kitten one, which will pit laminate or parquet floor.
There is, however, always the worrying possibility that you’ll be asked to take your shoes off inside. Avoid stockings, which will get grubby and ladder on rough floorboards, and remember matching, non-novelty socks if you’re wearing boots. Otherwise, make sure your bare feet will withstand light scrutiny – there’s no point going for a blow-dry if you’ve got cracked heels.
Of course, you can always argue the shoes-off diktat if you really can’t stand it (and think your friendship with the host will survive). Taylor is firmly in the shoes-on camp. “It’s not nursery school. Stockinged feet or socks say car keys in a bowl.”
Tamsin Lonsdale, founder and creative director of The Supper Club, credits modern changes to the dating landscape with revived interest in dinner parties. “The proliferation of dating apps has left many bereft of the genuine, warm, inclusive social interaction that we all need.” There’s no “come as you are” fashion on her watch, as Lonsdale believes a dress code sets the tone for the evening. Her “curated” guest list is expected to look sharp; “Improper dinner party attire is poor etiquette and may result in removal from the invitation list,” she says. “I have a vintage red Prada cocktail dress which I wear with nude Stuart Weitzman heels, sparkling diamond earrings and red lips – the hostess should set an example.”
If you’re really not sure of the dress code, there are a few safeguards that will help if you get there and you’ve really misjudged it. As you’ll be seated at the dining (or kitchen) table for most of the evening, pay attention to your outfit from the waist up. Layer a silk camisole top under a jumper and a tailored jacket. If it’s a hummus dinner party, lose the jacket, and if it’s a vol-au-vent party, lose the knit and wear the cami under the blazer. Pack dangly earrings, a hairbrush and some bobby pins in your bag – hair down, no earrings for casual, twisted chignon and earrings for formal.
Finally, either bring two bottles of good wine (after a few glasses, nobody will care what you’re wearing anyway) or a bunch of white flowers and a box of chocolates/baklava/turkish delight. Since the host is often a bit tipsy by the time they’re supposed to be flambéing peaches, bringing a pudding is a kindness – so they’ll be more likely to overlook any dress code mishaps. The dinner party is dead – long live the dinner party.
As you’ll be seated for most of the night, focus on your outfit from the waist up