An introvert’s guide to the ‘season’
The ‘season’ is in full swing. Here, Elizabeth Day gives her tips to get through the small talk
Around this time of year, there are two little words that strike cold, hard dread into my soul: “party season”. Firstly, it’s completely absurd to claim something is a “season” when it has nothing to do with the changing weather. Secondly, there’s the issue of parties themselves. Everyone likes to believe summer parties are fun, but the very best are few and far between. An average party requires an awful lot of faff on the part of the guest. You have to work out what to wear. You have to pretend you enjoy tepid prosecco and undercooked cocktail sausages. You have to make endless small talk. And you must do all this while pretending to have a riotously good time. Still, parties have a perpetual allure, which is why I’ve set my new novel at a phenomenally glamorous 40th birthday in the heart of the British establishment.
But for anyone suffering like me this party season, here is your handy cut-out-and-keep introvert’s Guide to Summer Parties.
Anticipation is the worst part
You know how it is: you’re lying on your sofa, watching Riviera, idly popping cashews into your mouth, and the very last thing you want to do is get up and go to a party. But you’ve accepted the invitation; everyone thinks you’re coming so you can’t really get out of it… can you?
You will inevitably undergo a Manichean internal battle for several minutes, weighing up the pros and cons and wondering whether you can get away with claiming you have suddenly developed shingles. The key thing to remember is that once you’ve shut the front door, it’s unlikely the reality will be anywhere near as bad as what you’d visualised.
No one else is having as good a time as you think
When you enter a party, imagining a room full of nervous wrecks like yourself will enable you to step forward with feigned confidence. Everyone feels a pang of nervous uncertainty in public, even if they pretend otherwise. I learned this when I landed my first job in journalism as a newspaper diarist and was forced to go to parties every night, bowl up to famous people I knew only from Hello! magazine, engage them in conversation and hope that they said something newsworthy enough. What surprised me most was how happy they were someone normal was talking to them, because most of their days were spent in a bubble with their entourage and the only other time anyone else approached them was to ask for an autograph.
The lavatory is your friend
If you’re stuck at a party with no one to talk to it can feel like a public mortification. This is where the judiciously timed loo trip comes in. It is possible to while away many happy moments in the delightful privacy of a toilet cubicle, left alone with your thoughts and your Instagram feed. Escape here whenever necessary.
Learn small-talk
If you’re stuck, there are a few fail-safe conversational openers. Avoid questions that require only a yes or no answer and try something more vague, such as: “So what brings you here?” This is a classic party question because it is essentially meaningless. The quintessential British partygoer likes to talk about a) the weather b) the latest reality television sensation c) the health of the Prime Minister or d) the merits or otherwise of Bob Dylan winning the Nobel Prize for Literature. Feel free to lob one of these conversational grenades towards your interlocutor and see what happens.
Approach the elderly
Most parties have one slightly deaf old dear sitting in the corner, walking stick to one side and a vague expression of wonder on their features. Make a beeline for this person, who will be the most interesting guest. Everyone else will probably have ignored them because everyone else is stupid. You, however, will be highly engaged by their conversation, which comes with decades of experience and the healthy disregard for convention that one acquires with age.
Examine the walls / the flowers
If all else fails, there is always something you can pretend to find fascinating on the walls. Walk around with an expression of purposeful intent on your face and position yourself in front of a painting or family photograph or a shelf of books, and spend some time lost in your own thoughts, perhaps with a slight smile playing on your features. (If you’re outside, find an intriguing plant or flower bed.)
Make your exit
One of the great joys of reaching adulthood is being able to leave parties whenever you want. It’s polite to stay for at least half an hour, but if you want to make a fairly hasty departure, then murmur insistently about having “a dinner” to get to. Leaving early will only make you seem more glamorous. Then, when you’re in the blissful confines of a taxi, congratulate yourself on having survived yet one more party season.
The Party by Elizabeth Day (Harper Collins, £12.99). To order for £10.99 plus p&p call 0844 871 1514 or visit books.telegraph.co.uk