Go Where You're Invited

Some thoughts on the etiquette of hosting and being hosted

I once prepared brunch for a new acquaintance and her family. She never showed up. We had arranged it in person, and I didn't yet have her number, so there was no way to call. After waiting two hours, my hungry kids and I sat down to eat the food I'd worked so hard to make—baked French toast, maple-caramalized bacon, fruit salad, apple cake.

I saw the woman a few days later at the gym and asked where she'd been. Apparently, her kid had hockey that morning. She said she didn't realize theirs was the only family invited, so she didn't think it would be a big deal not to show up. We are still courteous when we meet, but we never made plans again.

‘Cancel Culture’

The brunch-that-never-was came to mind when I watched a video with therapist Esther Perel. She spoke about the rising incidence of people cancelling events at the last minute, with various excuses (some good, some lame) for why they can't attend. Perel described a woman who prepared brunch for six friends, only to have five bail an hour before it was scheduled to start.

There are more than 1,000 comments on her video, many offering heartwrenching examples of similar experiences. One woman described her bridal shower, where a friend's grandmother prepared an elaborate celebration, but 19 guests cancelled the day of. Only one showed up. The woman said it was embarrassing and dehumanizing.

Another described a Halloween party that she spent days planning. It cost a lot to buy the food, decorations, and cocktail mix, then only three out of 12 people showed up. "I felt unimportant," the woman wrote. She stopped hosting events.

One commenter said a friend cancelled by text 40 minutes before she were supposed to arrive, saying she "didn't want to wake her husband up from a nap."

A Glut of Flakiness

I could go on and on with more examples, not just from Perel's post, which clearly hit a nerve, but also from my own experiences. It appears we're living in a time when people don't hesitate to bail on their friends for reasons that range from justifiable to absurd.

This reveals an appalling lack of etiquette that gives zero consideration to what it takes to host an event of any kind. If someone never hosts, then it might be understandable that they don't grasp the effort that goes into it, but surely they can gauge the human impact. No one likes to feel rejected or sidelined, and turning down an event invitation at the last minute feels incredibly hurtful to any host. It essentially says, "You don't matter enough for me to show up."

To be clear, there's nothing wrong with turning down an invitation clearly and politely when you receive it. I'm all for emptying the calendar of superfluous events, especially if you want to focus on other projects. But I take issue with not showing up for good friends, cancelling within a couple days, using a lame excuse, or leaving your RSVP status vague until the last minute.

"Self-care" is often used as an excuse, and while it is important to attend to one's personal well-being, I am not a fan of self-care that marginalizes other well-meaning people. There's a time and place for spending a night on the couch in your PJs, but there's just as much a time and place to show up for the people who want to be your friends—assuming you want friends. This takes effort, but the good news is that you're pretty much guaranteed to feel better afterward. The host will appreciate your presence; you'll feel the satisfaction that comes from meaningful human connection; and you will have earned that quiet couch time after the event.

Unfortunately, I think that smartphones play a big role in facilitating cancellations. It's so easy now to get out of something if your "vibe" feels off or you think there's something better to do, simply by sending a text. You don't even have to call the host and hear their disappointment on the phone. In some cases, you can even blame the host for not seeing the text earlier.

The Gift of Inclusion

Can we take a moment to talk about how wonderful it is to be wanted? To be deemed socially desirable and worthy of a social invitation? The antithesis of that—social ostracism—triggers the same regions of the brain as physical pain, which is why some people fear it more than death. We are hardwired to want to be included, so why reject the opportunties when they arise? Imagine how much worse you'd feel if the invitations never came.

My Hosting Guidelines

As a highly social, extroverted person who hosts dinners and parties on a regular basis, I've developed a few boundaries for myself over the years.

First, no Facebook events. People don't take them seriously; they feel too impersonal. Seeing the guest list is a weird concept, too. A person's attendance should not depend on who else is going; it should be about whether or not they want to spend with you, the host. People can post cancellations publicly on Facebook, and these are contagious. As soon as one person bails, it gives permission to others to do the same—and this casts a shadow over an event.

Instead, I create guest lists on my phone and contact people directly. If I haven't received a firm answer a week before, I follow up to finalize numbers. It takes more work, but people appreciate getting the direct invitation. It feels more personal, less like they're just being invited to meet a desired quota.

The only exception is my annual ladies' bike tour event, which usually has 20+ participants. Facebook is the best platform to manage the logistics of that moving party. However, I always state that anyone who RSVPs with "Maybe" is considered "Not Going." Otherwise, it's impossible to plan.

Second, there's a limit to the number of invitations I will extend that get rejected before I decide not to keep pursuing a relationship. That number is somewhere between three and five, but not carved in stone. I figure that, if a person can't show up several times in a row, they probably don't want to hang out with me, and my efforts would best be directed elsewhere.

Relatedly—and this is a tough one—there needs to be a hint of reciprocity, at least eventually. I don't invite people over with the expectation that they'll do exactly the same for me, but a healthy relationship does need an element of mutual investment to feel sustainable.

For example, there's one couple I've hosted at least 15 times, but I've not been invited to their home, nor have they suggested any other place or activity for us to do jointly, such as going out for dinner together. I've reached the point of deciding not to keep including them because it feels like all take and no give.

By contrast, I have a friend who lives in a small apartment that cannot accommodate guests, but she does an impressive job at initiating other activities—walks, coffee dates, joint workouts, beach hangouts. There's no ambiguity about her desire to connect.

Lastly, it's so lovely to receive a follow-up text the next morning that says something like, "Thank you so much for having me. That was an amazing meal. Had a ton of fun!" It makes all the work feel worth it. I now make it a rule to do the same. An event is, after all, a gift, and gifts require gratitude.

My observations have been distilled into a short phrase I repeat frequently to my kids: Don't be a flake! In a world rife with unreliability, be the one others can always count on to show up when you've said you will.

You Might Also Like:

• The Forgettability of Sameness

• On Supercharged Socializing

• Wonder, an Antidote to Despair

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