"I simply don't want people in my house. After mentioning the foot traffic, the proximity to my stuff, the general vibes of it all, she admitted, there is a rhythm and reason to the way my fruit bowl is organised, how my coffee table books are placed and how my cushions lie on the sofa. I would hate to be half-cooking, half-monitoring my guests to make sure no one has their feet on my coffee table and everyone is using coasters."
"In the run-up to the festive season there's an abundance of advice around on how to be the perfect host, but I don't think you can learn this. It's the same as sexual orientation something you're born with. Or, in my case, not. I'll always be the tense, sweaty, shrill hostess with the leastess the anti-Princess Meghan and no amount of reading up on tips is ever going to change that."
"The problem is that you go to somebody else's bash and get lulled into a false sense of security because they make it look so easy. How do the relaxed, effortless bon vivants do it? Their home is swarming with people shudder but they're completely laid back and carefree. Laughing, chatting, casually introducing people, making everyone feel welcome and included, but in a calm, discreet way."
Refusing to host Friendsgiving arises from a clear preference for privacy, order, and protection of personal space. Concerns include increased foot traffic, proximity to possessions, and disruption of carefully arranged household items like fruit bowls, books, and cushions. Hosting feels like simultaneous cooking and policing, enforcing coasters and keeping feet off tables. Plenty of seasonal hosting advice exists, but hosting style is presented as innate rather than learned. Observing relaxed hosts at crowded gatherings highlights a personal mismatch: others seem effortlessly sociable while hosting, whereas hosting induces tension, sweatiness, and stress for some people.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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