When it came to fun!, she knew
It was for uplift and derring-do in this season of heightened social pressures that I turned to Dorothy Draper. She’s the kind of gutsy dame you rarely encounter anymore except in old black-and-white movies.
From the ‘20s through the ‘50s, Draper reigned as a New York doyenne of high drama and operatic style. The original mix-and-match interior decorator, she combined the classical with the cha-cha: oversized architectural details, lipstick red with violet, big stripes with bigger florals. Dash and daring were Draper’s signatures: She would cut paintings in two to fit a space, chop legs down on antique tables to make coffee tables, dye Persian rugs. My kinda gal.
Her 1941 book, “Entertaining Is Fun! How to Be a Popular Hostess,” was recently reprinted, arriving just days before I’d firmed up plans for Thanksgiving and way before I’d even begun to think about Christmas. Fun! Now, here was a woman who understood that fun should always be accompanied by an exclamation point. And fun, let’s face it, is the whole point of entertaining -- networking and show-offing be damned.
But straightaway, she let me know that I was being controlled by a “morose little imp” she called “The Will to Be Dreary,” who had forced me into giving myself fretty excuses about why I couldn’t entertain. Too much trouble. Too much time. Too much money. Place not perfect. All my friends are better cooks. Argh, all these dust balls. Forget it. The dining chairs, God, I have bad taste. God, I hate the holidays.
What a tedious fool I am, I was astute enough to observe. I was depriving myself of the most fundamental pleasure of social life: convivial companionship and the sharing of meals in the intimacy of your home. Wasn’t that, after all, the loveliest aspect of the holidays, at least in our loveliest fantasy versions? Not until we’re in the midst of them do we consider the leaking roof or the nephew who hates turkey or the smoldering anger about to erupt again from our sibling who inherited the pickle forks instead of the Meissen china.
I didn’t suffer from the dreariness syndrome until I came to L.A. Because this is an industry town of arrivistes, propelled by getting ahead and staying there, it fosters the game of pretense. The social M.O. is to pretend to be something you’re not until you finally are. You get caught in the trap of trying to impress people, and that sets the bar especially high when it comes to entertaining. So many parties have business agendas underlying them, the true intention of being together gets lost: spending quality time with friends. Not what I was used to.
Compound that with all the kooky dietary restrictions, the tormenting traffic, the parking, the dark, hilly neighborhoods, and you end up with a social construct that’s high maintenance. Is it any wonder that so many of us habitually invent alibis?
Time for Dorothy Draper to set us all straight! Entertaining is not a competition, she would have you know, which is a sorry send-off indeed for a party. No matter how hard you try to keep up with the Joneses next door, there are more Joneses around the corner with newer, faster cars and bigger houses where they’ll give grander parties.
Draper insisted there was only one rule for entertaining that was worthwhile, and, six decades later, I don’t think that rule has changed: “Suit your parties to yourself and they will suit your guests.” (I also think the same rule applies to decorating, if I may make an aside. People want you, not a retail showroom or a replica of a glossy magazine photo.)
No one could possibly give her guests a good time, Draper said, if the party didn’t come naturally to her. How true it is. Gatherings that have made me feel most at home in L.A. and have left me in fine spirits for days afterward are those in which the hosts seem to be simply letting people come take part in their everyday lives -- with extra touches of glamour injected, naturally, almost like compliments. Their pets sleep on the sofa or slop about from room to room. Their kitchens are left in a mess of pots and pans, cheerful and realistic. They play the music they always play and go barefoot if that’s how they prefer to cook. I could stay forever.
A few weeks ago, an acquaintance who had lived in Paris for a long time, a long time ago, said Americans believe in the big event. They’re always waiting. Parisians know there are no big events -- life is made up of details. They consider the mundane act of shopping for groceries a social activity. They talk to merchants, talk to each other. Americans treat details like they’re in the way -- the sooner we’re done with them, the better. But if you don’t do the details right, you’ve missed the whole point. Life is happening right here, right now. You’re not somewhere else engaged.
If we could approach entertaining like the Parisians approach daily life, as a series of divine details and not pesky particulars, we’d almost certainly find out that they add up to the most agreeable sort of circumstance -- a good time in the good company of good friends.
I got what I needed from Draper, if not what I expected: a what for, a wising up and a plan to soon -- really soon, I promise -- throw open my front door (and my heart) to arriving guests, who’ll live my life with me for a little while. I’ll have the best time of them all.
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How to get this party started
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Dorothy Draper knew that a great party required only a flair for enjoyment -- and a few tricks. Here are some of her best.
If you’re timid about entertaining, face yourself: Ask whether you’re going to go through life like a scared rabbit.
Stop thinking about what is or isn’t correct.
Banish the idea that you have to have a lot of money to entertain.
The dullest parties are the ones made up entirely of “interesting people.”
Plan intelligently, and then relax. Nobody can stand a host’s strain.
A clever hostess always has something up her sleeve if a party hits a snag. She may not use it. If she’s really clever, she won’t have to.
It’s the art of creating “that gala feeling” that makes your success as a hostess. Add touches of glamour. Light candles before guests arrive (white only). Play music that doesn’t interfere with conversation.
The party really happens in the living room. Keep lighting soft. Lamps should be large and placed low, and shades should be plain. Most coffee tables are too high and too small. They should be a little lower than the seat of the sofa, and more than half as long.
For extra tables, buy inexpensive nests of unfinished wood. If they’re too tall, “be severe with a saw.” Paint them (perhaps black and gold, or the color of the walls).
The first requisite for a cocktail party is good liquor. The second is plenty of it. Don’t try substituting the first recommendation for the second.
Concentrate the light in the dining room on the table, leaving the rest of the room shadowy. It draws the group closer and makes conversation more spirited.
Dinner napkins should be large, at least 24 inches by 24 inches.
Never hold up a meal for more than half an hour for anyone.
