Hosting a Dinner Party Without Any Useful Friends

I love dinner parties.
Not for the food, or the company — but for the sheer performance of it all. The tablescape. The florals. The lingering sense of superiority.
It’s an art. It’s a brand. It’s hospitality with conditions.

6:00 AM — I Wake.

I wake up to the sound of my Range Rover being driven by the nanny to take the little ones to school.

7:00 AM — Meditation and Breakfast

I light a candle from a small local brand Montecito Minimalist and listen to a guided meditation voiced by a wellness influencer I no longer speak to.
Breakfast is a spoonful of adaptogenic moss blend, a ceremonial fog latte- and a side of semaglutide.

I journal: “Today I am a magnet for useful people, scalable friendships, and anyone with a connection to a streaming platform.”

8:00 AM — Flower Market Run

Arrive early to beat the other women with signature scents and six-figure skincare routines. Buy $300 worth of stems that will wilt by sundown.
Feel spiritually aligned with a bunch of blush dahlias and one emotionally stunted ranunculus.

9:30 AM — Yak Cheese Acquisition

Drive to a hyper-seasonal cheese cellar in Montecito that only opens during odd-numbered weeks. Procure two wheels of ceremonial yak cheese wrapped in edible lavender leather. No one eats dairy anymore, but it photographs beautifully.

10:00 AM — Candle Pouring

Craft small-batch beeswax taper candles while listening to a podcast called “My Boundaries Are a Business Expense.” Spill wax. Blame the intern. Keep pouring.

10:30 AM — Guest List

Invite a list of celebrities I don’t know.
Pro tip: Threaten their agents with soft blacklisting. Works best on newer reps still answering their own emails.

11:00 AM — Flower Arranging & First Cancellation

Get a text from Lucia:

“Still grieving the divorce. Not ready for social energy.”
Sweet of her to share.
But honestly, if you're not married to the head of a studio anymore, I don’t know what I’m supposed to gain from your presence.

Politely delete her from the seating chart and fluff a hydrangea.

11:30 AM — Tablescape Styling

Bring in the Tablescape Intern™ and the Cheese Knife Handler.
Discuss emotional palette and narrative tension. Assign place cards. Select china that says “fragile but strategic.”

12:00 PM — Crisis

Discover that the cheese knife is facing west. Fire the Tablescape Intern™.
Re-center the knife. Whisper an apology to the crystals.

2:00 PM — Last-Minute Outreach

Text Devon: He’s “on a stillness sabbatical.”
Ping Allegra: She’s been silent since “the incident.”
Ping again. Still silence.
Consider inviting Lucia-
Tell her I considered her. That’s generous enough. I’m a giver.

3:00 PM — Fromage Folly

Briefly wept, but only because the cheese looked smug.

4:00 PM — Adjust Expectations

Edit menu down to a plate of edible flowers, emotional labor pâté, and one ethically ambiguous spritz of elderflower mist harvested by interns during a silent retreat.

6:00 PM — The Unraveling

Table is perfect. Cheese untouched. Photographer gets the shot.
Post reads: "Tonight was so full, - just not in the way I expected!"

9:00 PM — Closure

Toast to self.
Block Lucia.
DM the cheese cellar about collaborations.

It’s not about being surrounded by friends — it’s about being celebrated.