EVERYONE in the living room drinking alcopops and singing along to whatever tune Alexa has been asked to play; in the kitchen they’re setting up for a beer bong rematch; and there is a sidebar conversation going in the conservatory that was initially about politics but has now turned into a juicy gossip session.
You don’t really know who anyone is, you lost your friend in the queue for the loo and you’re frantically texting them whilst leaning against the wall trying not to make eye contact with the couple getting cosy opposite you. This, for all intents and purposes, represents a typical scenario you might encounter at a house party.
Although a far cry from the red Solo cup-sipping, keg-tapping ′90s American house parties we see in movies, such gatherings have always felt like a rite of passage for young people. But between Covid, an increase in noise complaints, the cost of living crisis, skyrocketing rent and the lack of affordable housing, the house party, in all its sweaty, drunken glory, is sadly becoming something which may soon be consigned to the past.
So much so that in June, award-winning rapper Stormzy opened House Party – a new bar in London’s Soho which has been described as both novel and nostalgic. Have we really reached the point where house parties have become such an alien concept that we need to introduce some sort of synthetic version?
Sadly, there’s no escaping the fact that it’s my generation who are part of the problem. According to a recent YouGov survey, Gen-Zers drink far less than their hard-partying, binge-happy Millennial predecessors, with almost half of 18 to 24-year-olds considering themselves to be either occasional or regular drinkers of ‘alcohol alternatives’ – what does that even mean?
To me, it suggests that somewhere out there there’s a group of students rocking up to one of these dwindling house parties with a case of Capri-Sun… which isn’t as unlikely as it sounds.
The survey also found that this age group was the most sober overall, with 39 per cent not drinking alcohol at all. As it turns out, those £6 pints at the pub aren’t that friendly to the bank balance, and neither are the subsequent late night ‘soak-up’ Deliveroo orders.
I get that there are few things worse than a bad hangover (and it is irresponsible to overindulge) but sometimes the best nights are those funny, lively, slightly crazy get-togethers which often become legendary lore in your personal story canon.
House parties and nights out aren’t just a way of blowing off steam: they are often formative experiences, giving opportunities to test our limits and make new friends – usually in random bathrooms. They bring people together and remain an definitive communal experience in an increasingly individualistic and closed-off society.
The house party, however, is another casualty of social media. It is much too risky in today’s society to send up a balloon suggesting an ‘empty’ house might be on the horizon, as it’s impossible to contain this information once it’s ‘out there’.
It’s also difficult to curb the incessant online content pinging from numerous mobile devices confirming who, what, where and why. Nobody wants a load of randomers turning up at their door, spoiling for a fight and/or wrecking property (or worse).
This further limits the opportunities for relative strangers (or friends of friends) to meet, mix, talk and bond in a real environment with real people. With the increasing risk of drink spiking or, slightly more worryingly, needle spiking, house parties used to be a relatively cheap, fun and generally safer alternative to hanging out in bars and night clubs.
As Forbes magazine recently reported: “Gen-Z are hyperconnected in the virtual world but socially disconnected… Young people are having fewer shared moments and memories.”
Sadly, the decline of the house party represents yet another harsh blow to Gen-Z’s rapidly diminishing social interaction prospects.
