London is, in so many ways, the same old playground for its Bright Young Things as it was for the dandy poets, painters and photographers of the Twenties and Thirties. They can still leapfrog through Selfridges, have treasure hunts across town, attend circus-themed parties and use petrol to set fire to the Thames. With the exception of the latter, it is no stretch to imagine the city’s golden girls and guys finding a great deal of joy in all of the above today: fuelled by drinks, ‘party accoutrements’ and general debauchery that never have and never will go out of vogue.
What has changed is who gets a shot at joining this merry gang of glass-skinned, party-hopping, ‘look at you!’ shouting socialites — with their respective side hustles, still of poetry writing, painting and photographing, but also of modelling, party hosting and influencing — in the first place. I was asked to congregate the cream of the let’s-meet-at-the-Saatchi-private-view-and-go-from-there-yeah crop with a week’s notice, and fired off invites for a Thursday evening accompanied by the company card. One photographer, two photography assistants and nine devastatingly attractive kids you’ve probably never heard of (but might well know their parents’ names) came together. What could possibly go wrong?
