Even though the Garrick Club voted at the start of May to admit women after an incredible 193 years of uninterrupted bro vibes, the issue of anachronistic men’s clubs isn’t going away anytime soon. This week, another posh, male-only establishment – London’s 140-year-old Flyfishers’ Club, based in a grand clubhouse in Mayfair – has come under scrutiny for their policy of not admitting women. Leading female angler and instructor Marina Gibson, who has just written the book Cast, Catch, Release, called out the club – whose patron is King Charles – at the Hay Festival this week. In response, the club’s president, Alastair Collett, told The Daily Telegraph this week that “the matter is under consideration” and may be put to a membership vote.
The existence of a Flyfishers’ Club in central London is curious enough. For anyone not familiar with Mayfair, it is a decidedly land-locked area, with no fish to be found except the £46 sea bass on the menu at Claridges next door. But perhaps just as curious, amid this overdue examination of gentlemanly hegemony, is how little we acknowledge that our own personal gangs, cliques and besties are just as ruthlessly same-sex as the outdated institutions now being scrutinised.
