Move over pre-eventing: re-eventing is here and the FOGO is real

I’d imagined it being like the first time. Terrifying, life-changing and intimidating: holding all the nerve-wracking potential of propelling me into heaven or hell. The day approached and with it all the trepidation of a first date: I envisioned saying the wrong thing, the awkward conversations, prying questions and stilted dialogue. On the day itself, I questioned whether I might in fact be falling in love. I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face, my skin aglow, the butterflies in my belly powered the skip in my step. When the big day finally came the clinking of flutes rang so loud, the hugs and handshakes were so vigorous and the camaraderie so frenetic that I realised that, after a long and hard separation, I was getting re-married to society – and the energy of life – instead.

It had been two years since I’d attended anything en masse, and during the doldrums of lockdown, shortly after the luxury title that I’d edited for ten years had been sunk as quickly as the freedoms we’d all previously enjoyed by the tech company that had acquired it, the parties and events that had been a core part of my life before felt like a galactic universe away. Painful memories of invitations from princesses to be flown in private jets to parties overseas, traipsing international red carpets in priceless jewellery loaned for premieres, Cartier goody bags and secret celebrity gigs in Four Seasons hard hat sites haunted me in isolation.

On the night I re-debutanted, the deejay played loud, the cocktails flowed freely, the art (the star) dazzled, nearly as much as the invitees, as I fell in love with society again. To my delight, no one discussed work or what we’d done (or hadn’t done) during lockdown, but rather life changes, family and the joys of conviviality and celebration. That’s how I fell in love with the old normal and found myself, and confidence, again…

I could go on, but I’ve 127 RSVPs to respond to first…