A few weeks ago, I went to a 30th birthday party, now considered by many to be the new 21st. A bar had been hired in Notting Hill with a minimum spend of £1,000. With London drinks prices and 50 people on the list who’d confirmed their attendance, this should have been very achievable. Except only 15 of those people turned up. The birthday girl had to pay the excess cost herself. She said it was fine, but you could see the disappointment in her eyes – that some of her closest friends had bailed with no explanation.
This is just one instance of the inclination towards flaking among my generation that is forming a wider friendship epidemic. When I returned home, I told my housemate of the no-show disaster. She in turn regaled me with a tale of how someone she knew bought 200 pairs of headphones to host a silent disco to celebrate the start of their third decade, only for around 25 people to actually make an appearance. Needless to say, she’s now too scared to host a 30th of her own, such is the fear of a vacant dancefloor.
