Party politics: the perils of the office Christmas bash, art-world style

With the arrival of arctic temperatures and Columbia Road carols dominating the feed, December is well and truly upon us. As the festive season rolls around and the onslaught of Christmas parties clogs up our Google cals, it seemed only right to carry out some extensive investigative journalism (an IG close friends poll) and examine the politics behind the parties.

Whenever I think of the office Christmas party, one of two Richard Curtis scenes springs to mind. The first is an image of Bridget Jones blackout on the karaoke machine while the IT department despondently wave their lighters in the air. In the other, Alan Rickman skulks around the gallery in Love Actually while Emma Thompson looks on stoically from the darkened corners of the white cube. While one scene portrays the kind of debauched night out everyone would rather erase from memory, the second hints at the more optics-focused occasion that seems to be standard in the art world. Everyone is there under the guise of ‘fun’ but nobody’s actually letting their hair down. Withering glances abound and subtle slights mix with small talk to create an environment where nobody seems relaxed, but everyone is SO HAPPY TO BE THERE.

I couldn’t tell you what Alan Rickman’s job is – media maybe? – but the gallery setting seems to be the natural home of this appearance-based atmosphere. The art Christmas party, it seems, is simply an exhibition opening on steroids and rather than a chance to cut loose and overdo it on the open bar, it’s the last chance saloon to glean any salacious gossip or strategic insights that’ll see you through into the New Year.

It’s an industry where everything is built on image and reputation, rather than annual performance reviews, so, unsurprisingly, personal perceptions remain the priority. To be too keen is an instant faux pas, with my inside sources warning against being categorised as an over-eager grustler. An element of enthusiasm may get you past the door, but once inside, it’s important not to seem too curious. You must gather information with subtlety and tread the line with understated intrigue. A bit of sceney chit-chat is fine and flexing your intel is to be expected but keeping it chic is paramount – there’s no glory in publicising the grind. Act like you’re meant to be there and aren’t assessing everyone in the room and soon enough the secrets will come to you.

Adding to the importance of optics is the lack of anonymity. Even as a plus one of a plus one, you’re only ever a quick insta-stalk away and the chances are someone at the function could dish some dirt on you. London in particular (my knowledge of life outside the central line is limited) is smaller than you think and when everyone is aware of everyone else, keeping up appearances is paramount. Consulting with an industry insider, we agreed that crashing some corporate party is the only way to achieve anonymity and commit to the bit, otherwise, you’ll always live in fear of your words and actions coming back to bite you on Monday morning.

But it isn’t all backstabbing and information gathering, with one story replier revealing that it was the one time of the year they were able to build “fond and normal memories” with their colleagues and not be so tied up in the PR of it all. Similarly, this level of surveillance depends on the size of the function – for example, a festive lunch of three is far less likely to involve shady behaviour than the dark corners of the packed-out gallery gathering. Equally, there’s a level where none of this matters, where what goes on behind closed doors really stays there and the Gagosians of this world are free to play Aerosmith to their heart’s content. But while most of us are yet to reach these upper echelons, you may have to exercise slight caution, so the occasion won’t come back to haunt you on Instagram.