Of all the aspects of my job that fill me with dread (and as a senior executive in the sexist world of finance, there are quite a few) there is one horror like no other.
It appears without exception every year and what makes the whole mess that much harder to endure is that some poor fools actually think it’s funny.
Yes, I am referring to the Office Christmas Party (OCP). Let me tell you, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can even come close to the exquisite torture of this event.
This is not a reprimand from the CEO. Not even a failed deal or a loss of client. Subsisting late into the night on pizza and coke (the soda variety) to close a deal? Not even close. And just to add a hint of irony to it, while I suffer through the whole farce, I have to pretend that I’m enjoying it.
It wasn’t always like this. As Mail columnist Sarah Vine says, the point of the OCP was to let off steam, hook up with someone you secretly liked, tell bosses what you thought of them and generally indulge in bad behaviour. What could be better? It was as fun and guilty as a raunchy episode of Rivals.
Not anymore. Half of all UK businesses are reportedly canceling Christmas parties due to cost and human resources concerns. A new Worker Protection law means employers could be exposed to unlimited fines if staff get frisky at the festive party.
How sad, but in the financial industry the true glory days of the OCP faded with the great crisis of 2008. Before that, excess was expected, if not encouraged. After that milestone, we had to walk around pretending we were wearing a hair shirt. Covid did the rest.
Today, the OCP, if it exists, is simply another way to climb or stay on the greasy pole in yet another economic downturn, induced by our Labor masters.
Half of all UK businesses are reportedly canceling Christmas parties due to cost and human resources concerns.
The only reason not to cancel our OCP completely is loss of prestige. In my company, each department has its own task and canceling it would be taken as a sign that our team had a bad year.
And that would be giving my male competitors ammunition on a plate. We’re talking about men who talk over me, interrupt before I’ve barely said a word, or insist on addressing my (admittedly impressive) cleavage instead of having a conversation.
I certainly don’t want those people speculating and flitting around like vultures. Also, I may not like the Christmas party season, but I’m good at it. This is not so much the age of goodwill as a time when subtle maneuvers to overcome opposition – in my own company and beyond – gain strength.
Women, in my experience, are much more expert than blunderbusses in the dark art of social calculation. Like many of us, if we’re honest, I honed my skills in school. Most of the girls in class 4A were lovers of belittling and passive aggression. It’s all very useful 40 years later.
My job is very social, not only in December. No matter the time of year, if I’m at an event, I have a plan of action. My goal is always the same: show as much status and power as possible and make small talk for business.
I want to be at the top table, next to the most important man (it’s almost always a man) in the room. That’s where being a woman for once is an advantage. There are so few of us that the mere fact of my femininity often gives me the best seat, even if I am not the highest ranking. It doesn’t matter if they put me there for decorative reasons or to give an impression of “diversity”, once I’m in, I’ll take advantage of it.
Yes, it’s all a bit silly at heart, but success in my profession depends as much on knowing the right people as it does on mastering the numbers. If I didn’t care about things like the OCP, I’d be in the wrong job.
We all pretend that the Christmas party is an opportunity to relax and bond with colleagues. In reality, every detail, no matter how small, is calibrated to send signals to the team and the rest of the company.
“The Christmas party is a high-stakes political theater, in which everyone plays a role, whether they realize it or not, and the outcome can be explosive,” writes a financial executive
It starts with site selection. Simply choosing a really expensive place would indicate that you’ve had a good year, which may or may not be true. But that is not enough.
The place has to be stylish, yes, and also edgy enough to show that you’re trendy, without being in actual Hackney.
Then, in my case, there is the expense and nightmare of the evening dress, a headache reserved for executives. It has to be glamorous, but professional enough to deter any man drunk or foolish enough to imagine its possibilities.
Then there’s the seating plan. This is a work of intricate choreography designed to convey to everyone whether they are in favor or out of favor.
In other words, it is a political theater in which the stakes are high, in which everyone plays a role, whether they realize it or not, and the outcome can be explosive.
Not understanding these realities can be catastrophic. A few years ago, when I was number two in another department, my then-boss mentioned that the boss of a rival team had suggested we host a joint Christmas party.
Instinctively, I became furious and warned against doing such a thing, which I interpreted as the first step in a probable seizure of power. My old boss thought I was being paranoid.
As it soon turned out, my suspicions were completely justified. Our party’s invasion turned out to be the opening salvo of a coup attempt. The intruder was ultimately unsuccessful, although it created much distress before trying his tricks again elsewhere.
The outrageous antics that made OCP a guilty pleasure in the past are now just gigantic risk factors that make the event stressful for any boss.
Nowadays people are more cautious, but there is still the risk of bad behavior after the fourth or fifth glass, or of a surreptitious line of coke; yes, it still continues.
The only difference between now and the ’90s is that people got away with things then.
I still remember a party in the mid-90s where a very elegant and polite former colleague was staggering home. He took a shortcut down a city alley, where he ran into – literally – two asset managers, both married, having vigorous sex outdoors.
In true British style, he apologized to them, although he couldn’t resist spreading it around the office the next day. After all, chivalry has its limits. Everyone thought it was tremendously funny and the couple became an official topic.
At a boat party on the Thames, also in the 1990s, a prominent customer in his 50s got drunk on cocaine, started dancing like daddy, and then pulled the boob tube down on a much younger guest, who I wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. . There was a lot of gossip about it, but there were no repercussions, although in reality there should have been.
At another event, a money manager went crazy and decided it would be a good idea to find out what two Scottish guests were wearing under their kilts. The answer was revealed to be boxers, which he seemed to find disappointing as he proceeded to spank their bottoms, quite forcefully. They weren’t amused, but no one officially complained.
Some veterans of our industry don’t seem to have noticed the tide of unease that has enveloped almost everything.
That includes one of our top executives who insists on giving a speech at every Christmas event.
Over the years he has managed to annoy everyone. His gems have included speculating about who will be the first person to be fired in the New Year and suggesting a woman would be shot-married. But it has become an annual ritual in which people expect to be insulted, like the hapless guests of the late Dame Edna Everage.
Personally, my worst moment was in the 2000s, when another fairly old-school guy who used to be on the team drew my name on Secret Santa.
He left, went to see Ann Summers and bought me a merkin. I unwrapped the package in front of everyone at the OCP to reveal a triangle of nylon fluff threaded onto a thong.
Determined not to show embarrassment while everyone laughed out loud, I pretended to be amused.
Yes, I was offended. But if you can’t offend your colleagues, friends and family at Christmas, when can you? December in the City is no time for snowflakes. See you at the party…
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