Perhaps it was the anachronistic use of the term ‘gentlemen’ that finally put paid to the idea of the gentlemen’s club. If only these illustrious institutions had thought to rename themselves ‘cis-male inner-city safe spaces’, we probably wouldn’t be looking on aghast as another centuries old tradition is summarily flushed down the memory hole.
Strange that it’s taken the perpetually peeved a couple of hundred years to twig that gentlemen’s clubs were exclusively designed for… oh never mind, it’s a tough one to fathom I know, especially for all those highly educated Garrick club members who have just voted 60/40 in favour of admitting women, thereby abolishing one of the clubs’ founding principles: providing a plush place for educated chaps to enjoy a laugh or two over pappy prep school style grub and some decent wine.
Gentlemen’s clubs have never been about networking, mainly because members tend to already be at the top of their game
The Garrick’s decision to put female membership to a vote came after the Guardian published a list of members which, surprise, surprise, for a ‘gentlemen’s club’ contains… oh never mind.
The reaction of London’s bien pensant has been predictably po-faced. In an interview with the Today programme Juliet Stevenson, a posho leftist thesp who would no doubt welcome ‘minority-only spaces’, reminded us that for hundreds of years the Garrick has been largely dedicated to the ‘theatre community’ and the ‘arts community’ (note the identitarian use of the word ‘community’) and as such ‘must by definition’ be open to all. Who says it ‘must’ do anything – it’s a private club paid for by its members who presumably knew exactly what they were signing up for.
The actor’s silky Rada tones then shift into social justice salad speak with attendant glottal stops: ‘I mean, what are you doin’, you gonna make ar’[t] or theatre or wha’ever just about the male narrative?’ Erm, has she been to the theatre recently or clicked on BBC iPlayer? And what does ‘male narrative’ even mean?
She goes on to spectacularly misunderstand the purpose of a gentlemen’s club. Yes the Garrick has always attracted arty types but it was never meant to be a ‘hub where ideas are exchanged’ or where ‘discussions are generated about the work we do, who it’s for and where we need to be going with it.’ These are dry exchanges best left for the green room or Socialist Worker fun days out.
During the interview our Juliet assures us that she’s much more interested in exchanging ideas than ‘wining and dining’. Well, if that’s her idea of a fun night out she may be disappointed when she eventually becomes a member of the Garrick. The last time I spent an evening there I got right royally ratted with ex news anchorman and all round good egg Michael Buerk; I don’t remember exchanging many ideas other than agreeing to go on a pub crawl round Soho after a boozy Garrick supper, and jolly fun it was too.
And that is the point, these clubs are chiefly about entertainment. During my brief membership of that other bastion of the old establishment, the Beefsteak, I always found the place to be surprisingly convivial; yes, we were all blokes and yes we all drank too much but only because, for a small additional fee, meals came with unlimited Burgundy. After lunch those who could still walk might stagger over to the Garrick for a snooze followed by a half decent supper.
Contrary to what progressives like to think, gentlemen’s clubs have never been about networking, mainly because members tend to already be at the top of their game. Most members have joined to escape work. At mealtimes Beefsteak members are discouraged from discussing their careers because doing so is considered a bit naff and there are clear rules about not inviting ‘bores’ – sorry Juliet.
The reason so many pillars of the old male establishment have been keen to sign up – often having to wait years – is because gentlemen’s clubs are one of the few places they feel able to loosen the old school tie.
The Guardian dismisses what are essentially upmarket drinking dens as ‘bastions of male elitism’ but they are no more elitist than any other private members club. Yes you need to be proposed in order to join but the idea that these rather beautiful 18th century edifices harbour a cabal of oppressive patriarchs eagerly plotting against women and minorities is for the birds. It is disingenuous of Guardian journos to suggest that these kindly old gents still represent ‘the establishment’, knowing full well that it is they who now rule the roost. Forget elevating male narratives, many of the ancient Beefsteakers I met could barely elevate themselves out of their leather-bound armchairs.
Rachel Johnson, of this parish, has said that women like her don’t need female only clubs and that she would never belong to one anyway because she enjoys, eh-hem, male narratives too much. On the other hand, men appreciate single sex clubs because we tend not to have the same kind of friendship groups as women.
What bad faith Guardianistas fail to grasp is that far from fostering misogyny, the Garrick and its ilk exist simply to allow socially awkward ex-public school boys the opportunity to hang out together without worrying about the female gaze. Boarding school survivors are notoriously hopeless around women.
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