How modern life killed the house party

Libby Connor was about to turn 21 and wanted to throw a house party. A second-year student at Bristol University, she also wanted to be considerate of her neighbours. She warned them a week in advance, assuring them that she wouldn’t get too loud and wouldn’t go on too late. She even baked him banana bread. However, on the morning of the holiday, the council knocked on Libi’s door. They sat her and her housemates down in their living room and told them the party was off limits. At 8pm, a police car was parked outside the property for the evening.

Libby’s experience is just one example of widespread house party murders. House gatherings were once an essential, even crucial, part of adolescent socialization. And yet, my generation, Gen Z, is being lost – and it’s not for lack of trying. Libby tells me that even the most modest gatherings are often shut down in heavily student-populated areas of Bristol. “I went to fewer house parties at uni than I’d hoped,” she sighs. “The most successful ones I’ve been to, with smaller numbers, haven’t lasted more than two hours before being shut down by the police.” As for her disrupted birthday plans, she believes her treatment was a “waste of police resources”.

The slow destruction of the house party has not gone unnoticed. Rapper Stormzy recently opened his first nightclub venture, in fact, called House Party – an immersive experience that recreates a nineties suburban rowdy house, held in a five-storey building in London’s Soho. Why? Because, as he said in a statement, “people don’t have parties at home anymore”.

When I visit, I feel like I’m part of the main house parties depicted in the seminal Noughties teen drama leather. You’d be forgiven for guessing that the country would be full of geriatric millennials trying to relive their prime. But no. The crowd is made up of people in their early twenties, all immersing themselves in an environment they’ve rarely actually experienced. At some point in the night, between getting a fake tattoo on the toilet and singing Sugababes along with strangers, I realize that my generation is completely lost.

How did we get here? Becca Hutson is the editorial director of The News Movement, a Gen Z-led media company that researches youth culture and nightlife. She tells me that a combination of factors, including skyrocketing rents, rising noise complaints and the cost of living crisis are behind the downfall of the house party. “I worry that it’s harder than ever to have fun in general,” she says. “And I also think that entertainment has never been more important. Young people face many challenges. Not having spaces to go out and make memories and meet people is a big, big shame.”

I tell Hutson about Libby’s experience with her failed 21st party. She says noise complaints and general concerns about social disturbance have intensified since the lockdowns, which is part of the problem. “There’s a strong argument that since the pandemic, people are used to things being quiet, so their threshold for noise is lower,” she says. “It is very likely that this will also apply to student housing, with local residents not wanting to fit into a noisier neighbourhood.”

Most parties don’t even get that far. As someone who lived in London for six years, without a living room for four of those years, I never invited friends over, even for dinner. A house party was completely off the tab. And, increasingly, young people are living in cramped conditions or returning home for longer, as the average rent outside London has risen by more than 7 per cent in the past year to £1,223 a month, according to Zoopla.

If you’re one of the lucky ones with enough living space, a house party may not be worth the risk of losing a hefty deposit. “The rental market, especially in cities, for affordable apartments or houses for young people to share is extremely competitive and extremely expensive,” Hutson explains. “So the risk of risking your country for a party will certainly play on people’s minds before they send out the group invite.”

Wait. Aren’t we living in the era of the so-called “puritans”? According to a certain narrative about Gen Z, we should be a whole generation of sober, sober young people, eager to turn our backs on the party culture of our millennial and great elders, rather than follow it . But really, there’s still an appetite to party like it’s 1999.

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According to Michael Kill, CEO of the UK Night Industries Association, young people are socializing less overall because of financial constraints, not because they don’t want to. The organisation’s new research shows that 52 per cent of adult respondents said they could not afford to go out on a night out, with the cost of drinks and clubbing putting people off. As a result of this cocktail of restrictions, Kill says my generation has become more selective about social outings. Instead, Gen Zers tend to save for one-off, more expensive outings like concerts or day-long festivals over a period of several months, rather than going out regularly.

“While the desire to go out remains strong, financial constraints have led to young people preferring things like all-inclusive package nights, activity-driven nights and competitive socializing,” he says. He adds that music-centric events like concerts are what young people are increasingly spending their money on, and that’s only when they’ve reached it.

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I admit that a concert is fun. But there’s a part of me that still mourns whatever nightlife culture my generation lacked. I can’t handle another Saturday night huddled around my kitchen counter, dress in hand, side by side with absolutely everyone I know.