The Case for A Wes Anderson Themed Dinner Party

Dinner parties are back in fashion. Why wait for chronically late friends in the drafty dining halls of edible commerce—when, faced with late arrivals, you can reheat food in perpetuity at home? Hopefully, you have dutifully expelled tardy friends from your guest lists by now (because I mean… who do they think they are?) and have hosted enough dinner parties that you are now trying to outdo yourself.

Most people tentatively dip their “dinner party toes” in potluck. It only takes five quiches, one salad, and three berry cheesecakes to turn up before one realises that, to do something properly, one must do it oneself. Take control.

The next round of dinner party hosting is usually a simple affair, where the aforementioned tardy excommunicated friends are discreetly blackballed from all future events. The third gathering is a masterpiece of timing, taste, and storytelling. Here, we find ourselves feeling smug with success, rippling with power… and responsibility. To pull it off again, but better. You aim to move worlds. Raise vibrations. Shift dimensions. Blur the lines between reality and tea.Well, my friends, if this is you (and even if you have never shared a digestive biscuit from your couch), you have come to the right place.

The theme for this evening is an immersive experience into the world and mind of Wes Anderson. Now, Wes-Andy (can I call him that? Feels gross… but funny gross… ahem). Wes Anderson’s aesthetic is whimsical, yet direct. Dialogue—meticulously articulated, yet artistically received. Visually stringent in colour palette—and yet somehow expanding for the mind. The characters all seem to reflect one’s inner private dialogues, yet they feel so far from the everyday. Nostalgia. Detail. Quirk and charm. It’s so cool it’s uncool, and so uncool it’s the best kind of vintage.

Second-hand furs.

What are you looking at me like that for? I didn’t kill it. I just bought it off the guy who bought it off the guy who paid the guy to kill it.

Enough gushing. Whether you dig it or don’t, you know you’ve witnessed a Wes Anderson when you see one—and this is the same memorable vibe we shall endeavour to break down to feed your guests. Piece by monochromatic piece. Let’s begin.

Act 1: Put it in writing

The best stories have a beginning, middle, and an end. In the beginning, there was the word… in the form of a written and mailed invite. Yes. Post.

Start off as you mean to go on. In the words of Biggie, “...with style and grace…” Format an invite on cardstock. No less than 300gsm. Textured paper, preferable.

Though the Wes Anderson universe is stringent, it still has many strains. Pick a film. Break down colour schemes and fonts, textures and favourite sayings. If the chosen film were a dessert, what dessert would best represent it? If it were a main? A starter? And so on.

If you find this too much work—at act one, mind you— you are not ready, I suggest you keep on reading for your edification. Save for later.

For the rest of you nodding and taking notes (well done, I love you), lean in. Closer. Let your eyeballs kiss the screen…

Pinterest is your best friend when it comes to this sort of thing, and to make it easier I have attached some pins to get you going when the time comes. Mail the invites in a complimentary envelope or, better yet, an appropriately sized gift box in a padded envelope to avoid crushed corners.

For those of you who want to go one step extra, hand-deliver the invites by your own hand or the hand of another—but ensure the hand is appropriately “gloved… dressed” in theme for extra impact.

“To the windows, to the walls, till the…”The aim of the game is to immerse the audience. Yes, audience. From the front door, they need to get the gist of what time it is. They need to know from the door what we expect from them—as you, in turn, shall outdo expectation.

In keeping with this, recommend to your guests a dress code and colour palette to adhere to. For those of you with theatrical friends, you may even suggest they pick a character from the film to come as. At the front door of your house or apartment, hang a stylised wreath or note with a witty quip or saying to let your guests know you mean business.

For extra points—get a custom welcome mat for the front door (see here for one of ours).

Act 2: It’s your world—they are just living in it…

Let there be light. Lighting is more important than you think in achieving the desired mood.

Cheat sheet: candles.

It must be candlelight. Tape over the ceiling light switch if you must. The big light must stay off. Not for a lost earring back or a dropped fork must it go on.

Table settings—I almost didn’t include this as it is obvious and I didn’t want to insult your intelligence. However, it must be said: table settings must be cohesive in colour and vibe. Napkins, glasses, cutlery, centrepiece.

And another thing. You must, MUST, set out name cards where guests must sit to avoid dead spots on the table. Conversation must flow.

If art decorates space, music decorates time. And in order to have the time of one’s life, there must be music.

Create a playlist in keeping with your theme and vibe ahead of time. Think about how you want your guests to feel at each stage of the culinary production. When they enter—is it excitement or tranquillity? For the starter course—suspense or decadence? Dessert—ephemeral or intense?

Play the music to play your guests like puppets. Though they eat off the well-picked plates, they spiritually eat out of the palms of your hands. And they like it—gluttons.

To avoid lollygagging and coming out of character in the nothingness of small talk and dreary conversations, time your dinner as well as the arrival of guests.

As an extremist myself, I have dictated on a few occasions that all guests arrive at the same time so they may all receive the planned welcome as I mean it to be given. By the third dash to the doorfront as the next guest arrives—I’m over it and want everyone to leave.

Soufflés wait for no man.

I’m not saying I’m popular.

Anyhow—timing. What you can and must control is the flow of food and entertainment. Hire a kitchen assistant for the evening if needs be.

Act 3: All good things must come to an end.

And now it is the end.

I should have written this in the invite section—but for the avoidance of doubt—definitely include an ending time for your gathering.

Make a moment of the goodbye. Tonight is not the night for a descent into politics or celebrity gossip, or worse, the show-and-tell of snotty toddlers and holiday pictures. No. Tonight is the night of staying in the high-mindedness of theatrics and becoming.

Give each guest a parting gift as they leave—to thank them for their time and for putting up with this enjoyable yet highly strung affair hosted by a neurotic, likely neurodivergent host cough.

Watch them leave one by one. Hopefully smiling and high on the perfection of the evening. (Let no one stay behind to help you clean.)

Close the curtains. End scene.

Fin.