Help! I Hate… Artworld Events

Every week, The Art Journal’s resident artworld Agony Aunt Charlotte Jansen answers your questions about access, gatekeeping and sticky social problems.

Have a burning question for her? Get in touch anonymously here.

I hate arriving at artworld events. The sense of dread starts building days before I have to attend a party or dinner.  It has been even worse recently, during the summer party season peak. I get invited to a lot because of the gallery I work with, and I am obliged to show up – but even after years of going to them, I still feel intensely awkward and self-conscious walking into a room. People stare at me, though they rarely recognise me or know my work. I panic and feel like an imposter. Any advice?

My strategy involves standing outside smoking until someone you know and feel comfortable around shows up, and you can go in together. But that would be a very irresponsible thing to suggest. Smoking is insanely bad for your health, and I should really quit (again). Though it has been a really helpful social mechanism for me at times, providing an excuse to step outside or leave the table when the conversation gets dull, the vibe in the room becomes edgy, or you just need a breather. Thinking about it, you could just do that without an excuse or the health risk, and take a break for a moment. I might try that myself.

Honestly, I believe many of us are in the same boat on this one. I feel there are more events than ever in the average artworld calendar these days, and we’re all expected to attend some of them. It’s not like showing up at any old social event, though. There’s a chance you might not know anyone in the room  – or worse, you might end up stuck with  people you usually try to avoid for a whole painfully long evening of small talk. Usually, however, there’s at least one good person to gravitate towards – maybe even a good new person. 

Recently I have tried to tentatively suss out the guest list in advance so that I can at least know who to look out for. As a journalist, this is also essential information when it comes to press trips, where you might be spending a long flight and several days together. People don’t usually mind sharing who else is attending – because they understand the anxiety.  There are other layers of awkwardness to texting someone you know and who you think will be attending, only to get that slightly hurt ‘Well, I wasn’t invited’ message back. (I’ve been the not-invited person more often than the invited – frankly, at this point I prefer it.)

That’s already a hell of a lot of mental load and anxiety before even getting to the thing. Your brain is tricking you into thinking that everyone else arrived calmly and angst-free, which is in reality, probably not the case – they most likely also  did the awkward, slightly panicked scan of the room, until they spotted someone they knew trying not to be noticed and pretending to examine the drinks menu. Don’t mistake other people’s composure for confidence. Things are rarely as effortless as they seem. Internally, I bet half the room is in panic mode.

Treat arriving somewhere as a transition, not a performance. I have young kids. I observe what they do when they arrive at a birthday party or unfamiliar gathering. They do not smile and strike up polite conversation with the host (in fact, they rarely even acknowledge them), nor do they feel awkward about needing a minute to feel comfortable in a space. It helps if there is a pet present. When no-one is expecting anything of them or bombarding them with questions, then they settle in. I try to do the same (I lie, I smoke outside). Why do we need to feel bad about our feelings? You have permission to be and feel awkward – that doesn’t prove you don’t belong, or you’re an imposter. 

You could set yourself a simple arrival routine or ritual – don’t go in and start looking around the room right away, that can be overwhelming. Go to get a drink calmly (alcoholic or not), take your things to the cloakroom if there is one, go to look at an artwork, lean against a wall. Set yourself a small task that soothes your nervous system down and stops you catastrophising. Try to not just reach for your phone (in my mind, that is worse social etiquette than smoking, and makes you unapproachable). 

It’s understandable and relatable  to care about making a good impression. At some point, you’ll get to that moment when you’re not ‘arriving’, you’re just ‘being there’. Remember that too. Trust that the discomfort will likely only last those first few horrible minutes. Get yourself over that threshold.