The Gay Emily Post

Everyone always says that work doesn’t feel like work if you’re doing what you love. This alarmed me for so long, as jobs that include taking Instagram pictures and getting stoned in bed seem to be few and far between.

Last summer, I avoided employment altogether in favor of gallivanting. The summer before, I had been grounded for a credit card bill that might even astonish the world’s first trillionaire, and worked the entire summer doing historical research in Southampton, so I wanted to take last summer as my last summer of pre-employment enrichment – to do things such as drink rosé at 10 a.m., and go to London for three weeks with my USC friends to “study.”

This winter, as all of my college friends were talking about internships at big companies and investment banking recruitment, I knew the time had come for me to face the economic reality that I wanted money and thus needed a job.

In April, my mom told me that she had read something in Emily Sundberg’s Feed Me about a social media internship for Dear Annabelle, a stationery company on the Upper East Side.

“No, Mom,” I told her. “I want to work in a newsroom and/or scrub Bari Weiss’s toilet bowl!”

“Well,” she replied, “It’s spring break, and unless there is something I don’t know, I have heard of no offers for a newsroom or a CBS toilet cleaning job.” She was right, unfortunately.

I have been an avid lover of stationery my whole life. When I was born, my parents custom-designed stationery with my name on it and some blue trains across the top. I am not sure why, as most infants cannot write.

Still, my parents imprinted on me from a young age the importance of handwriting, a personal touch in such a digitized world. That stuck with me — I always write a thank you note, a birthday card, or an invitation. My penmanship is absurdly beautiful despite what my mom says, though I can understand why some of my 20-year-old peers cannot translate my Palmer cursive. Unless something is written in a font available on Instagram, it’s completely illegible to many of my contemporaries.

So, I applied to Dear Annabelle. After interviewing with Marcie Pantzer, the company’s CEO and founder, I was offered the job. I was absolutely ecstatic.

Some behind-the-scenes at Dear Annabelle.

I started on June 1, and immediately got to work. I began making TikToks, videos, Instagram carousels — and I realized that the age-old saying was right: It did not feel like work because it was so fun! Even if the job doesn’t officially include getting stoned, it does include Instagram pictures. I choose to look at things glass-half-full.

I realized that I was not spending my days making content for a stationery company — I was thinking about why these rituals that call us to take pen to beautiful paper still matter.

This Substack is by no means an advertisement, but I am a genuine believer in the products.

One of the tasks that Marcie assigned me was writing about etiquette and how and when to use stationery.

I hosted my very own dinner party using Dear Annabelle’s place-cards and holders (I used generic cards, but my favorites are the Superlative set), and it was so much fun. The stationery component really gave my table the feel of that special touch. Which got me thinking.

My stunning product-placemented Dear Annabelle dinner soirée.

I grew up summering — as one does — in Tuxedo Park, New York, a historic community (literally, it’s listed on the National Register of Historic Places) just an hour from Manhattan. Among its famous dwellers, past and present — J.P. Morgan, Whoopi Goldberg, Albert Einstein, and, of course, Katherine Rosman — was Emily Post, widely regarded as the mother of modern manners as presented in her columns and foundational 1922 book, “Etiquette.” Many of her norms, despite becoming increasingly absent from society, have remained largely intact in Tuxedo Park. I am not sure how she would respond to the rumors about swingers that have followed Tuxedo Park throughout my lifetime. Perhaps she would just raise a finger to her lips and whisper, “Discretion, young man.”

This all got me thinking: Where is New York’s gay Emily Post? And then I looked up from my computer at the mirror hanging above my desk, and I realized: There he is.

So, as the newly-crowned Gay Emily Post, here are my top three rules for parties:

1. Always Write It Down — I truly believe that there is nothing more touching than a thank-you note or any handwritten letter in the mail. Every single day, I check my mailbox, and it’s all the same: reminders of my jury service delinquency, donation solicitation for a museum in New Hampshire I went to once while at intensive-therapeutic summer camp, and invitations from United Airlines to vacation places I can’t afford. When I see hand-marked penmanship on a beautiful euro-flap envelope, perhaps from Dear Annabelle’s Naughty collection, I immediately think two things: 1) Am I being Anthraxed? 2) What a beautiful touch! Many of my friends keep scrapbooks and shoeboxes full of these such personal touches; perhaps your birthday party is fun, perhaps it is chaotic, perhaps it is entirely mundane, but it is sure to never be forgotten nor unappreciated if it is followed by a hand-written letter. There is no investment greater than in one’s relationships.

2. RSVP Like Your Mother Raised You — When a host sends out an invitation, they’re not asking for your life-story about how you might have to go golfing with your great-uncle or if their friend in Virginia really wants them to come (Alanna, I’m looking at you). They are planning who sits where, whether they need an 8-inch or 10-inch cake, how many bottles of wine are needed to keep everyone drunk and nobody vomiting, et cetera. They may have even filled out a Piece of Cake invitation with your name on it. Your host is taking time out of their own busy lives to entertain and foster an atmosphere of enjoyment for you; to act as if they are doing you a favor and expecting them to be infatuated by your other plans is not only irrelevant, but it is rude. If you can go, then RSVP “yes” promptly. If you cannot attend, RSVP “no,” and ask the host if there is another time you can celebrate together. If you do not know if you can go, at the very most, thank your host for the invitation and say you will let them know as soon as you can. It’s not that hard, people.

3. Gratitude Is The Only Universal Language — No matter where you are, gratitude is universally understood. In Japanese culture, one might bow. In Hawaii, some may offer a lei. In India, palms might come together in namaste. Regardless of language or culture, everyone understands and appreciates gratitude. If attending a party, bring a bottle of wine or flowers. At my dinner party, my friend brought me a matchbook. I do not need a matchbook, but now I have one, and whenever I see it in my bedroom, I think of my friend’s kindness and graciousness. If hosting a party, send thank-you notes for whatever gifts you might receive or simply for attending. For the matchbook gift, I thanked my friend with Dear Annabelle’s Gratitude notecards, as seen in Vogue. There is no better way of making someone feel appreciated than being thanked with style.

I know that it has been quite long since my last Substack, but my mom told me that if I don’t start writing again now and, more importantly, keep writing, I will have squandered an opportunity. (Nobody will want to read a washed-up, post-graduate’s existentialism, my gentle, never-critical mother has told me.)

So, to my loyal fans: I am back, Prob offensive is back, and the Gay Emily Post has been coronated.

With Love,

Ari