I Love a Party—Until 10 p.m. Is it Okay to Make an Irish Exit?

Am I old? Am I lame? Do I have to tell my hosts I’m leaving early?

Unlike in my early 20s when I’d stay out until 5 a.m., these days I’m on the early bird party schedule. In the last month I’ve attended two weddings (for some of my dearest friends’ children) and loved them. I loved dressing up, mingling with friends, chatting with new people, the couple’s touching vows, the lively speeches, the multi-generational hang, the flowers, the setting, the music, the toasts, the drinks, the food, the dancing—all of it! Until about ten o’clock, when I began to lose my mojo.

Like Cinderella turning into a pumpkin at midnight, my night has developed a cut off. By ten I’ve expended all my exuberant dance moves and small talk. My feet hurt, it’s too late for cocktails or caffeine and, as an early riser, I get seriously spent. As my friend Krafty says, I’ve lost my charm.

At both occasions I was ready to go home but unsure how to handle it. The celebrating, which would continue joyfully for a couple more hours, needed no help from me. But calling attention to our departure during a high point of the party seemed rude. Liam and I didn’t want to interrupt the fun by initiating a long round of goodbyes, or encourage any of the other guests to leave with us.

Seth Stevenson of Slate describes the conundrum well in his story, Don’t Say Goodbye, Just Ghost.

“Goodbyes are, by their very nature, at least a mild bummer. They represent the waning of an evening or event. By the time we get to them, we’re often tired, drunk, or both. The short-timer just wants to go home to bed, while the night owl would prefer not to acknowledge the growing lateness of the hour. These sorts of goodbyes inevitably devolve into awkward small talk that lasts too long and then peters out. Repeat this several times, at a social outing delightfully filled with your acquaintances, and it starts to sap a not inconsiderable portion of that delight.”

Exactly! If we pulled an “Irish exit”—left without telling anyone—wouldn’t that be less disruptive and more considerate? Amidst all the revelry, maybe no one would even miss us. (“Irish exit” is a somewhat derogatory term for an abrupt, sneaky or tipsy departure. It’s also known as a French Leave, and attributed to other nationalities as well. But since Liam is Irish, I feel okay using it.)

At the first wedding, that’s basically what we did. I told a girlfriend we were leaving, then we discreetly made our way out to the sidewalk to hail an Uber. Other friends eventually noticed we had left, but not until later when things were winding down, and then our confidante let them know we had indeed gone.

At the second wedding, we told our host when we were heading out. He was a bit disappointed, then told us, “Just make an Irish exit, then.” He didn’t want to start the whole lame chain of goodbyes either! So I think leaving an event without saying goodbye really can be a form of politeness. As Seth Stevenson says, “People are thrilled that you showed up, but no one really cares that you’re leaving.”

Despite my early bird tendencies, I don’t think ghosting is appropriate in every situation. It has to be a big party that’s not reliant on my presence. It would be rude to sneak out of a dinner with two other couples, for example!

I love to socialize, connect and dance. And I love my friends and want them to know how much I appreciate being included in their celebrations. So, if I do make an early exit, I’ll make sure to reach out the next day to express my thanks and savor all the prior night’s details.

Wow, is it just me? Is it because I turned sixty? I don’t think so, because many of my contemporaries were out there shaking it on the dance floor until the wee hours. Next time, I’m going to try taking a nap before a big night out. Maybe then I’ll make it up past eleven! In the meantime, a well timed Irish exit isn’t a bad option.

How do you feel about staying out late these days?