A Tale of Valentine’s Woe: The City Tavern Club
Let me just start with the good part. My good friend Mike got engaged to his lovely girlfriend Monica tonight at Paolo’s in Georgetown. I got to watch this week as my friend went through a lot of the same steps that I did two and a half years ago, visiting the jeweler (Boone & Sons on Connecticut for both of us), talking over settings and stones, stressing about the arrangements and all manner of logistics.
When he invited us to join them in the tap room of the City Tavern Club on M Street, we accepted. I knew that it was not a place I could show up in jeans and sneakers, but I was surprised tonight when I was asked to leave when I merely wasn’t wearing a collar. Sure I had $140 tailored slacks, and a $130 cashmere sweater from Lands End on, in addition to my black Italian-made wool great coat that was a gift from my father at Christmas two years ago. But all I was missing was a $7.50 Polo Shirt from Wal-Mart, as the Tavern Club doesn’t allow patrons without collars.
So, instead of being able to toast our friends on the day of their engagement, we had to settle for a hug and an embarrassed trip back through the club to the street like so much riff-raff.
Never mind that we were guests of a member.
Never mind that we certainly were not shabbily dressed.
But all because I hadn’t had the foresight to wear a cheap-ass polo shirt from Wal-Mart under my sweater… out on the street, riff raff!
So, we will have to take Mike and Monica to dinner some place in the near future, but all of this leaves me wondering: What the hell is the purpose of a place like that in this day and age? Sure there was a time for that, but what purpose is there for me in a club like that? If I can’t go in dressed as I normally do (my winter attire is a nice sweater and jeans or khakis) then what’s the freakin’ point? Surely if they can’t pitch themselves to members of the younger generations (and I don’t just mean Thad, Chad, Lad, Cad and Brad) then they will go the way of the dinosaur. And if they can’t figure out someone who’s dressed appropriately from someone who’s not, then I’ll vote with my feet.



This part of Georgetown wasn’t always so swanky — an old friend from church who grew up in 1950s DC regaled me with stories about how none of the kids ever went to Georgetown back in his youth because it was a slum, and the canal stunk up everything below M Street. Georgetown was just recovering from its days as an early 20th Century industrial center at the time, with factories, mills, rendering plants and a streetcar power station dotting the slope down to the waterfront. But then came the Kennedies, and the Watergate went from literal canal “gate to the water” to swanky hotel-condo-office development, and the mills and stacks and rowhouses were closed down and demolished or repurposed into shops and malls and restaurants and bars, and soon the gentrification migrated down, till the Georgetown we know today — stilleto heels and popped collars and all — filled the space from Glover Park and Social Safeway to the theaters and harbor under the Whitehurst.







