Embracing "Scruffy Hospitality"
The benefits of hosting in a messy home
A couple of years ago, I was picking up my daughter from school when she asked if a friend could come over. Though I’m usually a planner, I was happy to oblige. We had a free, sunny afternoon and this was a new friend who had recently moved to town. I invited the mother and her two kids to come by for a bit and headed home to meet them.
I arrived first and stepped into the house, suddenly viewing it with “guest eyes.” The build-up of simply living in our home, which I clearly had not registered when I left the house less than an hour earlier, was starkly apparent. While our house is never immaculate, on this day it was on another level. Dishes were still stacked in the sink from breakfast and empty snack wrappers sat on the kitchen counter alongside piles of papers and school projects. Toys were scattered across the living room floor. The couch was covered in the detritus of recent birthday gift unwrapping.
As I considered a last-minute cancellation, our new potential friends arrived at the door. “Sorry about the mess!” I smiled and shrugged, welcoming them in. As casually as possible, I relocated a crumpled piece of yellow tissue paper from the couch, making space to sit. “Want a seltzer?” I offered, hoping to redeem some of my hospitality cred.
The kids, entirely unphased by the mess, ran off to play as we sat and chatted. By any other measure, the afternoon was a success. However, the next day, I hadn’t quite moved on. Though I’ve never placed a high value on tidiness, something about this particular combination of extreme mess and first impressions was weighing on me.
I stopped the other mother the next morning at school drop-off. “I feel like I need to have you over again. I’m so embarrassed about the state of our house yesterday,” I said sheepishly.
“Actually,” she replied, “it was refreshing.” Apparently, my messy house had released some of the pressure she had been feeling, especially post-move, to get her house in perfect condition before having anyone over.
As it turns out, there’s a name for this brand of less-than-picture-perfect hosting: scruffy hospitality. I came across this concept in Oliver Burkeman’s recent book, Meditations for Mortals, a philosophical, yet practical guide to managing our limited time. In many areas, Burkeman encourages practicing “imperfectionism” in service of prioritizing what matters. When it comes to hosting, scruffy hospitality allows us to do just that.
Originally coined by John King, a priest in Knoxville, Tennessee, scruffy hospitality is the idea of welcoming others, no matter how your home looks or what food you are (or are not) serving. In his blog post, King shares that the days-long list of tasks he and his wife undertook prior to hosting was effectively stopping them from inviting friends over in the first place. They decided to eschew expectations of “hospitality with excellence” in favor of a more practical, scruffier version.
Even if the house was a mess and they only had time to warm up a packaged dinner from the freezer, they would extend the invite anyway. In doing so, they discovered a benefit beyond simply less housework. Opening their home in a more authentic way allowed for deeper connections. King writes, “Friendship isn’t about always being ‘excellent’ with one another. Friendship is about preparing a space for authentic conversation. And sometimes authenticity happens when everything is a bit scruffy.”
In sharing King’s concept in Meditations for Mortals, Burkeman takes the idea a step further, bringing a guest’s perspective to the table. While low-effort entertaining helps the host – less work and more authentic time with friends – it might also be helping your guests.
This was music to my people-pleasing ears. When I welcome friends and family into a messy house or order take-out (again) instead of cooking for a crowd, the best I am hoping for is a lack of judgement. However, it seems I may be doing more than I think. Burkeman writes, “If I noticed crumbs or stray letters visiting friends, I’d feel obscurely privileged, as if I’d been granted the VIP access pass to their lives, so we must really be friends.”
Burkeman further suggests that opening up your home as it is might even make your guests feel better about their own homes, which are most likely in a similar state of disarray. Despite what social media would have us believe, picture-perfect homes and Insta-worthy meals are not reflective of the way most of us actually live. While it can sometimes feel nice to spruce up before guests or prepare a feast, it should not be a requirement for companionship.
Reframing minimalist hosting as a helpful gesture might just be the permission I need to let go of any guilt and extend that invite without overextending myself. Realistically, I probably won’t be able to help myself from doing a quick once-over before company arrives, but we might be sharing togetherness and conversation over pizza in a cluttered kitchen. And if you invite me over, no judgement here.
Some Good Stuff
A good recipe: Beach Bean Salad, from Smitten Kitchen. This easy summer meal is on my to-make list. I would add a baguette and call it dinner (saving some plain roasted peppers and beans on the side for my pickier eater).
A good read: Every Food Collab Now Is Completely Bonkers, from Eater
A good idea: Should we all be doing this? I Share Grocery Shopping with a Mom Friend & It’s Changed Everything, from Romper
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