The digital disembodiment of our age has wreaked havoc on my generation. It seems like no one can commit to showing up.
Whereas stories of old emphasized the importance of honesty and integrity — of the sanctity of giving one’s word — these old-fashioned virtues of gentility are largely lost on my digital generation when it comes to RSVPs.
The separation between a digital avatar and the person behind the screen is often described in relation to sinister, online crowing. Whether revolting posts on X, jeering comments on Instagram, or good ol’-fashioned cyberbullying on Facebook, many poisonous words typed online would never be said in person.
But you don’t have to be an online predator to fall prey to the digital–personal dissonance. We all experience — and are necessarily formed by — the inherent detachment between online personas and embodied persons. My generation, the Zoomers, had the great disadvantage of growing up in the gap of this separation.
No other generation has spent more time on a screen in the history of the world than Gen Z (thoughts and prayers to Gen Alpha, who will likely beat us). While much work has been done to highlight the developmental blocks proffered by massive amounts of screen time, the mere reality of a digital existence has changed certain behavioral norms forever.
In no avenue is this felt more than with “RSVPs.” The term hails from the French phrase, “répondez s’il vous plaît,” which translates to “respond if you please.” While it’s a genteel phrase, RSVPs serve a critical purpose — anyone who has ever had to plan an event knows that proper preparation is impossible without a reliable head count.
Weddings, perhaps, come to mind most quickly as an RSVP-critical event. With plated dinners, designated seating, and limited space, brides everywhere rely on RSVPs to put on their weddings — and to see if they have room on the guest list for that one, weird colleague after all. For event hosts, there is nothing more nerve-wracking than unexpected guests who arrive, requiring a non-existent extra chair — or guests who never arrive, thus leaving a table half-abandoned.
While weddings may be the most extreme (and expensive) example of the significance of reliable RSVPs, the principle carries across all hosted events. Hosting a lecture or speaker event? You need to know how many chairs should be in the room so that everyone has a seat, but the space doesn’t feel empty. Organizing a bachelorette weekend? You need to know the general budget, how many girls can split the Airbnb cost, and how far everyone is willing to travel. Are you throwing a dinner party? You need to know dietary restrictions in advance, how much food and wine to purchase, and whether the dining room table needs an extra leaf.
Magnanimous hosts, of course, are able to make do in the moment and welcome surprise visitors, or turn a projected party into a small, intimate gathering in the blink of an eye. But going in blind to an event –– unsure of whether five or five-and-twenty guests will appear — is a commoner plight than it should be among my generation.
Most RSVPs these days are sent through the digital sphere. While a wedding invitation may arrive in the mail, the text often directs the reader to RSVP on a personalized website. The rise of Partiful — a sleek, punchy app favored by Zoomers — has transported the bulk of party invitations away from antique outlets like Evite or Paperless Post, which rely on email, to an app that conjures automated text messages.
Partiful users are poked and prodded with “blasts” about an upcoming event via their phone’s messaging system. And even then, folks don’t show up. Or they do show up, with a few extra friends (but without the YOB they were supposed to B).
I don’t mean to speak as though I am immune to this phenomenon — I am as much a member of my generation as anyone. But having hosted many events of the professional and personal variety, I can say this problem is everywhere, and it’s immense.
The cybernated separation of invitee and inviter leaves the former feeling as though their presence isn’t personally called for, as though their “yes,” “no,” or “maybe” has no real weight. But, on the other end of that screen is another person, counting forks and making grocery lists for their impending event.
In the words of our Lord, “Let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No’ ‘No.’”