ecemberistan is a Pakistani phenomenon. It’s a winter event attended by 90 percent of the elite in Karachi. The other 10 percent is either lucky enough to be travelling or busy pretending they absolutely do not care if they weren’t invited to Popsie’s daughter’s sundowner.

There is much to love about winter in Karachi. It is festive, it is happening, the air is dry and static, and the city definitely does not sleep at night. But while we love, we also hate. And unfortunately, the hate list is longer than the love list.

Top of the list is expats. It’s the Christmas holidays, therefore the influx of people who are doing so well abroad. Not complaining, it’s always nice to see faces other than the usual ten or 20 in your bubble. The downside though, is that they seem to infiltrate all the usual haunts. One cannot get a table at the beloved Test Kitchen for brunch. The car is usually unavailable because your out-of-town guests have taken the Vigo/Audi/Range Rover (or any other obnoxious karachi car) to Okra for lunch. Salon appointments are also difficult to get as they are too busy doing Kitty and Lily’s roots.

Number two on the list are the fake complainers. We always come across the whiners lamenting about the hundred or so places to be at. The hundred events they have memorized and clocked into their brain to just ‘have to show face at’. Secretly loving it and thriving on it, wedding season is oxygen. Everyone wants an invite; some will go to great lengths to acquire it, and will travel cities or fly across seas for the big destination wedding.

I love the concept of a shendi, but of course in our country what is a shaadi without a milaad? And then a dholki after that to lighten the mood. A small mayun thrown in can do no harm. And we must have a gaana so all and sundry can blame their buzz on the spiritually hypnotizing effect of the qawwal.

This brings us to our third number on the list; the buzzed. Like the expats, or seven dwarves, they come in various styles. Smelly, Giggly, Shaky, Huggy, Weepy, Confessy, and I-Don’t-Have-A-Ridey. Parking lots at the end of late-night parties end up looking like post-apocalyptic zombie horrors with these guys trying to figure out what to do with their existence.

For the ones who survive the night unscathed, there will always be hashtags for #thebestnightever. What’s the point of socializing if you cannot publicize it? Phones must always be charged to post Instagram stories worthy of a documentary on the night life bubble in Karachi.

Themed parties, so fun when you see Gen Z dressing up for a Miami Vice party. They will only wear white, maybe if they ever watched the show they would know Tubbs never wore white and always wore a suit and tie. Gatsby parties are another great favorite and a totally acceptable theme for a four-year-old’s birthday party. Such a delight to see little girls dressed as ‘20s sirens.

We are a well-brought-up nation. We must always say salam to aunty XYZ at every function only to be met with impertinent questions or statements targeting a) body type b) relationship status and/or children (if one is lucky/unlucky to be married) c)(if single)reasons why you are single and your fragile heart. It would be a different world if Vigilante Aunties did not exist.

This brings us to our last and final reason to not love party season. Everyone is broke by the end of it. Really didn’t think a Maheen Karim dress would be so expensive since everyone and their mother is wearing her at the Winter Ball.

In this economy one ends up doing grocery shopping from Delhi Colony since the expats and their riches have emptied out Fresh Basket and Springs. And in the small car. The Alto set aside for sabzi from the mandi. The horror!

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired,” said Nick Caraway in one of the most iconic novels of the early 20^th century. December can be a joyous and memorable time for all. But some of us like to view the spectacle without participating too much, and be third-wheelers like Nick and watch the show from front-row seats.