.: October 2012

ALAS, the omniscient Emily Post has neglected a matter of great import in her long volumes on etiquette—the pity party. While dear Ms. Post has written extensively on the various forms of social gathering, she appears to have forgotten about this particular sort, and so for so many years, the nature and rules of the pity party have been terribly ambiguous. The task of this writer is to remedy this pickle so that despondent people all over the world may exercise their right to indulge in self-pity properly and systematically and in a manner that will make Ms. Post proud.

The first order of business in the creation of the pity party etiquette is, of course, a definition of terms. The pity party, it should be noted, is not an affair that is held to comfort the woebegone. Contrary to popular belief, its objective is to encourage not feelings of hope and happiness but an inundation of sadness and tears. The logic behind the pity party is simple—before the dejected may, as the hopelessly used and reused adage goes, pick himself up and brush himself off, he must first wallow in the sheer wretchedness of his situation. The universe, after all, has treated him so poorly and uncivilly. He deserves a good weep before he tries again.

A pity party, when executed properly, may be just what the doctor ordered. Its quality plays a vital role in the mournful’s recovery process. A topnotch pity party may significantly speed up the recovery process and render the person in tip-top condition after a mere good night’s sleep. A thoughtlessly put together affair, on the other hand, may cause a lag in the healing time or worse, aggravate matters. It goes without saying, of course, that the effort devoted to the preparation of a pity party should be directly proportional to the gravity of the source of distress. The party for a petty squabble with a friend requires a slightly less grand preparation than, say, the sudden news of one’s termination from work. In the same way, a failed date will require a less elaborate party than a breakup with a longtime beau would.

The pity party, as opposed to other forms of parties, is a solitary affair. Guests are highly discouraged for it is important that the depressed person is submerged in his forlornness and company will only cheer him up. As Ms. Post would know, however, the commandments of etiquette are not utterly stringent; there are a few exceptions to the rule. A pity party may be organized for a group of people provided that all participants are down in the dumps. This is an important rule in the matter of pity parties—emotionally stable people should be denied entrance to the vicinity, lest they spread unwarranted cheer. The group, too, should be composed of at most three people to decrease the chances of the soiree being transformed into a jovial and chatty affair. Maintaining the solemnity of the group pity party is indeed an onerous challenge for human conversations have the unfortunate tendency to, no matter the calamity, wander to happy things. In order to ensure that such a savage incident does not ensue, it is crucial that the participants partake in a noble tradition, the group pity party ritual—throughout the duration of the affair, they are to take turns sharing sad life stories, with the degree of catastrophe and tragedy escalating at every round.

The ingredients of the pity party may vary according to the distressed person in question. Holly Golightly, for one, that darling but melancholic heroine from the classic Hollywood film “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” (1961) shoos away mean reds with trips to her beloved Tiffany’s while less sophisticated people, like Woody Allen’s hopelessly awkward character in “Play it Again, Sam” (1974) for instance, attempt to drown their sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol. Different people wallow in different ways. While the pity party is most of all unique to the person, however, there are several things that may be considered essentials. E.B. White, in his infallible writing manual “The Elements of Style,” famously declared that in order to achieve style, one must begin by affecting none. Before the pity party organizer is able to create an event that is personal and unique and truly his, he must learn the fundamentals, first and foremost.

A pity party first of all needs proper rain. The writer pertains here not to a drizzle but to an honest to goodness downpour, for the world should mirror the belligerence and despair of the afflicted person’s heart and soul. The ideal pity party rain is turbulent, like the one seen in the 2005 film version of “Pride and Prejudice,” when the judgmental heroine Elizabeth Bennet decides to angrily reject Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal. Her words are especially searing because he has been furtively in love with her for quite a while, and the rain reflects her anger and his pain. Sometimes, too, it is sad rain, like the one that falls in the final scene of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” when Holly Golightly runs to a dark alley to search for the nameless cat that she has so loved but driven away, that does the trick. The sad rain is ideal for he who parties to mourn the loss of a loved one or a breakup. It pours copiously but softly and steadily. It is lethargic yet persistent, like the tired heart of the aggrieved.

It is terribly unfortunate because no matter how much the person in distress tries to assiduously follow the pity party etiquette, things sometimes do not go according to plan. The absence of rain is a quandary that is most often experienced in the preparation of pity parties. The person who is well versed in the custom of social gatherings, however, knows that this may be quickly remedied. In the absence of rain, he turns off all lights in the party venue save for a dim lamp. The trick is to concoct a glum atmosphere.

When the matter of the atmosphere has been settled, the party organizer must next acquire a proper blanket. Here, the proper blanket must be qualified. It is warm and fuzzy and made of fleece or some other snuggly material. Ideally, the pity party blanket is a cartoon character-decorated security blanket from the distressed person’s childhood and is hopelessly dilapidated and pungent. If possible, too, it is to be used in conjunction with a plush toy like a giant teddy bear. The purpose of the blanket, however, must not be confused. Its aim is to comfort the distressed person, yes, but it must most of all make him glaringly aware that the said comfort is being provided by an inanimate entity.

The distressed person, swathed and drowning in a fuzzy blanket and curled up in his bed, preferably in a fetal position, is to subject himself to a musical treat—the pity party playlist. A collection of songs characterized by melancholia and doom, it is played on loop for at least an hour while he sulks in bed, wondering how and why things went wrong. Songs included in this playlist are usually those with ominous titles like “Lonelily,” “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” “We Are Nowhere and It’s Now,” “Though I Know She Lies,” “Nothing Compares to You,” “Helplessness Blues” and “You Could Be Happy.” The quintessential sad song, “All By Myself,” it goes without saying, should be in every pity party playlist.

A good pity party host is someone who creates the playlist way before the calamity and always has it at the ready either as a burned CD or in an iPod. That it is immediately available to the distressed person is of utmost importance because the person in distress should not be bothered with fumbling through CDs and iTunes while on the verge of tears. A good host also understands that the playlist is a work in progress. When after three or five songs, he is bawling hysterically like an infant, he knows that he has done his job. In case the desired effect is not produced, a good host diligently and lovingly reconstructs the playlist. The ideal host, on the other hand, he who approximates Ms. Post’s savvy for entertaining, goes the extra mile. He creates a special playlist for every sort of calamity he may or may not chance upon—a breakup, the loss of a loved one, termination from work, or a fight with a friend, among other lugubrious affairs.

On certain occasions, the distressed person is not musical and instead better responds to visual stimuli. In such cases he may, in place of the pity party playlist, delight in a heartbreaking movie. The movie’s purpose, as in that of the playlist, is to reduce the individual to a ball of tears. In case of a divorce, the perfect pity party movie would be the newly separated person’s wedding video. There are a number of commercial films, however, that while not as personal are just as sad and will do just fine. These movies include, of course, romantic films like the classic tearjerker “Casablanca” (1943), the tragic French musical starring Catherine Deneuve “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg” (1964) and “Titanic” (1997), to those that portray man’s uncertain place in society like “Philadelphia” (1993) and “I Am Sam” (2001), among others. Soon to join this library are “The Great Gatsby” (2013), which is an adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel about the ultimately unrequited love between the brooding Jay Gatsby and socialite Daisy Buchanan, and the adaptation of Leo Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina” (2013), which has for its main character one of the most tragic heroines in literary history. Because pity party movies cut across various genres and explore various kinds of sadness, no matter the distressed person’s predicament, there is most certainly an appropriate film.

The pity party movie, it is important to note, is not necessarily one with a tragic ending. Movies with blissful endings, like “An Affair to Remember” (1956) may be considered acceptable so long as the characters’ journey to happiness is long and tortuous. The ideal movie for such an affair, of course, is one that is personal and close to the distressed person’s heart. This writer, for one, has acquired the habit of popping “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” into the DVD player every time she is down the dumps because she can especially relate to Holly Golightly’s mean reds, which are a type of sadness that is more profound and scathing than the blues, and to her feelings of forlornness. The ideal pity party movie is one that the distress person finds sentimental and true.

Any respectable host would know that a party is never complete without refreshments. The pity party food is also known as comfort food and is characterized by extremely high sugar or carbohydrate content. Most of all, however, it is something that the distressed person associates with his childhood or his mother’s cooking. While comfort food outwardly consoles the individual, its primary purpose is actually to summon a reminiscence of happy memories so that the distressed person may become even more conscious that his life has significantly deteriorated.

The nature of the pity party food is wholly dependent on the individual and his personal history. It could be a warm bowl of soup that his mother used to make when he was a child, or an apple pie like the one an ex-girlfriend used to bake. The quintessential comfort food, however, is ice cream—that dessert which contains not only a towering level of sugar but also an abundance of childhood memories. This writer especially recommends Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked ice cream. The sinful concoction of “chocolate and vanilla ice creams mixed with fudge brownies and gobs of chocolate chip cookie dough” simply spells childhood.

An important rule when it comes to comfort food is that the serving should be enormous. A good host knows that ice cream should be served at least by the pint, and a chocolate cake in its entirety. To do otherwise is terribly rude and improper.

The final ingredient of the pity party is liquor. Here, the host must not be confused. While it is imperative that comfort food is generously supplied, liquor, on the other hand, should be served in moderation. The host should think of it as the party’s caviar, a delicacy that is consumed abstemiously and most often as a garnish. To serve it in abundance would be vulgar and in poor taste. A glass or two of liquor, after all, will sufficiently lower the distressed person’s inhibitions that he will find it easy to submit to the temptation to cry his eyes out, while too much liquor might only induce unwarranted and irrational feelings of euphoria. The purpose of the pity party, the host must always remember, is to drown him in self-pity. For this reason, too, hard liquor is discouraged in pity parties. The ideal beverage is filmmaker Sofia Coppola’s brand of bubbly champagne, made in the Coppolas’ ancestral vineyard. That it comes in a lovely packaging, a hot pink can from which the distressed person will drink with a pale pink bendy straw, does not hurt at all.

An excellent pity party, one that would make Ms. Post smile in approval, faithfully follows all the rules put forth by the “Etiquette for the Sorry Soiree.” When executed properly, the individual should emerge from the fete sufficiently cried out and will soon be ready to take on the world again. A final word of caution to the host, however—beware of pity party crashers for they can dampen the solemnity of even the most carefully planned of affairs. The writer pertains here, of course, to those uncivilized individuals who attempt to make the distressed person feel better by cracking a joke or taking him out to a nice lunch or encouraging him to stop sulking and start doing something about his problem. The good pity party host makes sure that to them his doors are always closed.