How I’m Hosting Gatherings That Keep People Present (And Off Their Phones)

What I’m Exploring to Make Every Gathering Feel More Present

Ever since the start of this new year, I’ve found myself in a near-constant scroll. It feels like every time I glance up, something else is demanding my attention—news updates, unexpected events, things that make you stop, process, and then spiral into another cycle of consuming. It’s been hard to look away, to not feel like I need to be tapped in at all times. And yet, I know that the most important moments—the ones that actually matter—aren’t happening on a screen. They’re happening in rooms filled with people we care about, in conversations that meander long past their expected end, in the fleeting expressions and unspoken connections that no algorithm can replicate.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how to be more intentional about presence, not just for myself, but for the people I gather. I don’t want get-togethers to be just another thing on the calendar—I want them to feel like a reset, a chance to be fully where we are. So, I’m exploring new ways to create experiences where people don’t just show up—they actually arrive and feel immersed in something worth remembering.

The Invitation as the First Signal

I’ve been experimenting with making invitations feel more personal, more like an experience in themselves. Instead of a text or a group message, I love the idea of voice note invitations—something warm, unfiltered, direct. It feels intentional, like an actual moment rather than just another notification. And instead of a one-click RSVP, I want to ask guests to reply the same way—with a voice note back. A yes or no, sure, but also what they’re most looking forward to.

YOUR (AUDIO) INVITATION FROM ERIKA BELOW

Crafting an Atmosphere That Pulls People In

I’ve been thinking a lot about how to make a space feel magnetic—a place where people instinctively want to put down their phones, lean in, and stay longer than they planned.

1. Finding a Better Way to Capture the Moment

Our instinct to document life in the moment feels natural—pulling out our phone to post a picture on Instagram or go live on Facebook in the middle of an event. We are instinctively wired to share something in real-time. But what if there were ways to do that without immediately pulling everyone out of the moment? I've been thinking about experimenting with a few ideas that balance the desire to capture the moment yet remain present: I want to experiment with:

• Leaving Polaroid cameras or disposable film cameras around the space, so guests can still take photos but in a way that feels more tactile, more intentional.

• Hiring a roaming photographer or videographer to quietly capture the night so no one feels the need to document it themselves.

• Creating a “memory wall”, where guests can pin instant prints, handwritten notes, or small mementos throughout the night—something that unfolds in real-time and lasts beyond the evening itself.
  

2. Rethinking Seating as a Catalyst for Connection

I want the seating itself to feel like an invitation to engage. Some ideas I’m exploring:

• Leaving handwritten notes at each seat—a personal memory, a thoughtful question, or even just a simple acknowledgment of why that person matters in the room.

• If it’s a mix of people who don’t know each other well, introducing woven-in conversation prompts—but not the standard, surface-level ones. Instead, something that leads somewhere: “What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?” or “Tell me about a night you never wanted to end.”

• A progressive seating approach, where guests shift spots at some point in the night—naturally expanding the energy of the room and changing the rhythm of conversations.
  

3. Designing One Moment That Stays With People

Every gathering has that one moment—the thing people bring up later, the detail that makes the night feel distinct from any other. Instead of leaving it to chance, I want to be more intentional about curating it. Maybe it’s:

• The way dessert is served—all at once, down the center of the table, a shared experience rather than individual plates.

• A playlist takeover, where guests submit a song that reminds them of the host, the guest of honor, or the moment they’re in, making the music feel like an extension of the night’s story.

• A nostalgic element that catches people off guard—an elevated version of a childhood snack, a home video playing in the background that sparks conversation, a scent that immediately takes people somewhere familiar.

• A deliberate moment of stillness—dimming the lights before a toast, letting a second of quiet settle before something meaningful is shared.

I want to create nights that don’t just feel effortless, but that hold onto people in ways they don’t expect. The kind where you wake up the next day and feel something about it still lingering.

Letting Presence Happen Organically

I know you can’t force presence. But you can create conditions where it happens naturally.

So instead of asking people to put their phones away, I want to make the experience so immersive, so layered with things to notice, feel, and engage with that they forget to reach for them. I’ve been playing with:

• Designing spaces with multiple focal points—a vintage record player spinning something warm and familiar, a candlelit nook with handwritten notes for guests to take, an interactive element that invites participation rather than just observation.

• Shifting the rhythm of the night—letting it breathe, creating pauses where people feel the transition. Lowering the music before a toast, letting the lighting shift subtly, making space for silence so that when the energy picks back up, it feels intentional rather than chaotic.

Hosting as an Extension of Energy

If there’s one thing I’ve realized, it’s that the energy of a gathering starts and ends with the host. Guests will mirror what they see. If I’m distracted, checking on things, or running around, the night will feel scattered. But if I’m present, if I’m actually in the experience, if I’m moving through the night with ease, that sets the entire tone.

The Best Gatherings Feel Like a Memory While They’re Happening

I don’t just want to host nights that feel good in retrospect—I want them to feel like something worth being inside of as they’re unfolding. Where you notice the way the candlelight flickers, or how time slows down for a second, or how a certain moment feels almost cinematic in the way it lands.

In a world constantly pulling us away from the present, the most generous thing we can do is create spaces where being right here is the most natural thing in the world.

So this is what I’m experimenting with. What I’m trying. What I hope to refine and deepen. Because if there’s one thing I know for sure—it’s that we don’t remember the notifications or the scroll. We remember the nights that pulled us in, the moments that asked us to stay.

And that? That’s the future of hosting.