Call it a midlife crisis, a bid to recapture my youth—but the bygone thing I’ve been chasing isn’t a taut neck or glass skin, but a good old-fashioned sleepover with my girlfriends.
Girls’ nights out have started to feel like speed dating, with everything set on a timer: the restaurant reservation, the babysitter, a middle-aged woman’s ever-diminishing tolerance for noise. “Ladies’ Nights,” as they were known at their late-20th century inception (shout-out to Kool & The Gang), weren’t even designed to satisfy women’s desires. A discounted drink to increase female patronage on a slow night was just bait—to lure male patrons willing to pay full price.
That’s not to say that girls’ nights in haven’t fallen prey to late-stage capitalism. A cursory Google search of “adult sleepovers” will take you down a TikTok rabbit hole to a yassified version of your childhood slumber party, replete with matching satin pajama sets, balloon arches, and personally-branded Prosecco. And, because it’s TikTok, group dances!
Performing TikTok choreo in matching pajamas is about as appealing as getting my annual mammogram. What I want more than anything these days is time. My girlhood sleepovers offered time in excess. When my sixth-grade bestie Denise swore during one slumber party séance that she saw my name flicker in the candlelight—which meant, as she explained it, that I would die that night—daybreak couldn’t have come soon enough. (The only thing that failed to survive was my friendship with Denise.)
I set out to schedule some low-key sleepovers across the two weekends a month when my kids were with their dad (which, admittedly, is one of the main reasons I could even consider this social experiment, as I have a house to myself every other week). But I lost one weekend to COVID and suddenly found myself cramming three sleepovers into the span of five nights in order to meet my deadline.
To ready myself for this five-night deep dive, I consulted a local expert: my 12-year-old daughter. In the few years since she’d started having sleepovers, she had tried every version, from full-blown, stay-up-all-night slumber parties to intimate one-on-ones; overnights with only boys (except her), only girls, and a mix of all genders.
So, what was the key to a successful sleepover, in her seasoned opinion?
“Snacks,” she told me, flatly. “You’re going to need snacks and sooo many drinks.” She also revealed the number-one rookie mistake: pulling up in an outfit. “What you actually want is to come in the most comfortable, beat-up shit you own.” (Matching pajama sets, be damned!)
