Once a year in Washington DC the president and press lay down arms, laugh self-deprecatingly at themselves and break bread together. Or at least this is how the long tradition of the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, dating back to 1921, is meant to go. The reality, as I’m fast discovering in my first full week in the Swamp as the Times Washington editor, is rather different.
In 2011 Donald Trump watched Barack Obama roast him at that year’s dinner and resolved to run. Now back in the White House and hitting his first 100 days, the president has wasted no time in taking power from the White House Correspondents’ Association, with his team, led by his press secretary Karoline Leavitt, deciding who can attend press conferences, not them. A host of new media journalists and influencers have been given White House passes in a bid to counter the pesky legacy media. And that means Trump sure as hell won’t come to their party either.
“Even junior Trump people don’t want to come,” a veteran foreign journalist explains, pointing at the empty seats on our table at the glitzy Washington Hilton as a marching band plays in the background. “Everyone is worried that attending the event could give you a black mark in Team Trump. Enjoy the spare burrata!”
That said, the WHCD remains the biggest weekend on the DC social calendar — a dizzying array of pre-parties, happy hours, dinners, alternative dinners (“It’s now about the Substack supper,” a friend declares) and brunches to satisfy any hungry networker. “It makes your summer parties look like kindergarten,” warns an American TV exec who has lived on both sides of the Pond.
“Don’t worry about finding a flat, worry about invites,” an American friend messages hours after my arrival Stateside. Another sends a concerned note about dress codes. “They take it seriously. It’s a smart city; you need to wear a long dress for black tie.” And if I don’t? “They will think that JD Vance is right about Europe.”
Not that Vance is here to survey my or any other outfit. As Eugene Daniels, the president of the correspondents’ association and host of the evening, puts it: “This year is different — there is no president and no comedian.” The usual comedy slot was axed after the booked speaker Amber Ruffin declared on a podcast that Trump and his team were “kind of a bunch of murderers”. This was too much for those in the press pack hoping to appear impartial to the new regime.
Tina Brown, the former editor-in-chief of Vanity Fair, arrives at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner
PAUL MORIGI/GETTY IMAGES
Having just spent ten years in Westminster pounding the corridors and watering holes of SW1, I have a little idea of what to expect. In my old role as political editor of The Spectator I was often responsible for ferrying politicians, including prime ministers, around a room for the magazine’s annual parliamentarian awards.
But that event featured a couple of hundred guests. In the US they like to do things a little bigger — there are 256 tables alone at the Hilton. I queue alongside Tina Brown, the former editor-in-chief of Vanity Fair. To my left is Jason Isaacs, from The White Lotus, who is politely taking selfies with a minder ready to pull him away should any conversations drag on or admirers become a little too enthusiastic. Other attendees include Lone Dencker Wisborg, the Danish ambassador, who is of increased importance in DC owing to the Trump administration’s keenness to buy Greenland. Kemi Badenoch’s de facto deputy, the Tory MP Alex Burghart, is also kicking around at the various events, seemingly here for a good weekend.
The actor Jason Isaacs, centre, and the CNN host Dana Bash, right
PETE KIEHART/EYEVINE
The traditional after-parties are hosted by the big US brands: MSNBC at the French ambassador’s residence is known for the best wine (though this year also winning complaints for serving tacos rather than focusing on cheese), and the Time party at the Swiss ambassador’s is the closest DC gets to a rave, with house music playing into the early hours.
Without entertainment, this year’s dinner is solely about journalistic achievements — but even that does not go without a hitch. A silence descends on the room as one of the winners, Alex Thompson of Axios, sets the cat among the pigeons by calling out the profession for failing to adequately address the former president Joe Biden’s decline. “Its cover-up by the people around him is a reminder that every White House, regardless of party, is capable of deception. But being truth-tellers also means telling the truth about ourselves.”
The quiet is soon filled with talk of after-parties. “The event has always been about the other events,” a veteran explains. Who is on what list? Where are you going next? Did Ed get back to you? I befriend a man in public affairs. “You never need to be invited to anything,” he tells me reassuringly over a martini. “Just click on the links of other people’s invites. I’ve been doing it for years.”
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In the interest of balance, I depart the official dinner and scoot a half-hour’s drive across town to Butterworth’s in Capitol Hill. Opened last year, the restaurant has quickly become a safe home for the Maga right. Tonight they’re hosting their own rival party titled “The Uninvited”. The restaurant’s British co-owner Raheem Kassam, who previously worked for Nigel Farage, cooked up the idea with Steve Bannon, the godfather of Maga, over lunch. It’s a nod to when they really were “the deplorables” at Cpac — the annual American conservative meeting — in 2014. Now it’s one of the hottest tickets in town. “Who’s laughing now?” an attendee asks.
The cocktail menu at the “Uninvited” party at Butterworth’s restaurant
GETTY IMAGES
“Steve and I came up with this year’s title as sort of an ironic twist on one of the first events we did together,” Kassam explains. Guests sip on “The Grit and Glory”, also known as a dirty vodka martini, and “American Courage” (champagne and bitters) as a friendly group ask me if the UK is OK. “Are you allowed to tweet there?” one queries, referencing free speech concerns.
All of a sudden, lights flash out from the street. Security floods in. A hush goes round the room. “Is that Rubio?” an excited guest asks. The hundred or so guests go wild, assembling for photos with the secretary of state. “Sir, you are an inspiration,” attendee after attendee says as they pile in for selfies. The next day Marco Rubio is back at the spiritual home of Maga, this time dining with his family.
This is not the only Maga event that night. Back near the White House, Rubio joins Trump administration colleagues including Tulsi Gabbard, the director of national intelligence, and Pam Bondi, the attorney-general, at the launch of Donald Trump Jr’s new venture: a club for the Maga mega-rich, where guests are welcomed with caviar. Membership starts at $500,000 — or double that for those who don’t want to languish on the waiting list.
Others are trying to strike a balancing act. At the British embassy pre-party the ambassador Peter Mandelson is seeing the positives of the profession, telling US journalists they are the best in the world. “Now as many of you will know, I’m not really a diplomat. I’m a sort of pretend diplomat. In fact, I’m a recovering politician. I’m sort of transitioning, to use a phrase,” he tells the crowd. “I have spent most of my adult life in the company of political reporters. I mean, you’d say in a sense I’ve spent most of my life in hand-to-hand combat with political reporters. It’s been a love-hate relationship, if I can put it in that way. Hopefully more love than hate these days.” On the guest list are members of the new media, including the Maga rising star Natalie Winters and the perennially online Taylor Lorenz.
Caviar cones at Ned’s Club
The Washington Post has taken over the rooftop of Ned’s Club, which prides itself on a bipartisan membership list. Attendees debate which events to go to next or whether to bed in. How do DC’s elite decide? “If you get invited to a party funded by a billionaire you have to go,” a fellow guest explains. “I always ask myself, ‘Who is paying for the drinks?’” A waiter brings over a tray of caviar cones, suggesting they may be on to something.
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On the final day at the Sunday brunches there’s a regular refrain overheard as guests try to work out where one another stands: “Were you at Maga?” At the CNN party bacon hangs on pegs like a washing line: chocolate-coated, maple-coated. I ask the waiter which is the most plain, not wanting to upset my stomach too much after the night before. That will be the sriracha bacon, the waiter explains politely.
For now, though, the various DC tribes remain rather separate. “The truth is many people at Butterworth’s were actually invited to many WHCA parties across the weekends,” Kassam says. “But we’re all keen to hold on to our historic outsider status. Firstly to keep us true to our roots. Secondly, because in politics, everything can flip back overnight. So we don’t love getting drawn into the old habits of the Swamp. Even though, admittedly, some of their parties were almost as cool as ours.”
“Dipped bacon” at the CNN party
The irony is that the White House Correspondents’ Dinner may have helped to create Trump. His base took issue with the cosiness. But there’s still no shortage of appetite for a party, with one to cater to every leaning. As for the embassies, if tariffs remain, it may be the only way to get an affordable glass of European wine. Welcome to the new DC. Strap in.