‘Gentleman’s Table’: Women have High Tea, but there’s no equivalent for men other than gatherings that involve alcohol or sport. Photo: Delwyn Verasamy
It is often said that one learns until one dies. This adage returned to me rather forcefully in the most unexpected of places: the Cape Winelands.
A colleague had invited me to the launch of a foundation, and I had agreed to attend, skimming the invitation without much thought. Only later did I notice the words “Launch and High Tea.” I understood the first part well enough; the second part, I must confess, I knew only vaguely. My rudimentary assumption was that a “High Tea” was something reserved exclusively for women.
My impression was not entirely wrong: the gathering was indeed dominated by women.
This prompted me to reflect not only on what High Tea truly is, but also on the broader question of whether men have — or ought to have — their own equivalents. In that reflection lies a social observation about gender, longevity and the spaces we cultivate for our well-being.
The phrase “High Tea” is today often misunderstood, conflated with “Afternoon Tea”, a genteel tradition associated with the Victorian upper classes. According to the Victoria and Albert Museum in London’s document, A Brief History of Tea in the UK, Afternoon Tea emerged in the 1840s, made popular by Anna, the seventh Duchess of Bedford, who found herself hungry between luncheon and the late dinner hour of her social circle. She began inviting friends to her private rooms for tea, cakes and light sandwiches. This ritual soon became a fashionable pastime of the English aristocracy.
High Tea, however, was historically quite different. As the British Library notes, it originated among the working classes of northern England and Scotland in the 19th century. Unlike Afternoon Tea, High Tea was a hearty meal, taken after a long day’s labour, consisting of bread, meat, cheese and hot tea. The “high” referred not to status but to the height of the dining table, in contrast with the low parlour tables of Afternoon Tea. Over time, however, the terms blurred, and in many Commonwealth countries High Tea has come to signify an elegant, largely feminine affair of delicate pastries, teas and conversation.
That blurring raises an interesting question: why has High Tea today become coded as feminine? Food historian Annie Gray suggests that Afternoon Tea (and by extension, modern High Tea) became intertwined with femininity because it was one of the few socially acceptable public roles for upper-class women in the Victorian period — hostesses who presided over tea tables wielded a subtle form of power and influence (Gray, The Greedy Queen: Eating with Victoria, 2017).
At the Winelands event, I saw this history alive in contemporary form. Women had come together not only to support a foundation but also to converse, network and affirm one another. The structure of the High Tea facilitated connection: a beautiful setting, shared food and a spirit of community. One could only admire the ways in which such platforms contribute to women’s social capital.
And here, the absence of a male equivalent became glaring. Where are the structured spaces for men to gather — not merely for alcohol or sport, but for reflective conversation, support and community-building?
To pose this question is not to romanticise women’s spaces, but to observe that they exist in abundance, while men have far fewer. From baby showers and bridal teas to book clubs and women’s breakfasts, women gather around food and ritual in ways that reinforce individual resilience and collective identity. For men, however, the options are narrower: the pub, the braai or the stadium.
There is research linking this absence to men’s shorter life expectancy. The World Health Organisation reports that women outlive men in nearly every society, with lifestyle and socialisation playing key roles. Men are less likely to form supportive friendships, seek help and cultivate community spaces that address mental and emotional well-being.
Psychologist Niobe Way, in her book Deep Secrets, demonstrates how boys often begin adolescence with close friendships, only to lose them under the pressure of masculine norms that discourage intimacy.
Could it be that the feminisation of High Tea represents not merely a cultural quirk but a missed opportunity? What if men, too, adopted rituals of gathering around food and reflection — not in the shadow of alcohol or competition, but in the spirit of conversation and care?
Historically, men had these forms of social ritual. The 18th-century coffeehouses of London were vibrant spaces of male debate and exchange. Taverns, too, once played a similar role in political and intellectual life. Yet in contemporary society, such spaces have narrowed, and where they exist, they are bound by consumption rather than reflection.
Perhaps the modern equivalent could take inspiration from High Tea’s structure without merely copying it. Imagine a “Gentlemen’s Table”, where men gather monthly not to drink or watch sport, but to discuss literature, politics, fatherhood or health over tea, coffee and wholesome food. Such gatherings would offer men the chance to cultivate friendships, share vulnerabilities and create networks of support.
My lesson in the Winelands was twofold: first, that High Tea has a rich and complicated history, rooted in aristocratic leisure and working-class sustenance and, second, that in its modern feminine form, it points to a gap in male socialisation.
Perhaps it is time men borrowed a page from the High Tea tradition. After all, to learn until one dies may mean learning not only about oneself but also about the rituals that keep one alive in the first place.
Sisa Nhlabathini is a lawyer and is an affiliate of Stellenbosch University’s School of Business. He writes in his private capacity on sports, politics and business. @Sisatheman.