Why the Bachelor Party Is the Opposite of What It Appears

Painting of a stag
The bachelor in his last days of freedom.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Ever attended a bachelor party and wondered what on earth was going on? Let’s investigate, like an alien might.

A bachelor party is an initiation into marriage, which, in modern times, is understood as a celebration, by the groom’s male friends, of the groom’s last days of ‘freedom’.

In the UK, the bachelor party tends to be called a stag (stag night, stag do, stag party…), and in Australia, a buck. The equivalent rite for the bride, attended by the bride’s female friends, is the bachelorette or hen party.

The original meaning of ‘bachelor’ in English is ‘a young knight who follows the banner of another’. ‘Stag’ and ‘hen’ used to be slang for ‘man’ and ‘woman’. The stag, standing proud and alone, has forever been a symbol of virility, with stags (and men with antlers) a common motif in cave paintings. Cernunnos, the Celtic god of life and fertility and a symbol of the masculine, featured the body of a warrior and the antlers of a stag. The stag’s antlers, which point to the heavens, serve to attract mates and fend off rivals. Mirroring the cycle of life and death, they grow and fall back each season, transmuting from soft, pulsing velvet into hard horn.

Although fairly recent in their modern incarnations, the stag and hen party descend from immemorial customs. In Ancient Greece, a bride joined her female relatives and friends in paying tribute to Artemis, goddess of childbirth and protector of young girls. In Sparta, friends marked the groom’s last night of bachelorhood with a banquet. By marrying six times at the cost of his wives, the party-loving Henry VIII (d. 1547) embedded the tradition into English society. For a long time in England, stags involved a formal dinner hosted by the groom’s father or best man, or, in more humble circles, a simple drink among friends.

‘Hen party’, initially ‘a gathering of women’, acquired its modern sense in the 1960s and 70s. The term first appeared in The Times of London in 1976, albeit in quotation marks, in the context of a male stripper fined by Leicester Crown Court for acting in ‘a lewd, obscene and disgusting manner’. Back then, the bride often celebrated with her co-workers, whom she would likely be abandoning for the life of a housewife and mother. In time, hen parties spilt out into nearby pubs and clubs, increasingly resembling stags in their raucousness.

Rites of Passage

A rite of passage marks a transition from one sphere to another, attended by a significant change in social status. According to the ethnographer and folklorist Arnold van Gennep (d. 1957), rites of passage have three ritual phases: separation, transition, and incorporation.

Separation rituals, such as the matriculation ceremony upon entering university or the crew cut upon entering the army, symbolise detachment from a former life. In French, a bachelor party is called, enterrement de vie de garçon, which means, ‘burial of the life of the boy’. In modern stags, the separation ritual often involves stripping or humiliating the groom.

Western culture lacks formal rites of passage for adulthood. In other cultures, these often feature tests of virility or maturity, which, in the West, tend to be subsumed informally into the stag or hen, often in the form of an alcohol endurance test or a two-fisted activity such as archery, hammer throwing, or bungee jumping. Bungee jumping also represents a leap and separation; it is, in effect, a symbolic suicide.

In many traditional societies, the separation ritual for marriage involves initiating the bride into the duties of marriage, including lovemaking and childbearing—a function which, in our culture, has largely been delegated to the stripper, or perhaps to a sex toy or pornography. This reveals an important function of the rite of passage, which is to guide and support us at a critical and challenging time in the cycle of life.

For the bride, another possible function of the separation ritual is purification. In Orthodox Judaism, the bride immerses herself in a ritual bath, or mikveh. In many Eastern traditions, the bride wears intricate henna tattoos, usually on her hands and feet, for decoration, purgation, and protection. In Germany, the bachelor party is called Junggesellenabschied (‘farewell to bachelorhood’), but there is another event called Polterabend on the night preceding the wedding at which guests break old crockery to drive out evil spirits. The modern heir to all of these traditions is, of course, the spa day. Purity, symbolised also by the white wedding dress, serves to reassure the groom and wider society that the seal on the milk bottle has not been tampered with.

Other, more minor functions of the stag and hen may include:

  • Making a mockery of marriage to make it seem less threatening.
  • Confronting a loss of freedom by desperately reaffirming it.
  • Snatching the groom back from the bride’s grasp, and vice versa.
  • Punishing the bride and groom for forsaking their friends.
  • Saluting one’s friends.
  • Saying goodbye to one’s friends.
  • Tying in one’s friends.
  • Creating a pretext to spoil oneself or one’s friends.
  • Creating a pretext for socially sanctioned release and debauchery—not dissimilar to the ancient orgy.
  • Celebrating the life of the groom or bride.
  • Celebrating manhood or womanhood.
  • Inducing social conformity.

The Modern Stag and Hen

In the space of a generation, hens and stags have evolved into elaborate affairs involving various degrees of drunkenness and debauchery, often over several days in some faraway city of sin. Such gatherings have spawned an entire industry, with event planners organising activities such as paintballing and tank driving, and arranging everything from dare lists to drinking games, and stretch-limousines to strippers breaking out of tiered cakes.

Why have stags and hens become so big? From an economic standpoint, travel has become cheap and commonplace. People are marrying later and earning more, leaving them with more disposable income than ever before. From a sociocultural standpoint, our generation is more liberated, and perhaps more self-indulgent, than any that has gone before. The stag in particular may represent a frenetic attempt to reaffirm increasingly threatened notions of masculinity—and, indeed, of marriage itself.

For most of human history, marriage stood as an inescapable familial, social, and economic imperative. But in recent decades, with falling infant mortality and overpopulation, rising life expectancy, and female emancipation, it has become something of an optimistic and atavistic lifestyle choice. Already in the nineteenth century, the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote: ‘If you marry, you will regret it; if you do not marry, you will also regret it; if you marry or do not marry, you will regret both…’ Today more than ever, a part of the bride or groom remains unsure about tying the knot, and the stag or hen is, on some level, a manic defence against a loss of freedom and possibility; and, for the other revellers, against the loss of a friend to an increasingly arcane and remote institution.

There is an irony here. Whereas a rite of passage ought to help us confront and negotiate a difficult transition, the modern stag or hen, in its frantic excess, serves to prevent us from thinking about that transition at all—while making it seem that we have.

The purpose of the manic defence is to prevent feelings of doubt, fear, and sadness from rising into the conscious mind by distracting it with opposite feelings of euphoria and purposeful activity. In Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs Dalloway (1925), one of several ways in which Clarissa Dalloway prevents herself from thinking about her life is by planning frivolous events and then preoccupying herself with their prerequisites—in the withering words of Woolf, ‘always giving parties to cover the silence.’

Continue Exploring

If this essay spoke to you, you might look into For Better For Worse: Essays On Sex, Love, Marriage, and More and The Art of Failure: The Anti Self-Help Guide.

You may also enjoy

The Manic Defence: Why You Can’t Bear to Stop

Sisyphus, by Titian
Sisyphus, by Titian.  Sisyphus is condemned to push his rock forever. Worse than that, he can never put it down.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Essay substantially revised on 17 August 2026.

A horse galloped down the path at speed. It seemed as if the rider was on some urgent and vital mission. ‘Where are you heading?’ hollered a bystander. ‘I don’t know!’ came the already distant reply, ‘Ask the horse!’ —A Zen story

The manic defence is the tendency, when confronted with threatening thoughts and feelings, to distract the conscious mind with a flurry of activity or with the opposite thoughts and feelings.

A paradigm of the manic defence is the person who spends all their time rushing around from one task to the next, unable to tolerate even short stretches of inactivity. Other examples include the socialite who attends one event after another, the small and dependent boy who charges around declaiming that he is Superman, and the insecure teenager who laughs ‘like a maniac’ at the slightest intimation of sex. The behaviour or activity need not be frantic or compulsive. It might involve working, exercising, socialising, travelling, even helping others.

But that is all beside the point. What matters is what is being blocked out.

In Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway (1925), one of several ways in which Clarissa Dalloway prevents herself from thinking about her life is by planning needless events and then fussing over their every detail. In the 2002 film The Hours, which takes its inspiration from Woolf’s novel, the poet Richard Brown puts it rather more cruelly: ‘Oh, Mrs Dalloway… Always giving parties to cover the silence.’

The Essence of the Manic Defence

The essence of the manic defence is to prevent feelings of despair and helplessness from entering the conscious mind by occupying it with opposite feelings of euphoria, purposeful activity, and omnipotent control.

This might be why people feel driven not only to mark but also to celebrate such depressing milestones as entering the workforce (graduation), getting ever older (birthdays, anniversaries, New Year), and even, in more recent times, death and dying (Halloween). Our forefathers would be turning in their graves if they could see what had become of All Saints’ Day. 

It can be no coincidence that Christmas, originally a pagan solstice festival, is celebrated in the bleak mid-winter, in the shortest and darkest days of the year. A few years ago, I spent Christmas in New Zealand, where it is summer at that time of year—and the people there made much less of a fuss of it.

The manic defence may also take on more subtle or covert forms, such as creating a commotion over something trivial; filling every ‘spare moment’ with reading, study, or talking on the phone to a friend; spending several months preparing for some civic or sporting event; seeking out status or celebrity so as to be a ‘somebody’ rather than a ‘nobody’; entering into baseless relationships; and even, sometimes, getting married and having children. Of course, I don’t mean you.

When the Manic Defence Becomes a Problem

Everyone uses the manic defence, but some people use it to such an extent that they find it difficult to cope with even short periods of unstructured time such as holidays, weekends, and long-distance travel—which explains why airport shops are so profitable.

Since the advent of smartphones, it can be a struggle to go a few hours, or even the space of a toilet break, without checking our device. God forbid that we should be left alone, even for five minutes, with our own thoughts. The significance of the smartphone is that it has put the manic defence in your pocket, available anytime, anywhere.

Of course, keeping busy need not be unhealthy. It becomes so when we cannot bear to stop—when the activity serves not simply to live or exalt life, but to avoid being alone with ourselves.

‘To do nothing at all,’ observed Oscar Wilde, long before the advent of the smartphone, ‘is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual.’

People with a strong manic defence are unable to live in the moment, unable to be truly alive. They leave themselves no opportunity to integrate their thoughts or process their emotions, that is, no opportunity to gather perspective or come to terms with reality, that is, no opportunity to grow.

Because they never let it in, they lose all immunity to despair. And so when it finally hits them, it hits them like a tidal wave.

Continue Exploring

If this essay spoke to you, you might also enjoy Hide and Seek: The Psychology of Self-Deception.

You may also enjoy

Groupthink arises when the members of a group seek to minimise conflict by failing to critically test, analyse, and evaluate the ideas that are put to them as a group. As a result, the decisions reached by the group are hasty and irrational, and more unsound than if they had been taken by either member of the group alone. Even married couples can fall into groupthink, for example, when they decide to take their holidays in places that neither spouse wanted, but thought that the other wanted.

Groupthink principally arises from the fear of being criticised, the fear of upsetting the group, and the hubristic sense of invulnerability that comes from being in a group. The 20th century philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein once remarked that ‘it is a good thing that I did not let myself be influenced’. In a similar vein, the 18th century historian Edward Gibbon wrote that ‘…solitude is the school of genius … and the uniformity of a work denotes the hand of a single artist’.

In contrast to Wittgenstein or Gibbon, modern society constantly reinforces the notions that man is a social animal, that he needs the companionship and affection of other human beings from cradle to grave, and that the chief source of his happiness should come mostly if not exclusively from intimate relationships with other similarly gregarious human beings. In the realm of the nine to five or eight to eight, large corporations glorify and reinforce conformism, decisions are taken by committees dominated by groupthink, people are evaluated according to their ‘team playing skills’, and any measly time out is seen as an opportunity for ‘team building’, ‘group bonding’, ‘networking’, or, at best, ‘family time’.

Yet solitude also has an important role to play in any human life, and the capacity and ability for solitude are a pre-requisite for individuation and self-realisation. In his book of 1988, Solitude – A Return to the Self, the psychiatrist Anthony Storr convincingly argues that ‘the happiest lives are probably those in which neither interpersonal relationships nor impersonal interests are idealised as the only way to salvation. The desire and pursuit of the whole must comprehend both aspects of human nature.’

[See also my post on the manic defence]