It was a simple enough idea: Let's start a club.
Six young women, full of ideas and energy, set out to make their mark on Washington by founding a private club for themselves and their friends: professional single twentysomethings. It would host lively parties, do good works and codify the social lives of bright, fun-loving transplants to the nation's capital.
The Madisons' soirees, like this party at Third Edition in Georgetown, draw a young, ambitious crowd seeking fame, fortune and love in D.C.
(Photos Melissa Cannarozzi For The Washington Post)
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On Labor Day weekend last year, they sat around a restaurant table in Maine and finalized their plans on a cocktail napkin. They named the club the Madison in honor of Dolley Madison, the legendary first lady and hostess. They mapped out social events and designated a charity to sponsor their first year. Membership would be limited to 100 women, which would give the Madison both a manageable size and a certain cachet. "When we started the club, we were so excited and so optimistic about what we were doing," says 24-year-old Megan Taormino, one of the founding members.
These women were ambitious, educated, pretty, confident and unapologetic -- no false modesty in this crowd. They were young, female and playful in a town that worships mature, male and serious. And they unwittingly broke one of the unspoken rules of Washington: Never display elitism. Then one foolish remark at a martini party sealed their fate. Overnight, they became objects of scorn and gossip; an easy mark for media stereotypes and Internet ridicule.
Consider it a cautionary tale: The Madison had become fair game in an unfair town.
The Founding
Many young professionals arrive in this city as Nobodys with a degree and the expectation that they will be a Somebody, preferably sooner rather than later. They throw themselves into entry-level jobs, work hard and grab drinks with co-workers at the end of 12-hour days. The more organized create buddy lists, which allow them to gather friends via e-mail or text messaging and party the night away.
The Madison women -- officially nonpartisan, but many Republicans -- took it several steps further. The concept of "hanging out" wasn't enough; they liked to make things happen. They were comfortable with structure, the neat hierarchies of clubs and organizations. Many came from college sororities, including a number from Vanderbilt, where they had honed their social skills in the safety and collective power of "we."
"This is a big city," says Madison President Caroline Butts, a former sorority social chair who came to Washington two years ago, landed a job on the Hill and is working on a master's degree in government from Johns Hopkins University. "It's very easy to get lost and it's very transitional. While you're here, it's good to have a network."
"A lot of us are organizers and leaders," says Brigitte Donner, a former junior high president, high school water polo team captain, college sorority president and Red Cross volunteer. She was all for making the club a social and service machine: "Let's make what we're doing more legitimate, more substantial, more organized," she encouraged her friends.
They had considered joining the Junior League, but it seemed too big and they wanted something more intimate, something they could call their own. They modeled themselves after San Francisco's 75-year-old Spinsters Club and on Washington's 25-year-old Capital Club, a male-only private membership for young (mostly Republican) professionals. "I think they saw the camaraderie and the fun and decided to create their own," says Capital Club President Tripp Donnelly.
So the women set to work. They came up with bylaws and a mission statement, and invited friends and friends of friends to join, including about 15 congressional staffers, graduate students, lawyers and other young professionals. Members had to have a college degree, be 21 to 30 years old, never married and live in the Washington region. Annual dues were $100. They selected Prevent Child Abuse Virginia and Walter Reed Army Medical Center as their charities, which would receive any profits from their parties.
They created a Web site, where they posted information about the club and pictures of their activities. They hosted a "Mad in Plaid" party at F. Scott's and made valentines for patients at Walter Reed in February and hosted a black-tie fundraiser at the City Tavern Club in April. The parties were open to anyone who paid the admission fees. And although the events barely broke even, the buzz about the club was growing.
What they didn't realize is that buzz in Washington is not always a good thing. Sometimes it arouses jealousy, suspicion and competition. A critical survival skill is self-deprecation, the ability to deflect the envious by downplaying advantage. Beauty must be publicly dismissed as "good genes," brains a "good memory," promotions "timing," connections, money and privilege as "luck."
Individually, the Madisons were not that different from the thousands of attractive, driven young women who seek fame, fortune and love in Washington. Collectively, however, they had the aura of golden girls: blond, ambitious, cliquish and full of the bubbly self-confidence that comes from a lifetime of hearing "yes." All that and more were reinforced when they banded together, looking for all the world like a pack of homecoming queens who got all the cute clothes and the cute guys.
