Why I welcome Americanisation. Sorry, Americanization

I’m still waiting for the stiffy. I’m sure my thick invitation card to the British Museum’s Pink Ball later this month — blush-coloured, ornately calligraphed — has got lost in the post. A pity, as I’d love to witness that august institution’s inaugural take on the Met Gala, New York’s premiere catwalk-slash-fundraiser.

So far, the Met Gala has the edge: themes such as “Gilded Glamour” and Black dandyism leave much more room for creativity than the BM’s dress code, which just lists shades of pink. And as in Manhattan, so guests in Bloomsbury will be able to dine among the treasures. If you see flicks of jus on the Parthenon frieze, you know why.

It’s not just the US style of gala which is being imported, though. American philanthropists are making hundreds of millions of pounds of donations to British institutions — and inspiring the local rich to give as lavishly. The BM needs to raise up to £1bn for a big redevelopment plan, so it must hope American means bring American ends.

If you combine this with more Americans applying for UK citizenship, we are left with the question: is a wave of US-ification washing over us?

Evidence has been accruing for a while now. While the UK succumbed to populism’s shriek (voting for Brexit) a few months earlier than the US did (electing Donald Trump the first time round), the polarisation of our politics has an American ring. The global economy, the UK no exception, is the president’s plaything to paw at.

But forget trivial matters like statecraft and GDP; more serious things are afoot. Take Halloween.

What was once rustic, spooky and subversive has become crassly commercial, the upbeat to a long, plasticky Christmas season. Perhaps, to be more precise, what happened was that seasonal celebrations of tradition and defiance among Irish people, Mexican people, queer people were taken at face value by American society at large, then the credulous British swallowed it whole. Trick-or-treating is at base the ruthless extraction of goods by miniature capitalists, now roaming British streets.

We are more likely to notice these things nipping around the edges than taking over entirely. The replacement of “series” with “season”. “Friendship group” for “friends”. “Bathroom” for . . . you know.

Some cultural elements are spared. Tips have crept up to 12.5 per cent in many restaurants but are yet to hit New York’s wage-replacement level. And while the Metropolitan Museum costs international visitors $30 for entry, the UK still has glorious free admission to museums and galleries (when they’re not throwing balls).

The resurgent British film industry, the upstarts in the British gaming industry, the fact we’re guaranteed elections when this parliament comes to an end: plenty to cheer about.

So should we really be worried about Americanisation (I’ve resisted the z here)? The UK assimilates from global cultures with facility and felicity, drawing the world’s best and enjoying everything they bring, whether cuisine, culture or language. They save us from ourselves; no one complains that we no longer say “chocolate croissant” for pain au chocolat or “dumplings” for pierogi, momo, gyoza and pelmeni.

The reason I’m chill about most of this is that these changes come over with people — the normal fusion of lives and cultures. They are consequences of exchange, experience, surprise, delight, reciprocity. It is as natural a thing as we can have. And that includes the glamour of high-society galas.

When I was reporting on those nine-figure donations to British institutions, the BM’s development director semi-joked that fundraising in America was “a contact sport”. I hope guests at the ball, clad in coral, fuchsia, rose and salmon, don their shoulder pads and insert cricket boxes. America’s rough-and-tumble approach to separating worthies from their money is upon us.

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