I had a membership in my own national version of these clubs, and travelled throughout some of their sister clubs in the US, and they are truly precious and rare experiences. I gave up my membership while attempting a bootstrapped startup where I burned all my boats to succeed, and after spending a few years financially recovering, covid, but also some other social factors, I have yet to renew it. I've been back for some of their events, and they have also had to change tack to stay afloat. The joke around the club at the time about membership was, "we do need new members because at the rate we're going broke, we've probably only got another 100 years." As it had been well managed and well capitalized.

The thing about any elite organization is an immense amount of effort goes into preserving and growing it, and everyone is always disappointed at how the new crop of members isn't of the quality of ones own cohort, which is as ridiculous but persistent as it sounds. Whether it's White's or Burning Man, a scene is a scene is a scene.

The service is next level, and the best way to describe it is it's something you can't merely pay for, and I told the staff more than once that I mostly come here to remind myself that there were still things for me to do where I might eventually become worthy of the service they provided. The thing about the clubs is that there are no prices on the menus, (though mercifully they put them on the wine and scotch lists) not because they expect you to afford it, but because if you are there, it is within expectations and it's taken care of. I would say "The Continental" in the John Wick series actually captures the culture and experience well, if a bit over egged.

I actually joined in my late 20s because I lived in a rented apartment in the city and didn't have a cottage or a place where I could entertain and reciprocate the hospitality so many others had offered me, and so my club membership was a way for me to have something that was mine to share. Membership isn't a validation or having made it, what makes it so good is that it is something that's yours to share.

The dress codes have relaxed in the more established places, but there is still a sense of respect and dignity that I don't think the new ones have managed to capture. Sure, they may have celebrities and influencers, but they don't have the basic comfort of someone saying, "welcome back, sir. you once mentioned you liked wines from this region so we picked up a case on our last order."

Friends' reactions to it were different. People with a chip on their shoulders about what they percieved the clubs to represent were uncomfortable, but I could usually win them over. It was always the most epic surprise to be out for after work drinks and grabbing a small crew to take them through the secret entrance into a place with incredible luxury. The characters who inhabited it were a mix of people who never used it and showed up once a year, to the occasional grifter on the make, and sort of lost downwardly mobile types like me thinking this is just what one did.

What I would say to anyone joining one is this: the staff have spent their careers to become the very best in the world at what they do, and the thing they value most is someone who truly appreciates what they do. The entire raison for a club is to provide welcome, comfort, and surprising delight to people who value it, and they structure the costs to make something so awesome economical.
The traditions they have are worth observing because it's what makes them good. If you approach any one of them with an open mind and with the simple humility of asking what the rules and protocols are, and maintain that humble openness, you will be absolutely welcomed in almost every single one of them.

What makes a club great is its membership, and after a few years it clicks that what makes these places so legendary are people like you, and it's on you to be a steward of it.