The ancient kings of Siam loved gifting things to people they didn’t like. Their favorite gift? A majestic, rare white elephant, so sacred that caring for one could bankrupt its new owner.
Wish You Were Here Group, a California-based hospitality company, does the same.
On Aug. 27, the hospitality group hosted a VIP grand opening for Élephante Dallas, a sprawling, two-story coastal Italian restaurant. The guest list looked like SMU Chi Omega rush.
Élephante’s opening was that certain sort of party where everybody looks suspiciously alike. As such, it was a snapshot of Dallas hospitality culture that still conflates wealth with influence and exclusivity with good business. In a city as diverse and food-obsessed as Dallas, Élephante made it impossible to miss who is deemed worthy.
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Hey, I didn’t say it first.
“Yes, I was at the opening. Yes, it was fabulous, and at one point I looked around the room and wondered if it was a sorority recruitment with better appetizers,” influencer Hannah Hohman said on TikTok. “The diversity was blonde, brunette, and balayage.”
“As one of the blonde women personally contributing to Élephante’s diversity problem,” Hohman went on, echoing what many creators of color have said since the overpriced PR crisis: “Diversity only becomes a priority when reservations start slowing down.”
Well, as the only Mexican, double-digit pant size, non-Ozempic-shooting, curly-haired brunette woman in the room, I have something to say, too.
Welcome to Dallas, baby.
But umm… Élephante, in this city we usually make our classism, with a dash of racial favoritism, a little less blatant.
Bless your heart!
The in crowd
My invite arrived just three days before the party. My flabbers were gasted.
As a freelance writer, I get to preview restaurants, attend media dinners and occasionally find myself at these over-the-top blowouts. Lately, though, restaurant openings seem to favor influencers.
I get it. Exposure over everything.
I arrived at 7:37 p.m., palms damp with anxiety, to a sea of Dyson-blown bleach-blonde hair and overpriced Shein cosplaying as designer. A veritable mob was lined up for foam-topped pink Bellinis.
I snapped a picture and sent it to my plus-one. A wordless warning: Assimilate accordingly.
As I settled in, I overheard a trio of women thanking a friend for inviting them. V-V-V-I-P’s get plus-threes, seemingly.
Inside, the space was packed like sardines in a can. Celine Triomphe bags rubbed shoulders with Chanel flaps. The air smelled of old money, new money and sugar babies.
A gaggle of finance bros reliving their frat heyday swarmed the bar. So I flowed freely from the first floor to the second, outpacing the jitters.
My plus-one, a successful Mexican entrepreneur with more than a dozen businesses, arrived. In lieu of a hello, he said: “I am so uncomfortable.”
Ditto. Even more awkward? The folks who plainly weren’t here had strong theories on why they were left out. And it wasn’t long before they made a stormy forecast for this white elephant.
“It’s not that us Black people, it’s not that we feel left out,” Keandre Dre Hopkins, a food influencer known as Dre in Dallas, later told his 1.6 million followers on TikTok. “It’s not that we feel like we were hurt because we didn’t get an invite. We feel disrespected. We need to call a thing a thing. Just say that you don’t want us there, which is fine. But also leave us the fuck alone when you start running out of money.”
Chasing Leon
Earlier this year, Delilah opened with a star-studded spectacle. Everyone remembers Machine Gun Kelly’s surprise performance. Not to be outshone, Élephante also had something up its sleeve.
Around 9 p.m., my guest and I decided to go upstairs. This time, it was roped off.
We waited at the front of the crowd for our turn to go upstairs, behind influencer Chris Kahle, as the hostess stood on the staircase like Effie Trinket, hand-picking those worthy of the second floor.
Kahle eventually made it in after a lengthy wait. My guest and I kept watching people go by. Ten minutes passed. Then 15. The straps of my heels dug into my feet as Dallasified Regina Georges swept on by.
Finally, my guest said something.
“We’ve been waiting here for a minute,” he told the hostess. “There’s a lot of favoritism. You’re just letting everyone pass by while we all wait.”
Ten minutes later, we made the cut. Upstairs — surprise! — Leon Bridges was about to take the stage.
His presence stood out later to food-scene influencers like Hopkins.
“You can invite whoever you want to,” Hopkins continued in his impassioned TikTok. “That’s not a problem. But to see the list and to see it’s 600 white people in there and one [censored] sitting up there performing? Come on, bro. It’s 2026.”
Elephant Stampede
This is nothing new for Dallas.
I wish I were surprised by the party or the guest list. Ultimately, I wasn’t. What has impressed me is the aftermath. As the week has unfolded, countless influencers of all backgrounds have called out Dallas’ long-cherished practice of classism.
Exclusivity is not a new trend. We’ve seen it time and time again, post after post, opening after opening. But the scale and spectacle of Élephante brought this conversation into long-overdue public light. Dallas has gotten too comfortable rewarding a narrow vision of what a successful customer — what a desirable customer — looks like.
In hindsight, I would estimate 15 or 20 people of color were at the Élephante opening. That’s generous. I hope I’m undercounting. Especially in a city that’s only 35% white, according to the City of Dallas.
The Observer reached out to a PR agency that issued a press release for the event but, which did not produce or manage this event. “Lists are a collaborative effort,” they told us, “combining lists from a number of different sources.” The result was monochromatic.
As a person in the room, do I think this was intentional?
No.
Do I think it was, to put it charitably, the height of laziness?
Yes.
The room was filled with white, presumably affluent people. The diversity was in pairing fresh-out-of-college debutantes alongside well-past-retirement guests. These people were picked for their tax bracket.
Dallas assumes that wealth, influence, and appreciation are concentrated in one race, at one income level. But reality says otherwise.
Élephante sunk $6 million into build-out without investing six minutes in researching the city it was entering.
Here are the real numbers you need to know if you’re opening an opulent space in this city. Stephanie Camillee has more than 5.6 million likes on TikTok. Hopkins has those aforementioned 1.6 million TikTok followers — and 107.5 million likes. Tim vs. Food is among Dallas’ OG food influencers, with 122,000 Instagram followers. Dubb’s Grubs has more than 80,100 TikTok followers and 217,000 Instagram followers.
Instead, the room was filled with friends of friends.
Look around.
Why are your friends carbon cutouts of each other?
Decision-makers, event organizers, PR agencies and hospitality leaders have a responsibility to step out of their bubbles and introduce themselves to the communities they’re serving.
Hospitality work goes beyond an algorithm-based For You Page. It requires seeking out those who drive impact.
Does that mean that you only invite people of color? Hardly. Dallas’ creator community is booming with people of all backgrounds, cultures and heritages. Dallasites101 has grown into a full-blown media company. Co-founder Lily Smith urges diners to try different cuisines and visit different neighborhoods. BlondesWhoEat has led me to some of the best breakfast burritos in town.
Dallas brims with successful people from a spectrum of backgrounds. Its diners deserve respect.
It’s time for the room to reflect the city we love. If you want our money, don’t push us out.