I have a Birthday Brunch for DH every year---always on Superbowl Sunday, which always falls near his birthday. We have it about noon, have a lovely couple of hours and a great meal, and everyone goes their own way for the afternoon and whatever plans they have to watch the game on their own.
DH IS a host, so to speak, because it's our home; he helps shop for the groceries and flowers, he does part of the cooking and cleanup, etc., but it's just a quiet, comfortable way for us to get together with a few friends. There are no gifts as such, just several cards and perhaps just a tiny token remembrance, such as a favorite candy or a paperback book.
We'll continue to look forward to our first-party-after-the-holidays; we'll still sit with friends over the quiche and fruit and mimosas, as the warmth of friendship and firelight keeps out the snowy cold.
I don't have strong feelings on this one way or the other. I WAS, however, as astonished at the vehement, startling tone of the answer as if our sedate, kind, ladylike Doyenne, whose faultless decorum and grace we all strive to emulate, and on whom we all rely for solid advice and careful counsel, had come to tea in her underwear.