On a crisp April evening, with the scent of spring in the air, Amy Poon threw a party to celebrate her divorce. The gathering of about 60 people dined on catered nibbles and toasted Poon’s new life with glasses of Krug. The hostess wore a simple cotton dress for the occasion, a frock she calls “my picnic-blanket dress”, beneath which she sported a pair of black silk knickers she’d had embroidered with the words “Just Divorced”. “I had them made when I was in the thick of it all,” she says. “Nothing in life is so catastrophic that you shouldn’t be able to see the lighter side.”

Just Divorced went on to become the working title of Poon’s forthcoming book, This Little Piggy Got Divorced, a practical, light-hearted guide to navigating a break-up. From the financial to the familial, it captures the zeitgeist of divorce: that the way to deal with this important life event is to celebrate it. Is it any surprise, then, that an industry has grown around the idea of the divorce celebration?

Poon says it was people’s reactions to her decision to split from her husband of six years that prompted her to write her book. “They would invariably tilt their heads to one side and patronisingly tell me how sorry they were for me. I wanted to say, ‘It’s okay. Nobody died. In fact, I’m thrilled, and my husband will be too, I promise.’”

Divorce parties are becoming big news, and range in style from discreet intimate gatherings to hen-style nights of hell-raising. Catering to the latter, fancy-dress websites stock paraphernalia such as wedding-ring coffins, Just Divorced L-plates, “stressticles” (stress balls shaped like, yep, you guessed it...) and plastic ball-and-chains, while “happy divorce” cards are becoming commonplace.

Then there is the “unengagement ring”, to be worn on the middle “up yours” finger. Poon has two: one a giant citrine flanked by sapphires, the other a large garnet. Another young divorcée, 33-year-old Isabella Lynee, who was married for six years, spent a week’s salary revamping her wedding ring, turning it into a chunky knuckle-duster with a big gold heart on it. “I still wear it every day,” she says. “To me, it signifies freedom; the fact that I was able to free my heart.” The male version, according to the divorce lawyer Ann Ison, is often a sports car. A “divorce registry”, depending on how you came out of the settlement, is increasingly being seen as a way to a) replenish the ravaged homestead or b) revamp the new single you (cue requests for Myla vouchers, spa treatments and membership of Shoreditch House).

In America, Christine Gallagher, author of The Divorce Party Planner, also offers a bespoke divorce-party service. “The divorce party is a much-needed ritual, a way for family and friends to show support in a painful time of change,” she says. Yet while some see the positive side, for others the idea of celebrating is plain heartless.

Jo Wallace, 31, toasted her divorce with 10 close friends, all wearing eBay wedding dresses, on a Brighton pub crawl: a kind of “antihen” to which she invited her ex as guest of honour. (“He declined.”) When she recounted details of the event on a website last month, readers’ reactions ranged from “attagirl” to the woman who commented on her “callous, junk-food attitude to marriage”, and several men who obviously felt for Wallace’s ex. “Her chances for getting a caring, loving husband in the future is zero. Run away, men. Run. Run for your life,” wrote one.

Taste, it seems, goes a long way when it comes to being a fabulous (as opposed to fickle) divorcée and getting friends and family on side. Poon cites the friend who took her four closest girlfriends on holiday to celebrate her split. The life coach and author Larah Davis used her break-up (she never actually married, but was with her ex for six years and ran a business with him) as the basis for her forthcoming book, Seven Steps to Separating with Success. The couple hosted a “separation celebration” together to let friends and family know what was going on. “The life you create as a couple is also about your friends and community,” she says. “I wanted to be upfront about everything, so people wouldn’t feel as if they had to walk on eggshells around us. You need people answering your calls at a time like this. And we still had a business to run, so it was vital we were able to move on with integrity.”

The celebration took the form of “an amazing meal with lots of champagne”, at which Davis gave a speech. “Often, the woman will spearhead an event like this, because we understand all the emotional stuff going on,” she says. “Men can get a bit caveman about it.” Poon agrees. “Most women mourn their marriage before they leave,” she says. “Often, they will have tried everything to make it work, so have come to terms with it by the time it actually happens.” Paving the way for a serious blowout.

For Poon, one of the most important aspects of celebrating was that it led to support, rather than blame, particularly where her young daughter was concerned. “Hearing people at my party tell me what a great mother I was removed some of the guilt I felt. It was about saying, ‘I’m human,

I made a mistake and I’m going to try to correct it.’” We’ll raise a glass to that.

Celebrate your separation

Have all the jewellery your ex ever gave you remade with the old-to-new service at Robinson Pelham (020 7828 3492).

Host a charity sale of all your wedding-list china, lamps, bowls and so on.

Create a divorce playlist. It could include Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive, I Can See Clearly Now by Jimmy Cliff, Carly Simon’s You’re So Vain and Hit the Road Jack by Ray Charles.

At your divorce party, play your wedding video in rewind. Watch as your ex removes your ring, then you walk back down the aisle and drive off into the sunset.

Build a bonfire in the garden and invite your guests to join you in a “burning of baggage” ceremony.

Have your wedding dress fashioned into a kaftan and book yourself a girlie holiday on Ibiza.

Choose a divorce idol. Elizabeth Taylor (seven husbands), Joanna Lumley (divorced her first husband after only four months) and Demi Moore (best example of successful cougardom) have all been divorced and fabulous.

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