Who Are The Mckees In The Great Gatsby

If you remember The Great Gatsby as a blur of green lights, jazz, and tragic parties, the McKees might feel like a half-remembered couple from a crowded room. They appear in Chapter 2, at Tom Buchanan's secret Manhattan apartment with Myrtle Wilson. They're not central to the love story, but they're unforgettable in the way a bizarre side character can steal a scene.

Meet the McKees: Chester and Lucille

Mr. McKee is a photographer who lives in the flat below Tom's apartment. He's pale, polite, and a little too eager to please. His wife, Lucille, is described as shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible—a line that has done more for her literary fame than most of her dialogue.

They're part of the boozy, messy party where Tom parades Myrtle around New York. The McKees aren't old money like the Buchanans, nor striving dreamers like Gatsby. They're mid-tier social climbers, hanging around the edges of someone else's scandal.

Mr. McKee's first name is Chester, though the novel mostly calls him Mr. McKee. Lucille is the wife who brags, gossips, and delivers some of the night's most awkward lines. Together, they're a perfect snapshot of 1920s New York's hangers-on.

What Do They Actually Do?

Mr. McKee is in the "artistic game," which mostly means he takes photographs. He made a dim enlargement of Myrtle's mother that hangs on the wall like an ectoplasm. Lucille brags that he's photographed her 127 times since they married—a fun fact that says everything about their dynamic.

At the party, Lucille drinks, gossips, and monologues about almost marrying a man "below" her. Mr. McKee gets sloppy drunk and ends up in a strange, ambiguous scene with Nick Carraway. Nick later finds himself at Penn Station at dawn, with no clear memory of how he got there.

That bedroom moment has fueled endless debate. Some readers see it as a coded sexual encounter between Nick and Mr. McKee. Others read it as a drunken blackout that says more about Nick's unreliability than his desire.

Why They Matter More Than You Think

The McKees are minor characters, but they do heavy thematic lifting. They show how everyone in Gatsby's orbit is performing—performing class, sophistication, and intimacy they don't quite own. Lucille's snobbery is especially revealing: she looks down on others while clinging to a photographer husband and a borrowed party.

Mr McKee | The great gatsby, The great gatsby 2013, Double breasted

They also add to the novel's queer subtext. Mr. McKee's bedroom scene with Nick is brief, hazy, and never explained. Either way, it complicates Nick's role as the reliable narrator.

Culturally, the McKees feel like ancestors of reality TV side characters. They're the couple who show up for the free drinks, drop a few messy lines, and vanish before the credits. Think Real Housewives guest energy, but in 1920s New York.

Practical Tips from the McKees' Mistakes

Tip 1: Don't confuse proximity with power. The McKees are near Tom's drama, but they have no real influence. In modern terms, being in the group chat doesn't make you a decision-maker.

Tip 2: Watch the bragging. Lucille's 127-photo flex is meant to impress, but it lands as insecurity. If your story needs a number to sound good, maybe the story isn't the point.

Tip 3: Know when to leave the party. Mr. McKee's night ends in a blurry, awkward scene. A good rule: if you're in your underwear and can't remember how you got there, it's time to call a cab.

Mrs McKee

Tip 4: Don't let someone else's affair become your personality. The McKees orbit Tom and Myrtle's mess, but they gain nothing. Gossip is a snack, not a meal.

Fun Little Facts

Like much of Gatsby's supporting cast, the McKees feel plucked from the New York art and party scene Fitzgerald knew. Their names—Chester and Lucille—are almost comically ordinary next to Daisy, Jordan, and Gatsby. That ordinariness is the point: they're the filler characters who reveal the emptiness around them.

The McKees appear in only one chapter, yet they've sparked decades of academic debate. Not bad for a couple who mostly just drink and talk over each other. They're proof that in great fiction, even the smallest roles can carry big meanings.

Also, the 127 photographs aren't just a quirky detail. They hint at how much of the McKees' life is staged, curated, and performed for an audience. In a social-media age, that feels almost too familiar.

A Final Thought for Daily Life

Most of us have been McKees at some point—hovering at the edge of a party, trying to seem cooler than we feel. We've all said something snobby, laughed too loud, or stayed too late because leaving meant facing our own ordinary lives. The McKees remind us that being near the action isn't the same as being part of it.

So the next time you're in a room full of bigger personalities, ask yourself: are you there because you want to be, or just because you're afraid to miss out? The McKees never answer that question. That's exactly why they're worth remembering.