Keep the guest list secret and hold off on professional introductions until the next morning, so people meet the person instead of the title.
Within seconds of seeing a name, we can learn someone's biggest wins, their follower counts and how much their kids loved the pool at the Four Seasons in Cabo. We instantly rank how much they're "crushing it," compare it to ourselves, and walk in having already chosen between condescension and groveling. And we miss the person. So when someone gets an invite to my monthly dinner, something is missing: the other guests. I don't share who's coming, and I make no "professional" introductions until the next morning. Strip away the titles and everyone at the table is just a person dealing with the same human stuff.
The best moments at my dive-bar dinners come when someone forgets to be impressive and just gets interesting. The tech executive who admits they have no idea how to help their kid with third grade math. The venture capitalist who reveals they're secretly training for a hot dog eating competition. Leave the ego on the sidelines and you find out the person with the failing startup is deep into writing a book on philosophy, and the lawyer volunteers playing guitar at an assisted living facility.