Words: Briana Uzorka (she/her)
In all of this, it is important to remember one truth: human interaction is as necessary as food and water. The skin craves touch, the ears crave words, and your eyes crave those of another.
Society is suffering from an individuality epidemic. Every day, people delve further into themselves in search of comfort under the guise of quiet mystery. Everyone wants to be an enigma; everyone wants to be unique. Nowadays, hyper-individualism is celebrated; our successes are our own, and our failures are to be experienced in isolation. Whilst the Romantics revelled in their own despair, modern society fools itself into thinking it loves being alone for the sake of convenience. We deny ourselves community not because we truly enjoy solitude but because we have become lazy, anxious, and socially inept.
Over the last few years, people have become insular. It is no surprise that, following COVID-19, our capacity to interact with each other has dwindled. Meeting people is hard – it’s awkward and embarrassing – and building intimacy feels foolish or forced in person. Rather than attempting to reintegrate ourselves into society, it seems as though we have collectively decided to take shortcuts. Following the end of lockdown, accessible and casual places for people to convene – third spaces – have become sparser and significantly less affordable. Dating apps are appearing everywhere, whilst third spaces are increasingly an abstract concept. We’ve lost the ambiguity of locking eyes with a beautiful stranger at the pub in favour of sorting through several options online until you find the most comfortable fit.
This loss of third spaces has impacted far more than our dating lives; meeting new people requires more effort now than ever because spaces are not inclusive. Going out is expensive, which means exclusivity. When in London, I found myself paying £20 entry to parties to meet other creative people, most of whom were like me – privately educated, publicly cool, yet fundamentally sheltered. It’s fun to exist in those bubbles, to feel part of something bigger than everyone else. Society has taught us to be ego-driven, and what better way to enforce that than by putting a price tag on community.
The internet exists as a seemingly accessible third space: you can bond with people like you and evade the constraints of class, race, gender, and sexuality. You can foster all the community you think you need from the comfort of your own home. There is no need for discomfort online. The block button’s always there; your phone can be turned off; there’s no obligation to interact with dissimilar people – and therefore no obligation to think differently.
Politics then becomes a point of polarising contention. People are rarely engaging with different ideologies, as they are not made to encounter them organically. There is a growing body of research suggesting a link between online echo chambers and increased political polarisation. People who feel like outsiders in society are preyed on by far-right predators online, groomed into these echo chambers, and made to feel accepted enough to never leave. The death of third spaces has meant more than the death of community; it has fostered division and hatred towards difference.
The distaste for diversity in our communities has led to a massive shift towards superficiality. The groups we form are not reflective of closeness but rather a representation of how we want to be perceived. This is not a new thing – human beings gravitate towards what is most familiar – but now, more than ever, these relationships function as social currency above all else. Throughout freshers, I met people who were solely interested in befriending me from an aesthetic lens. I was invited to Instagram-worthy drinks, took copious amounts of selfies with people who probably found me boring (and whom I definitely found boring too). It felt as though I had become a brand, and friendship a collaboration. The time we spent together contributed to the way I was perceived; however, there was an innate desire for intimacy and closeness that was not met. Everything felt fake because it was.
Some people detest this artificiality and favour being alone as a means of feeling authentic. Rather than attempting to override the banality of societal conventions, they reject community in favour of the self. The brooding outside archetype – choosing to be ostracised rather than misunderstood – has become a modern comfort zone. Taking time to discover yourself is not a bad thing; one should be familiar with their interior. However, this tendency towards isolation has become escapist. We cut off the people we love, dismiss opportunities to connect, and fail to exist outside of our comfort zones because it is neither convenient nor comfortable to have our sense of self challenged.
In all of this, it is important to remember one truth: human interaction is as necessary as food and water. The skin craves touch, the ears crave words, and your eyes crave those of another.
