Lonely together: Sometimes, our online connections aren’t enough

We are in the grip of a loneliness epidemic. According to an article published in the FT this weekend, 40% of us don’t socialise ‘at least weekly’. This used to be primarily true of those aged 40 or older. But it now applies to those in their 20s, too:

Think about that for a moment. The number of adults in their twenties who don’t socialise at all in any given week. That’s not just a statistic. It’s a total cultural shift from the ‘roaring twenties’ I and my ‘indie sleaze’ generation enjoyed.

The reality of the loneliness epidemic hit home for me when I moved back to London after six years away. With some of my friends, I was able to pick up again right where I left off. But many more friendships had faded. Some people had moved miles away, others had young children to prioritise. Understandable. But many more simply no longer felt the connection. Even though they lived nearby, we had become strangers. The emotional bond was gone.

So I started talking about it, expecting my experience to be unique, the result of moving to a tiny island for work for much of my 30s. Turns out I was wrong.

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How can everyone be lonely?

?I was taken aback by just how many of my connections, of every age and stage in life, shared similar feelings. When I opened up about my own struggles, some of my friends shared theirs:

?·????? “Mate, other than [name] you’re pretty much my only friend…”

·????? “I don’t know anyone any more. Some days I feel like I’m just melting into the background.”

·????? “Friends? Are you asking how many people I talk to on Whatsapp, or do you mean actual friends?”

·????? “The only people I know who have a decent group of friends are the ones who never left the town they grew up in. The rest of us are ****ed.”

·????? “I’m sick of London, but I stay because I’m afraid if I leave I’ll never find a group of friends again”.

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Analogue hearts in a digital world

According to articles in the FT and the Atlantic, these anecdotes are part of a wider, secular trend in our society.

The loneliness epidemic is real, and it’s taking its toll on people in their 20s as well as us old gits.

The FT notes: “People in their teens and twenties now hang out about as much as someone 10 years older than them did in the past…. Not so much a case of 30 being the new 20, as 20 being the new 30…” while warning that “trends in time spent alone are an almost exact parallel of trends in mental health.”

I asked my small-ish circle for explanations and got back almost as many answers as I had friends. Some spoke of the cost of socialising. An ￡8 pint was mentioned. Then again, so was a lack of activities for the newly “sober curious” who were once eight-pinters back in the day.

Others pointed to how social media has replaced social interaction. Platforms like TikTok, Instagram, Twitter and their ilk promise social interaction, but what they actually deliver in practice is a pale imitation. Like a fast food burger, it can be quick and easy. But it’s rarely fulfilling.

Antisocial media?

Despite the name, ‘social media’ is an increasingly solitary activity. 52% of TikTok users consume content on the platform, but have never actually posted.

My increasingly rare Instagram posts languish, unloved, buried by the algorithm beneath a mountain of memes and short-form skits by ‘influencers’ I’ve never met and have no interest in following. As a platform for reaching out to friends, it’s hopeless. The same goes for Twitter and other platforms that once promised us all the ability to make new connections.

We’ve replaced deep and meaningful conversation with shallow, algorithm-curated interactions. Shared experiences have been replaced by shared scrolling. Little wonder then that ‘brain rot’ – consuming low quality content online – was named the Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year for 2024. ?

As a society, the loneliness epidemic is making our mental health worse, making us more anxious, more depressed. It’s also making our society less empathetic and more polarised. As anyone who follows politics – or sets foot in the toxic playground of modern Twitter can’t help but see.

I’m not sure I have all the answers. In fact, I’m not sure I have any. How do we begin rebuilding the bonds that social media and smartphones have slowly unravelled?

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The human cost

In 2023, I lost someone very close to me. She was 28, and struggling with deep depression. In her last WhatsApp, she told me that she hadn’t left the house or seen anyone in ages.

She lived hundreds of miles away, so I replied with a text message. ‘Are you ok?’ I asked. She read it but never replied.

I will go to my grave wishing I had done more.

Wishing I’d dropped everything in that moment and travelled across the country to see her and tell her how much she meant to me. Wishing I had understood that what she needed that moment wasn’t another well-meaning text, but actual, real, human connection.

And that sort of sums up how our interactions have become in a hyper-digital age.

Synthetic, digital connections through text messages or endless social media likes, comments and arguments, that are really no substitute for strong personal networks and lasting friendships.

Activities like endlessly scrolling social media, posting status updates, or sending funny memes to those mates you haven’t seen in five years but are still in a WhatsApp group with dominate our time.?

Yet they are rarely as meaningful as our real life interactions.? Are these solitary habits – and yes, social media is now a solitary habit, despite the name – crowding out social interactions that actually bring joy and meaning to our lives?

How do we socialise more when some of our friends can’t afford a ￡8 pint, and others live hundreds of miles away? How do we meet new people when meetups and workplaces have become WFH and Group Chats and Zooms?

The blue decade?

I wrote this post on “blue Monday” but it seems to me more like we’re experiencing a blue decade.

All I can really say is, if you want to reach out to someone, or check in on them, don’t just send them a text. Don’t just like their latest Instagram post. Or think that because you've watched their latest reel, you've actually interacted. There’s a real person on the other side of that screen.

And it is real interaction we all truly crave.

These days, I make a point of asking my mates if they want to ‘take this conversation offline’ with a coffee or a beer. It’s not much, but it’s a start. Maybe breaking the cycle isn’t about changing everything. Maybe it’s just about taking those first small steps towards connection.

What do you think?