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A pivot on singledom, the rise of ‘lonely influencers’, and a crackdown on self-optimisation have more and more of us romanticising the lonely life.
I’ve grown up feeling that loneliness is something to hide, or at least feel negative about.
My earliest visualisation of adult loneliness was probably Bridget Jones singing ‘All By Myself’ in her pyjamas, and as I evolved through school, university, and my first jobs, I came to associate loneliness with new digital forms of existence. Scrolling on social media for hours, curating an ostensibly full life for distant followers, and idealising a reality that was always ‘elsewhere’.
By extension, loneliness has always been framed as a problem to solve. You can find your people by downloading the latest dating app or joining a run club or optimising your routine to become your best self and ‘attract the right energy’.
But recently, attitudes toward the lonely life have shifted – particularly amongst chronically online young people.
Open TikTok and you’ll find a woman unlocking the door to her pristine new-build apartment after work. She pours herself a glass of Diet Coke, makes a bowl of pasta, lights a candle, curls up beneath a blanket and re-watches Friends. The caption probably reads something like: ‘Life when you have no kids, friends, or boyfriend.’
We’re suddenly being sold an aesthetic of loneliness. Solitude is increasingly aspirational, and this shift extends well beyond one viral video. British Vogue recently sparked fierce debate with its now-viral article, ‘Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?’, in which Chanté Joseph suggested that heterosexual relationships have lost much of their cultural cachet among younger women.
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Around the same time, podcasters, columnists, and creators have started discussing the rise of what some dub the ‘lonely influencer’ – people documenting lives with few visible friendships, partners, or obligations. They do so not as cautionary tales but as enviable demonstrations of freedom. And given influencers spend so much time online by nature, it’s safe to assume they have less free time to spend with people IRL.
For years, the ideal influencer was permanently busy, but today’s algorithms favour intimacy.
Audiences are gravitating towards quiet rituals like grocery shopping and reading, appealing to the lines around an ostensibly healthier ‘slow life’. They promise aspiration through emotional self-sufficiency rather than consumption.
But of course, each piece of this content is somehow encouraging us to invest in a new wellness supplement or jazzy tech add-on that will help to further optimise the solitary lifestyle we’re told to chase.
