When I hear older generations (my parents, friends’ parents and parents’ friends) tell stories of their twenties in New York, they reminisce over the dive bar they frequented on Tuesdays, the random parties where Mick Jagger showed up, the blind dates that turned into marriages. It all feels vaguely romantic and inexplicably out of reach, though it shouldn’t be. After all, as twentysomethings living in the same city, with phones in our pockets and calendars synced to the cloud, we’re as connected and reachable as ever. So why doesn’t it feel that way?

The sitcoms and rom-coms we grew up on all have something in common– something my parents’ generation had, and mine doesn’t. In How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days, The Devil Wears Prada, and He’s Just Not That Into You, women gossip around a water cooler, sip martinis at their favorite bar (before going home with Mathew McConaughey), or catch up in a cozy booth at a pub full of familiar faces. There’s not a single episode in Friends, in which Chandler, Phoebe, Rachel, Ross, and Monica aren’t chatting on the couches at Central Perk Cafe at one point or another. Sure, Sex and the City has caught flack for setting unrealistic expectations around female friendship. It left many feeling sad that they don’t have a core friend group to meet for brunch. For me, it’s not the brunch crew that feels unrealistic about the show— it’s the restaurant they can rely on for a fourtop without a reservation made weeks in advance.

What these shows and films capture — and are predicated on — is the idea of a third space. Not work, not home, but a consistent social setting where relationships develop based on proximity and ritual. The bar, the cafe, the corner booth, the place where you can show up knowing someone you know is already there, without pre-arrangement. It’s a huge part of college that we don’t appreciate until we find it’s missing in the adult world.

Now, I fear that Gen-Z’s third space is social media. Instagram is where we convene and decompress after a long day. DMs are where we engage and exchange jokes. We express subliminal romantic interest with a double tap instead of small talk at the bar. Posting ‘stories’ has replaced telling actual ones.

At dinner recently with my friend Isabel and her parents, her stepdad observed that our generation’s inner circle seems stronger than theirs was, being that in the 80s they didn’t have cellphones, whereas now we keep constant tabs on our friends’ day-to-day existence. But perhaps as a byproduct of that closeness, our broader network is weaker than theirs – we seem less capable of, or open to, meeting new people spontaneously.

What does it mean for our generation if we’re increasingly close to our pods (and AirPods), but less likely to stray outside them?

Here are some ideas on how we can bring back spontaneous socialization in the era of social curation and rumination.

1. Choose a dive bar to become a regular at with friends. Not a scene-y west village place you found on Tik Tok with 300K likes. Somewhere off the beaten path where you can actually have a conversation with the bartender and take over a booth without glares or a two-hour time limit.
2. Host more dinner parties, and encourage plus ones. My friend’s friend hosted a potluck last fall and required that every invitee bring someone who wouldn’t know anyone there. The conversation was fun, the food was great, and everyone left with new phone contacts, and new ideas of things to do around the city per their new friends’ recommendations.
3. Bring back date set-ups. It used to be the job of friends–not algorithms–to find their friends a partner.
4. Normalize telling someone you like them.
   1. I met one of my best friends when I was studying abroad in Madrid. Similar to what can happen in New York, I noticed that American students abroad tended to travel in a pack with their college classmates. The first weekend I arrived in Spain I went out at Kapital, a seven-story night club, the layout of which feels a bit like Alcatraz. I’d been diagnosed with Mono that day–as it turned out I’d had it all summer, unbeknownst to me. Since I’d spent the last three months working as a waitress at a ranch in Montana where binge drinking was part of the job description, my doctor told me to avoid alcohol for my first month abroad to give my spleen a break. Spain is not a great place to be sober, but Kapital is possibly the last place on Earth I’d want to be. While I sipped my sad tonic water on the dance floor, I struck up a conversation with Taylor, who was dancing with her group of Tulane friends. We hit it off. I can’t remember why, but at some point in our conversation, I joked that I think we should be friends. She agreed and hugged me. But no, like really, I strained over the DJ’s rendition of Pepas. I’m actually sober saying this, and I’m actually going to remember this tomorrow. Though she wasn’t, she thankfully remembered it the next day too. Some of my favorite stories and most adventurous travels were with Taylor—and continue to be. It may feel awkward to send the follow-up text about those brunch plans you made when the buzz has faded, but what’s the best that can happen?
5. Normalize dropping in on people. (The cast of Friends is good at this). I’ve also heard my parents’ generation talk about how it used to be more casual to stop by someone’s house — to come in for a quick hello or impromptu drink. These days everything feels like more of a commitment, partially because we plan so far in advance. Practice texting your friends—or better yet, calling them–to say you’re in the neighborhood.
6. Join a kickball league. Or host needlepoint nights in the winter. Learn how to play padel, or learn to knit. Take a cooking class. Have hobbies and do them with others.
7. Book clubs. But not just for getting your close friends together. For encouraging people to bring another into the fold. Or cinema club — once a month selecting a movie that’s out and going with a group to see it in theaters. And make it co-ed (see #3).
8. Bring a friend Fridays. Wherever you’re headed to meet people on a Friday night, bring a different friend into the mix to accompany you. Something I love about New York is how gratifying it is to see your childhood bestie bonding with your college ones–it benefits everyone.
9. Talk to strangers. It’s not weird or disruptive to strike conversation with the person next to you in the elevator or in line. Sometimes it’s the best part of your day, and sometimes it’s the best part of their day. Sometimes it’s a lifeline (it has been for me).
10. Make socializing mundane again. When my boss wants us to publish a quick news article at work, he always says, “it doesn’t have to be a Pulitzer Prize winner–just get something out.” I think this advice is true of a lot of things, and it applies here. Resist treating week night plans like a big calendar event. It doesn’t have to be Instagram-worthy, and it doesn’t have to be the highlight of your week, it just has to happen.

We don’t need to recreate Friends, or Sex and the City, or the fantasy of New York in the 80s and 90s. But we should think about what those shows got right, and what makes those passed-down stories glimmer: it’s the value of being around people, not curated, not calculated, not streamed, just there.