This evening, Rachel, Elvira, and I are set to gather for dinner. A year ago, we were unaware of each other’s existence. Six months ago, Rachel and Elvira were unfamiliar faces until I made the introduction. But now, here we stand, as close to true friends as one can be after such a brief period.
If you’ve engaged with any media, you might be led to believe that life post-35 is a desolate expanse filled with unthinkable terrors: the onset of relentless back ailments, a newfound enthusiasm for arranging dishwashers, the realization that you’re barred from entire job markets deemed “youth-oriented,” and, it seems, a struggle to forge friendships.
“Making friends becomes more challenging as you age,” the saying goes, and indeed, 69% of respondents in a US survey conducted by Talker Research acknowledge that cultivating close friendships gets tougher with age. Studies indicate that it requires approximately 200 hours of interaction to cultivate a close friendship and, as psychotherapist Kaytee Gillis explains, that level of commitment often diminishes in adulthood. “Unlike childhood, where leisure time is plentiful and social encounters are a regular part of daily life,” she notes, “adults often must consciously create time for social pursuits amidst their hectic schedules.” Additionally, considering that we find ourselves in an increasingly disconnected era and amid an acknowledged global loneliness epidemic, it seems we are fated.
Or not necessarily so. I serve as evidence that forming friendships need not be restricted to the school playground, freshers’ week, or your first job. Over the last year, I have gradually established a small circle of newcomers whose company brings me joy.
I stumbled into my mid-30s unprepared for a significant change in my social landscape. My social calendar had vast weekend voids, while in my vibrant 20s, it overflowed with after-work outings, brunches, lunches, birthday celebrations, and spontaneous nights out simply because it was Saturday (or Friday, or Thursday, or Wednesday …).
The same friends who once belted out songs on pub furniture at 2am, suddenly, and seemingly overnight, transitioned to suburban life (and overseas), got married, and became parents. Yet all of us – the newly married and the singles – clung to the illusion that our friendships would remain unchanged.
I, in the latter group, recognized that my trajectory was rapidly separating from that of my close companions. Those who had started families were now less accessible or prone to spontaneity. I appreciated their new lives and roles, but emotionally, it felt like a loss. It wasn’t solely their physical absence that I mourned – I didn’t necessarily need our entire group to reconvene, howling in pubs every weekend – but rather our overall connection. Even phone calls became infrequent; we would spend days, sometimes weeks, attempting to align our schedules, like bewildered birds failing to find a perch.
Then came the ache of observing friends step into lives I couldn’t relate to, while society told me I was meant to be living in such a way. Deconstructing the societal expectations of marriage and motherhood has been a painstaking journey for me, so deeply ingrained were they in my identity. Through this process, I often felt like an outlier – at times, a failure – among trusted friends with whom I once shared countless experiences.
The yearning to belong is an inherent human trait. Thus, despite my affection for these friends and my desire to continue spending time with them, I also recognized the necessity of finding people who were living lives aligned with my own.
An overseas friend raved about Bumble BFF, the platonic counterpart of the popular dating app. This time, you’re not scrolling through a range of faces to determine which ones attract you, but instead trying to identify which face indicates potential friendship. In a dating culture already skewed by swipe-induced bias, it felt unsettling – almost contrary to my feminist ideals – to be a woman evaluating other women in this manner. Nonetheless, the aforementioned friend insisted that Bumble BFF had expanded her social circle, so I reluctantly began to swipe.
Fun fact: it makes no difference whether you’re swiping for companionship or romance; you are never shielded from feelings of rejection and self-doubt. In fact, being ghosted by a prospective new friend is arguably more disheartening. I can come to terms with the fact that someone might not be attracted to me, but what feels less acceptable is the thought of being so utterly unappealing as a friend. One woman, with whom I had exchanged a few lighthearted messages, vanished from the app two hours prior to our scheduled meetup.
Fortunately, there were more substantial connections than just phantoms. Rachel and I went on our first friend date together. We met at a café and connected over our similar childhoods immersed in swimming practice. It wasn’t without its awkward moments; we both acknowledged the peculiar nature of our meeting. Furthermore, we are entirely different individuals: she is a scientist and passionate Spurs supporter; I am a creative who isn’t quite sure what “Spurs” even refers to. And yet, for some reason, it works. Nearly a year later, we’ve swum together, dined together, spent time with her father, and collectively signed up for swimming competitions.
Later, I succumbed to some assertive Instagram marketing and enrolled in Timeleft, an application that invites you to share dinner with six strangers. Through it, a personality quiz awaits you – purportedly used to pair you with six like-minded potential friends. Then you’re informed where and when dinner will take place. Once again, the strangeness of the scenario left me feeling somewhat uneasy. We were one of several groups of strangers dispersed across a restaurant floor, all relying on an algorithm to forge new friendships – it resembled an episode of Black Mirror.
Yet, there was comfort in discovering that these six strangers were in this for akin motives. Most were experiencing transitions in their lives where old friendships had lost their paths, and there was a shared longing to find new kindred spirits. Elvira turned out to be one of those kindred spirits. Seated directly across from me but one seat over, she was the quietest individual in the group, and initially, I presumed we didn’t share any common ground. Then, she uttered a dry, sharp comment under her breath, flashing me a knowing smile, and at that moment, I recognized that we had a shared sense of humor. That was sufficient for us to stay connected and meet periodically over the subsequent 11 months. During this time, I introduced her to another friend, with whom she has developed a friendship of her own, leading the three of us to dine together and attend each other’s social gatherings.
Additionally, there have been the serendipitous friendships (though gently nudged along). When I relocated earlier this year, I turned to SpareRoom – the flatshare service – to assist in finding new accommodation. I responded to Abi’s ad and after she showed me her lovely apartment, we sat on the sofa chatting. We clicked immediately, and while I didn’t end up as her tenant, I emerged as her friend instead. After the viewing, I invited her out for a drink, and she agreed. Several dinners, humorous anecdote exchanges, and a Fleetwood Mac tribute night later, I now count her as a valuable friend in my new city.
My new friendships aren’t solely app-driven; I can pleasantly confirm that in 2025, forming connections “in real life” remains entirely feasible. In July, as the Cribs performed at Brighton’s On the Beach festival, I crossed paths with Loveday in a completely organic and unplanned manner. Ticketless locals gathered to watch and dance by the roadside. Alone and on my way home, I might not have had the courage to join them, but my passion for early-2000s indie pop rock was compelling. So was the enthusiasm of the man beside me, who knew every lyric. His girlfriend, who was not as enthusiastic, initiated a conversation, and by the end of the set, we found ourselves chatting like lifelong friends at the local pub. Four months later, I’m now accompanying Loveday on weekend walks across the South Downs, where we discuss everything under the sun.
Additionally, I’ve discovered promising acquaintances in co-working spaces, fitness classes, monthly supper clubs, and even local cafés. Notably, these connections have not been limited to women; although, as a heterosexual woman, I tend to pursue new female friendships to steer clear of murky waters or situations that feel too much like dating – which hasn’t been the intent.
At times, I found it hard to believe my fortune; it all seemed significantly simpler than I had anticipated. Much more manageable than the research indicates. It’s true that I’ve always been an extrovert and haven’t struggled much with meeting new individuals, which I know boosts my chances in the friendship-making sphere. However, I believe there’s more to it than merely being extroverted.
Spiritual leaders and social media memes frequently recite things like “what you project comes back,” “like attracts like,” and the necessity of “loving oneself before extending love to others.” All of these concepts have previously evoked my skepticism. Yet, I am now fairly certain that these friendships could not have blossomed 18 months ago, as I was grappling with a challenging chapter in my life. However, at some point, I achieved a degree of tranquility and realized that happiness creates a feedback loop: the happier I became, the more fascinating the world was – and as the world became more intriguing, my happiness increased, making me seemingly more appealing to others as well.
The statistics may indicate that forming friendships becomes more challenging with age. Yet they also instill in us a sense of defeatism regarding our influence in the world. Age does not hinder friendship formation – fear, anxiety, and sadness do. I firmly believe that once you invest time in processing difficult emotions, you will likely discover a multitude of wonderful individuals eager to be your friend.
