In February, The Atlantic published an article titled “Why Americans Suddenly Stopped Hanging Out.” In this article, Derek Thompson claims a heightened use of social media, busy schedules, the COVID-19 pandemic and a lack of social infrastructure — all of which correlate to spikes in youth depression and the erosion of community — as the root causes of America’s gradual turn to introversion, though Thompson doesn’t identify the long-revered, lost alternative, the “great American hangout.”
Thompson is largely correct, but his argument is dodgy — was there ever a “great American hangout” and, if so, what did it look like? If we’re tumbling toward a dark age of introversion, it’s worth reflecting on the possibilities of renewed extroversion.
We all know the real reason behind America’s lack of “hanging out” — late capitalism. Karl Marx and Alexandra Kollontai did warn us after all — love for others, oneself and friendship is not compatible with bourgeoisie culture. It’s no secret that social media algorithms are designed to be addicting, productivity is praised — because God forbid you spend less time working and more time being human, thinking, loving and dancing — the two-parent working household means no one shows up anymore, air conditioner units are driving people off stoops and into malls and public places are a hot commodity in the majority of this country. It’s also no wonder Thompson identifies the office as the last-standing “community” for many. (Seriously, huge thanks to Big Pharma for this newfound exuberance I’m experiencing — I think I’ll go into the office today!)
Given and despite this grim American landscape, I entered my freshman year at Binghamton University with the idea that college would be a near-utopia, even joking with friends at one point about how college campuses reassembled failed communes. Campuses are a liminal space — one in which days are spent learning about things that excite you, talking and organizing in clubs with peers who share your passions and desires, perusing through library shelves and accessible journals online, snoozing on greenery, taking a sculpture class just for fun, etc.
College seemed like the peak of communal life, abundant with connections and revelations of the self. Campuses, themselves, are often regarded as a model for human-centered climates — concentrating similar students within classes, majors and schools allows for the facilitation of relationships based not just on proximity, but also on interests and personalities. Also, building walkable spaces in terms of infrastructure and scale makes public spaces more accessible and face-to-face interactions a norm.
In contrast to the campus lacuna, a common critique of modern urban planning is its tendency to accommodate automobiles, construct suburbs strewn with freeways and, with the aid of inequitable housing, leave human-friendly amenities as an afterthought in lower-income, non-white neighborhoods. While walkability doesn’t solve everything going awry with America’s social fitness, it certainly helps if you can move at your will and without terabytes of information reverberating inside your overworked brain, go outside without being hit by the smell of concrete spectacle and cheap fuel, establish community-based routines at places of worship, work, dining and play, etc. These privileges are largely attainable on college campuses.
Of course, several things could go wrong, like the idea of a social weekend consisting of stale dances and meaningless bump-ins at frat parties with people you never liked, or, again, being preoccupied with being busy — after all, colleges are, in fact, not unscathed by the works of capitalism. We also have to consider the unspoken and unseen labor many low-income and international students do on campus, the designation of transportation-friendly and walkable neighborhoods off campus to student renters and the pressures many face that clog up opportunities to take more personally-fulfilling or “fun” classes. The campus lacuna is indeed fantastical and a deteriorating Binghamton social health mirrors that of this country at large.
In that case, while we’re tirelessly combatting the symptoms of capitalist bliss, we might find joy in solitude — the country isn’t built for bountiful public libraries and prickly, grassy lawns, but that might not be the only reason we might choose introversion as Thompson would suspect. Auteur Andrei Tarkovsky said in a documentary interview, “I think I’d like to say only that [young people] should learn to be alone and try to spend as much time as possible by themselves.” In this Criterion Collection archive, Tarkovsky lingers on the difference between aloneness and loneliness, that you shouldn’t be bored of and with yourself.
The constant desire for togetherness and privileging of “social fitness” is rather dangerous to Tarkovsky, to whom a vibrant hangout is bound to a dynamic inner life. Tarkovsky allows us to reconsider the negative connotations of introversion as America’s recession into introversion is deeply misunderstood. To Thompson, introversion looks like spending more time with pets than humans, but it’s truly about procuring gratification and energy from oneself, not others, which is non-mutually exclusive with “hanging out” or fostering community. Introversion feels like listening to your body, learning its boundaries and practicing intentionality to become a better friend and, ultimately, community member.
College campuses and the communal, art-loving utopia they represent inspire us with what the “great American hangout” can be given proper infrastructure and equitable norms, lest we forget that “the great American hangout” still exists in various non-normative forms and spaces. Otherwise, we’re just going to have to reach within ourselves and turn that energy, even social energy, upon itself — the “great American hanging-out.”
Julie Ha is a senior double-majoring in comparative literature and English and is Pipe Dream’s Opinions Editor.
Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the Staff Editorial.