Recently, a friend shared in our group chat that he’s relocating to Newcastle, a place I admire but seldom visit. While I was initially excited about the prospect of visiting the North East of England, I was also saddened. We hardly see each other in London as it is, so I wondered how things would change with him living 300 miles away.
Around the same time, a friend living in Islamabad announced a new job in another group chat. Another friend shared photos of his one-year-old son, whom I haven’t yet met. These moments highlight how life progresses, even when we’re not present to witness it.
I communicate with my closest friends daily, though not always directly. Sometimes it’s just reading their messages, reacting with an emoji, or punctuating a meme exchange with “haha.” But it happens every day.
Group chats – I have three main groups of friends – feel vibrant. They’re like hallways we pass through, but rarely linger in. The late nights spent playing video games, watching movies, or debating which carnivores we could defeat in a fight have been replaced by careers, families, and other adult obligations.
The effortless nature of friendship – that instinctive closeness you experience when young, broke, and living nearby – diminishes as you age. Now, gatherings require weeks or months of advance planning, and someone usually cancels. “Could we do mid-to-late September? What does your 2026 look like?” The logistical demands of adult life mean that even those I feel closest to mostly exist as icons on a screen.
We like to believe that group chats are a lifeline, keeping us connected despite geographical distance and life changes. You can check in, send a birthday greeting, share a Facebook memory (if you still use Facebook), or post photos occasionally to create the illusion of presence.
It resembles friendship, but it’s a diluted version. Because it’s become the norm, we don’t acknowledge the group chat’s shortcomings. One is that it’s not a substitute for real-life interactions, especially given the current “global public health concern” of loneliness. Another is that group chats can be overwhelming. In a survey of 1,000 American adults, 66% felt overwhelmed by their messages, and 42% found keeping up with them to be like a part-time job.
People also use group chats differently. For some, WhatsApp is simply a calendar. For others, it’s a therapist’s office. Some only communicate through memes and reels, while others never speak, only randomly “liking” comments from weeks ago.
Therefore, it’s difficult, perhaps impossible, to create a group chat that fulfills everyone’s emotional needs. Yet, we continue to expect it to, relying on it as a Swiss Army knife for adult friendship: an all-in-one tool for intimacy, vulnerability, humor, and support.
Some things are simply too difficult to discuss in a group chat. Redundancy, breakups, or bereavement aren’t easily shared in that setting.
This isn’t to criticize technology. Group chats are convenient and useful, but they’re insufficient on their own. True friendships require us to be there for each other in inconvenient ways, to express things that don’t have a reaction button, and to risk showing up even when we feel out of sync.
It’s challenging. My own WhatsApp behavior isn’t perfect. I’ve missed important moments, leaving messages unread for days because I was too tired, busy, or unsure of what to say. And I’ve experienced the same from others.
However, it’s not too late to adjust. A group chat can be just one aspect of friendships. Bring back phone calls. Don’t let get-togethers become just memories. Make time to see friends as much as possible, regardless of the cost of a train or plane ticket.
The people I care about most still reside in my phone, but I’m trying, perhaps imperfectly, to invite them out of it now and then, to move beyond the digital placeholder. We must remember that friendship, like anything alive, needs air and attention.
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