Are we in a ‘Friendship Recession’? Why making friends as an adult feels harder than ever
Saturday, 6 June 2026
As a ‘friendship recession’ takes hold, George Fenwick looks at the awkward, hopeful business of making friends as an adult – and how to find your community once more.
I was the second to arrive. My first dinner companion and I introduced ourselves, made polite chatter about the restaurant, our jobs. A third diner arrived, a fourth. As the fifth entered, it felt like we were in a play, sent from stage left in deliberately staggered cues.
The five of us strangers were there for Timeleft, the global app aiming to help people make friends. It’s a “revolution against big-city loneliness”, its creator Maxime Barbier boldly claims on Instagram. The website’s imagery promises a glimmering dream: three people falling into fits of laughter over wine and small plates, accompanied with emotive copy: “You don’t find friends, you become one. Start by showing up.”
Timeleft is just one of several friendship-making apps that have proliferated in the last few years. They function somewhat like dating apps – Timeleft requires personal information about your work, hobbies and interests, and aims to match you with diners similar to you – but with supposedly less pressure than romantic contexts. Timeleft’s dinner party setup is unique among its peers. Bumble BFF directly emulates dating apps – one literally swipes right or left on potential friends – while Meetup connects users with existing real-life hobby groups like sports teams or clubs.
Some of my new friends tonight have already met at previous Timeleft dinners; one had used it extensively while travelling through Europe and met long-lasting travel buddies. We’re all in our 20s or 30s, but the others have met people in their 40s and 60s using Timeleft. It’s the app itself that oils the conversation, providing an equaliser that breaks any potential awkwardness. In asking each other about it – “Have you tried this before? Did it go well? Which was the best restaurant it took you to?” – we are able to acknowledge and thus diminish the vulnerable admission that we’re all here for the same reason, to reach out and find community.
It’s no secret that making and maintaining friendships changes as we grow older. I think of my best friend of 10 years, whom I met at university. Our initial electric connection was a foundation strengthened by time and consistency: open-ended time to roll around the city as carefree students, with consistent classes drawing us back to the same room every day. Like many, I found this became less common as I got older. One might be lucky enough to meet friends at work, but generally, as commitments pile up, the cost of living rises and time becomes precious, sparking and developing friendships doesn’t happen as frequently or naturally.
In the US, academics have termed this a “friendship recession”. Research from 2021 found the percentage of American adults who report having no close friends has quadrupled to 12% since 1990, while those saying they had 10 or more friends dropped threefold to 13%. Back home, the picture is similar: the latest New Zealand Wellbeing statistics found almost 44% of the population reported feeling lonely some time during the previous four weeks, with chronic loneliness more likely to be experienced by disabled people, Māori, LGBTQ+, unemployed or low income people, and single parents. The 2026 Crisis of Confidence report from Outward Bound, meanwhile, found one in four young men (age 18-24) reported having no close friends.
Myriad reasons are touted for this: rapid urbanisation, technology, social media – but the bigger picture is more nuanced. “Almost everybody would like to have better friends,” says Simon Keller, Professor of Philosophy at Te Herenga Waka – Victoria University of Wellington. Keller, whose research specialises in the ethics and politics of human relationships, says that while it’s certainly a modern problem, it’s not necessarily new. “Almost everyone struggles with loneliness at times, and thinks, ‘It’d be so much better if I had a friend who I could trust, who was right here with me right now’. That’s just part of the human condition and there’s a history of blaming that on whatever technological advance has come most recently.”
A persistent problem is that we’re constantly bombarded with imagery of perfect friendships; films, advertising and social media selling illusions of closeness. “We’re given examples of people who are absolute best friends who share everything, who support each other through everything, who know each other intimately,” says Keller. “It can make you think, I’ve got this person who I play squash with twice a week, but they’re not a good enough friend – like someone from Thelma & Louise, or the perfect pictures of friendship that people put up on Instagram,” says Keller. “I think that’s a real problem, and it’s probably getting worse.”
Humans have a tendency to look to other people, generations and cultures and presume they have a greater sense of community than our own, says Keller. “Usually that just turns out to be bullshit. People everywhere have rivalries, self-doubts, they struggle, they get lonely,” he says. Psychologically, Keller encourages people to “turn the equation around and say, ‘every time I have a sense of connection or enjoyment, or get pleasure out of spending time with someone else, or do something valuable with someone else, that’s a bonus’.
“It’s something that makes life better and relieves the intensity of life, and that’s great,” he says. It might not be like the friend group who always seem to be on picture-perfect holidays, shared abundantly on Instagram, “but that’s not what you should be measuring yourself against anyway”, says Keller.
One also has to stay open. New friends are always around the corner – it just takes time, consistency, vulnerability and perhaps most crucially, shared experiences.
Christchurch man Brendon Baddiley, 42, became close with his mates Steve, 65, Ash, 63, and Simon, 58, by donating blood. He noticed the others often donated around the same time at New Zealand Blood Service’s Christchurch donor centre, and general chatter – “introductions, ‘I’ve seen you before, do you come here often?’, type of thing”, says Baddiley – began to open the door for more meaningful connections. “After my donation was finished, I would sit down for a coffee and biscuit, the other guys were there also and that’s where we started to find out more about each other and what we did for work,” he says.
“Steve is always good for a bit of cheek with the staff and I couldn’t help but add my two cents’ worth as well,” he continues. “We all have that cheeky banter style so it seemed to flow easily. Next thing we’re giving each other cheek and haven't really stopped since.” Long-time volunteer Elizabeth now calls the four men “my boys”, and Baddiley set up a WhatsApp group, “Blood Brothers ”, for the four to check in with each other. “We post up if we are travelling or can’t make it just so everyone knows things are OK,” he says. “It has taken the group's contact outside just the regular two-week cycle.”
Lauren Harrigan, 30, an arts worker now based in Melbourne, made one of her best friends Simon by teaching him to drive. Both were working at the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery in New Plymouth and she overheard Simon talking in the office one day about not being able to drive. “Rather than pausing to think about whether I was suited for the job,” says Harrigan, “I leaned over and offered to coach him, even though I’d only had my licence for slightly more than the legal time required to teach a learner. We entered into a weekend rhythm where I picked Simon up and he would drive me around Taranaki back roads.” The pair ended up flatting together and are still close.
Baddiley and Harrigan were following some of the simplest steps to making friends – “finding an activity that you would both like to do for its own sake, but it’s even better when you do it together because that’s what provides the motivation for coming back”, says Keller. “In some ways, a shared enjoyable activity is more important than straight-out intimacy.” It’s also about appreciating what’s already in front of you and any untapped potential in the people you already know – “being grateful for the human connections that you do have”, he adds.
He’s wary of diagnosing loneliness as a modern issue solely related to moral panics around social media, “the same things people say about social media now are things people said about TV and cities and electronic games”. But he does notice through his teaching work that as many students choose to watch lectures online and not travel into campus, the chance encounters that can become seeds for friendship are less likely. “That in itself can be a valuable human interaction, just being able to say, ‘Hi, wasn’t that an awful lecture?’” he says. “That can add a lot to your life, even if you don’t then go on holidays together.”
Somatic coach Sophie McErlich ,28 , considers herself an expert on making friends after three years in London expanded her social circles widely. “The follow-up is the most important,” she says. “You can have a great conversation with somebody, but you do need to follow up with, ‘Let’s go for coffee’, and actively do it and repeatedly do it.” It’s also about attitude. “Being smiley, holding eye contact, walking with an open heart and having open body language.”
Quality over quantity is important – not every friend needs to be a BFF for it to be a meaningful relationship. “You only need a couple of really good friends to feel satisfied,” says McErlich. Keller agrees. “One of the really important goods that friendship gives that romantic love doesn’t, is being able to segment your life a little bit.” Whether that’s a work friend, a football friend, or a book club friend, “being able to give part of yourself, or talk about part of your life, without having to hand over everything”.
When I asked others about using apps, results were mixed. Some received no matches on Bumble BFF and felt as rejected as they might on a dating app; others had great success, especially when moving to new cities. Judith, a 31-year-old public servant, told me her interactions felt “unnatural”. “You’re trying to make a great impression on a stranger, but the whole reason you’re there is expressly because you don’t feel you have enough friends,” she says. “There’s a weird dance around trying not to be too weird and vulnerable with a stranger, when you have both started from an understanding of some degree of mutual loneliness.”
My Timeleft experience wound up being a genuinely lovely evening of pasta and good conversation, but the app’s review processes afterwards left a sour taste. I was asked to rate my dinner companions, answering questions like, “Who asked the best follow-up questions? Who would be most likely to get elected as mayor?” Once I gave feedback, I could see what people said about me. These seemed like terrifying, perhaps unhelpful ways to quantify a person through arbitrary ratings, no less people bravely putting themselves out there to make new friends.
Keller says it’s easy to be cynical about such apps, but it’s no reason not to try. “They make forming friendships look more formulaic and mechanical than it really is,” he says. “But at the same time, friendship is important. It’s worth devoting time and money to, and when it comes to happiness, mental health, having good times, having friends is one of the best ways you can add to the quality of life, much better than having more money.
“If it turns out that you find a good way to make connections is to subscribe to an app, pay some money and have it connect you with people, then go for it. It’s probably as good a way of spending money as any other.”
How did you make friends?
Judith met one of her best friends on a blind friend date set up by her partner, who knew they both liked canoeing. Sam used Bumble BFF. Hannah met her best friend through a surfing Facebook group. In New York, Angus met an entire existing friend group through a Tinder date with a guy who was leaving three days later. Jack joined a gay rugby team. Jess joined a netball team. Pete joined a democratic socialist organising group. Aaron joined a boxing club. Jesse joined a regular fitness club. Marion met a friend volunteering at a retirement home. George joined a queer touch rugby team. Jess met a fellow expat in Germany by selling Kiwi-made clothes on Vinted. Matahana went to a queer women meetup in London. Frazer met friends through playing padel and joining a choir. Olivia met her best friend at a Hopetoun Alpha gig in 2019. Keely uses dating apps to befriend the date’s friends. Kate joined a run club. Rachel met someone who was also stuck on the floor of a crowded train from Manchester. Charlotte met one of her best friends outside a cinema. She met another by going to illegal raves. Hannah joined a pub quiz in Durham, a pottery club in Christchurch, and an Italian aperitivo in Auckland. Dee met some close girlfriends through her antenatal group. Her flatmate’s girlfriend also became one of her best friends. Keely joined a queer pickleball team. India joined a tramping club. Kieran took a dog he walked to a nearby cafe and let her become a conduit for conversation. Aven was in a car accident and became close with the woman who stopped to help. In London, Hannah deliberately moved into houseshares with Brits, who became her close friends. Sophie met friends by going to the gym at 6am every morning. Nina joined the Ngāti Ranana London Māori Club. Anna went to industry networking and coworking space events. Amelia became a local at her closest bars and cafes. Rose went to a German language class. Dianne through her child’s playgroup. Penny started a Sunday pasta night and invited people from CrossFit. Vedika met her best friend through rock climbing.