Generation flake: How we have turned self-care turned to selfishness

A few weeks ago, I went to a 30th birthday party, now considered by many to be the new 21st. A bar had been hired in Notting Hill with a minimum spend of £1,000. With London drinks prices and 50 people on the list who’d confirmed their attendance, this should have been very achievable. Except only 15 of those people turned up. The birthday girl had to pay the excess cost herself. She said it was fine, but you could see the disappointment in her eyes – that some of her closest friends had bailed with no explanation.

This is just one instance of the inclination towards flaking among my generation that is forming a wider friendship epidemic. When I returned home, I told my housemate of the no-show disaster. She in turn regaled me with a tale of how someone she knew bought 200 pairs of headphones to host a silent disco to celebrate the start of their third decade, only for around 25 people to actually make an appearance. Needless to say, she’s now too scared to host a 30th of her own, such is the fear of a vacant dancefloor.

Earlier this year, a study found that while only 31 per cent of people aged 55 or over admitted to flaking on plans, a huge 68 per cent of 18-to-34 year-olds revealed they often bailed on social engagements. “My friends give so many reasons they can’t come to things that it’s turned into The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” says 29-year-old Lauren, whose mates had abandoned their Friday night dinner with her moments before we chatted. “I could have made other plans,” she says, frustrated. “I think the ‘flakedemic’ is because people are trying to fit too much in. They’re too busy and try to commit to too much. I’m not here for it.”

“We’re really pushing into that individualisation culture,” says Michelle Elman, author of Bad Friend and How To Say No: Setting Boundaries for Your Friendships, Your Body and Your Life, who takes umbrage with the pop psychology use of the therapy term “boundaries” on social media that has seemingly given everyone licence to be flakey to their friends. “You don’t owe someone an explanation of your boundaries, or for saying no – but you do if you cancel,” she differentiates. “What started as a really positive conversation about self-love and prioritising your needs has now gone a little bit too far.”

Post-pandemic, there’s been a fetishisation of introversion. A cursory browse of Instagram or TikTok will show you swathes of videos about “bed rotting” or “being a cat lady at 25”. Of course, there’s a cost of living element to this, too. Factoring in meals out, concerts, parties, holidays, day trips, being a good friend can be expensive. The cost of being a wedding guest, for example, now equates to roughly 20 per cent of a monthly salary. Instead, young people are opting to stay in and “enjoy their rent”, which, on average, now sits at a staggering £2,243 per month in London, according to the ONS. Perhaps it’s no wonder that 40 per cent of adults aged 16-29 reported that they often or always feel lonely.

“Also since the pandemic, we’ve lost that clear boundary between work and our social life,” Elman adds. “We’re working more hours of the day than we’ve ever done before. It started with the technology being in our hands. As a result, our social life is being squeezed out. We’re almost always at the point of burnout because we don’t have enough space from our work. Other things fall by the wayside and our friends can become our lowest priority.” Some time ago, you’d expect only bankers, lawyers and maybe doctors to work all week and hibernate in their free time but now nearly half (48 per cent) of full-time UK workers report feeling burned out frequently by their jobs, which is a depressing state of affairs.

Young people often cite mental health as the reason for opting out of plans, with 47 per cent of 18-34s using the excuse as opposed to 31 per cent of those over the age of 55. Notably, more than a third of adults have said they’ve lied about why they flaked – but among 18 to 34s this rises to 45 per cent. “I’ve seen an avoidance of hard conversations in our culture,” reflects Elman. “This is where technology comes in. It’s easy to pop a text across and hide behind that. That’s when the white lies come out, or we just don’t tell people we’re not turning up. Actually, I’m a really big believer in the idea that clarity is kindness.”

If you are actually struggling mentally and you’re open and honest about it, then your friends can try to help – rather than assume the worst: that you’re simply too lazy or selfish to stick to plans. “When you open that door and you’re vulnerable with the people around you and tell them what’s really going on, it gives them a chance to support you,” says Elman. “Because if it is out of character, then surely that should be their chance to be a good friend?”

But many of us cancel for smaller, more selfish or insignificant reasons; say, it’s raining, we’re a bit sleepy, or we got a better offer. “This individualistic culture means that we don’t recognise that friendship at times will be inconvenient,” Elman says, nodding to how technology has made us feel like everything from new clothes to food shops to friendship should come with ease. “The 30th birthday might not fall on a day when you have a huge amount of energy or you particularly want to leave the house, or you’re really stressed at work, but if you don’t show up for your friend – do not expect them to show up for you.”

Elman points to a popular TikTok video by Grace Beverley where the TALA founder and Working Hard podcast host went to her friend’s house to clean for her after she’d just welcomed a baby. “The whole comment section was filled with people saying, ‘Oh my God, how do you get friends like this? I want friends like this!’ Why aren’t people asking how to be that friend,” she questions. “It’s always a prioritisation of self. But what people don’t recognise is, long term, that’s actually detrimental to you. If you have no people around you, the day you end up in hospital, there’ll be nobody there.”