I have always loved talking to strangers. Growing up, primordial journalistic interviews took place in corner shops on the way to school. But, when there is no longer outdoors, as has been the case over the last few months, small talk has simply had to shift in terms of where it takes place. A random natter on the bus has been replaced by oversharing on a work call. A lengthy, detailed reply to an obligatory enquiry about your wellbeing in an email is the new back and forth with the barista.
The 4 July marked the easing of lockdown in the UK, a milestone that’s inspired some reflection on the horror show of the past few months. Personally, I’ve tried clinging to the slim pickings of coronavirus silver linings. And there are some: new hobbies were developed nationwide. Hands have generally never been cleaner. And we’ve come to the very banal collective realisation that – gasp – social distancing has made many of us more sociable than ever.
The strange atmosphere has meant the ice is eternally broken, in the same way strangers congregate and speculate outside the scene of a fire. How intimidating is a DM slide in the face of, in the words of Boris Johnson, the “worst public health crisis for a generation”? And, once conversation starts, it’s not as if you’re ever at a loss for what to talk about; coronavirus certainly has made for more compelling chitchat than the weather ever did.
In the four months since the country went into lockdown, I’ve made more friends than I expected possible during a global quarantine. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve made more friends during this period than in any other period of my adult life, outside of Freshers Week. They’ve rarely been formed from scratch, mind. Most of these connections were acquaintanceships – the double air kiss kind that a career in media fosters in abundance – that have been strengthened by a strangely unifying sense of impending doom and little else to do. I’ve managed to fill up my diary from the comfort of my couch with drinks and dinners and coffees and catch-ups with people I rarely found the time to meet in person.
.jpg)
The incessant warnings of how physically distant we had to be from one another in order to remain safe has led to an immediate, intense need to connect. When I decided for the umpteenth time I was exhibiting coronavirus symptoms (I wasn’t, but it’s hard to tell when being tired and achy with a bad throat is your default state) I called the NHS helpline. After being assured I had nothing to worry about, the phone operator and I sat and talked about how we’d been coping for a good 20 minutes. Conversations with just about anyone in the earliest days of lockdown often got deep, and fast. That one week that the HouseParty app was all the rage, a finger slip ended up as an hour and a half call to a friend I hadn’t spoken to since college. Later that same day, I sat with a person whose prior interactions with me I could count on one hand, for a full four hours.
The odd chat has also morphed into proper friendship. Somehow, people who I primarily communicated with through the Instagram comments section have become people I check in with weekly. There’s nothing like finding out that person whose tweets you always like and never seem to have quite enough time to get that drink you’ve always intended to is exactly as charismatic online as they are on an overlong voice note. I’ve been inducted into new group chats and spilt lifelong secrets to people I’ve only known in a work capacity before the complimentary Zoom minutes have run out. I’ve always been a flake in terms of meeting up, but with nowhere to go, now endless rescheduling actually culminates in us doing the thing we said we would.
It signals a shift for me, personally, too. As much as I have always loved meeting new people, that desire hasn’t necessarily extended to making new friends. All my life I have habitually distanced myself from anything even remotely beginning to resemble a clique and very much lived by Drake’s “No New Friends” mantra. My friendship circle has remained something of a full stop both in terms of size and my unwillingness to add to it. It’s a trait that I’ve almost taken pride in, cherishing the same handful of close mates around the dinner table on my birthday as a sign of sort of stoic loyalty to “my day ones.” They are wonderful, so I’ve never needed any more. But it’s been nice discovering more wonderful people, unnecessarily.
Even in terms of older, more complicated connections, the pandemic gave harsh and immediate perspective. I hate sleeping on arguments as it is, but there’s nothing like the threat of an airborne pathogen to help you realise that some relationships you thought were beyond repair probably aren’t, after all. I’ve found that pleasant surprises often lie in the benefit of the doubt. That ultimately, life is very short and though it always has been, most of us haven’t felt this keenly aware of it at the exact same time.
Maybe the real lockdown was the friends that we made along the way. As it lifts and we enter a new normal, I’m most looking forward to laughs with the new friends I’ve made over a wine that aren’t pixelated.
More from British Vogue:
