The American people are more lonely than ever. There is of course science backing this up, studies and polls and trials that illuminate the way we have gradually deteriorated our innate need for connection over time. There are countless individuals- influencers, commentators, celebrities, (and rife with the worst stench of them all, content creators) who have taken advantage of the uniquely American cocktail of inherent exceptionalism and incomprehensible algorithms to convince you that, yes, they are your friend, and that yes, you can be a part of their world! Just make sure to use their specific code at the specific checkout section of the specific direct to consumer brand that they are promoting while carefully cultivating your parasocial relationship.
I am not even a tiny bit immune to this phenomenon. Being born at the very tail end of 1996 means that I am part of a small, monastic group that, after much deliberation with people from all over the chronological spectrum, are labelled ‘The Ancient Elders of Gen Z.’ It’s a unique distinction- a marker I use to describe us is the fact that we were the last group to enter highschool WITHOUT the widespread adoption of smartphones- our incoming freshman class had flip phones, bulky Blackberrys, and even the now-crazy-to-consider flip out keyboard Nokia. There was a small, foggy window of time where we had to actually look each other in the eye as 13 year olds, and not mindlessly refresh our instagram feed. There was friction in meeting and interacting. But I promise this isn’t another piece where I turn into an old man and yell at clouds, wondering why we aren’t all rejecting technology and living in the mountains. Really- I promise.
As I said, I was not immune to the beginnings of 21st century parasocial trappings. I was genuinely addicted to YouTube, and because I was an introverted white boy who had no interest in sports circa the early 2010s, I was subsumed by video game YouTubers. I was all over the map in terms of what and who I watched, but I really fell down a hole with the Call of Duty guys. If you’ve been through the trenches, names like Hutch, SeaNanners, and WoodysGamerTag bring back both fond memories and nuclear-grade levels of cringe. Especially the latter. WoodysGamerTag adopted a persona of a kind, caring fatherly role within the Call of Duty community, which was crawling with kids (and not kids) who had strained or simply not very strong connections with their actual fathers. There’s no real data to back this up- but if you go to the comments of any of his videos within the 2010s, you’ll see hordes of young men thanking him for his advice, his patience, and his warmth- all set against the backdrop of Woody getting a Chopper Gunner killstreak with the AK-47 on Favela’s multiplayer map.
These early beginnings, however earnest, have led to much more sinister ends as we approach our current moment. People now obsess over streamers, influencers, and other social media figures as if they were dedicated apparatchiks of a virtual government party. Men who have completely lost the plot send millions of dollars to their favorite OnlyFans models. My female friends obsess over the products, lifestyle, and body types of the Addison Rae’s of the world. We all are driven to madness through an endless echo chamber of TikToks that either make us invariably angry or assert our short-sighted perspective. Maybe it’s time to step away, and meet someone new. Talk to a stranger. Feel the rush of the unknown. Roll the dice and see just how much of a spark you can kindle with someone you’ve never met. Lucky for you, there’s an app for that.
The app in question is 222. Or, as it is listed online, 222.place. I first saw advertisements for 222 on the subway, as my Manhattan-bound train chugged across the Williamsburg bridge. Their signature hunter-green colorway contrasted nicely with a serif font describing the mystery and beauty of connection. I remember ad’s saying something like “Give yourself up to chance” and “Embrace serendipity” and thought nothing of it. Then, a few days later, after a friend cancelled some dinner plans we made the night before, I was back on the train, staring at the ads. In hindsight, I was pretty fresh to New York. It wouldn’t hurt to meet a few new people, I thought. I got off at my stop, walked home, plopped down on the couch, and curiously hit the “GET” button for 222 in the app store.
It had to be this way, right? It’s 2024, and anything that was once a fairly normal aspect of our daily lives has now been stripped and mined by venture capital. At time of writing, the app I’m describing has a murky private seed of only $2.5 million- chump change in the greater tech world, but a sizable amount when you look at their employee count and see that it’s only 3 people.
222’s about section on their website exclaims “we won't tolerate an existence where we spend the majority of our time in a virtual world, robbed of our attention, meaning, & core life experiences.” Proclamations like this are more common than not in the tech landscape, but my interest was piqued with their commitment to coordinating something in real life, rather than staring at more pixels.
Sleek. That’s how the app felt while setting up my account, as if a fancy butler was introducing me to an upper echelon of high society. (Designers, take note. This is where a classy color scheme, like 222’s hunter green and off white, can do wonders for your product.) There was a lot of well placed haptic feedback as well, making me feel like I really wanted to use this thing. Then, the questions began.
222 asked a lot of questions. Some of them were fairly casual, but some of them seemed deeper (or more intrusive) than your average app. How likely are you to engage with someone who has different political beliefs than you? What are your thoughts on people who use drugs recreationally? Do you believe you are open to new experiences, even if they make you uncomfortable? Please choose a number one through seven, with one being not at all and seven being absolutely.
If I’m being cynical, I’d say this is exceptionally valuable information that could be sold to advertisers, marketers, and data brokers. If I’m being overly optimistic, I’d say this is a great way to refine an algorithm that’s meant to match people up to experience “the power of yes”. There was only one way to find out where we were gonna land here- it was time to dive headfirst into the 222 experience.
Or, to be more specific, it was time to dive into one of the many experiences that 222 offered- ranging from sound baths, museum tours, yoga sessions, and of course, run clubs. Because of my deep commitment to journalism, I decided to go with something more in-line with what I thought the average joe would be up for- dinner, then drinks at a sake bar afterwards. After applying (you have to apply to these experiences, it’s how the app makes sure you’re compatible with the rest of your group), you just…wait. You pay a fee, in this instance $17.22 (they love these angel numbers) and you just…wait. Hopefully you get selected, but you never know! You’ll have to be patient to find out if the best friends you haven’t made yet are just behind this paywall!
The dinner and drinks experience that I applied for was, mercifully, on a Monday night. I went in knowing I wanted something that didn’t fall on a weekend- it seemed like less pressure, and if worse came to worst, I could always say I had work in the morning. I hopped off the J train at Bowery Station and began walking towards the restaurant.
But then…a rare feeling in my stomach. Nerves. Excitement. Butterflies? Wishful thinking. Catastrophizing. What if it all went wrong? A vision of ships passing each other in the night. But… what if all went right? A world of opportunity opening itself up in a city that felt like it was both the end of my past and the beginning of my rebirth.
I was fashionably late (just 2 or 3 minutes, the app will charge your card if you’re more than 5 or 10) and clocked my table in the middle of a Thai place 222 had chosen for us. I sat down and was awkwardly, but warmly, greeted by the other four people there. We were a group of six tonite, and as I sat down, the only person missing would be sitting directly across from me. As I took my coat off, the entire table pivoted towards asking about me and what my deal was. Finally, I was popular.
At the very far end of the table was Beth. She was soft spoken, with long, chestnut hair and a calming smile. She looked like a girl from that first year of Jewish Summer Camp who you thought about talking to at the barn dance but never did. Across from her was Everett, who seemed dark and mysterious, but not in a cool way, more like a, oh, maybe this guy actually did read the entirety of the Unabombers Manifesto kind of way. To my right was Terry, a nearly too smartly-dressed (think H&M model) man with a thick, charming Turkish accent. Across from him was Sabrina, a recent transplant from Toronto by way of London, who keenly listened, and spoke with a subtle trans-continental elegance that put me at ease. A bit after we all introduced ourselves, Adrian, our final member and the last to arrive, took his seat. He was quite casual, and after introducing himself, announced that he took the train here from New Jersey. Many seemed impressed. I was left wondering if I would ever cross state lines to meet strangers picked out for me by an algorithm.
There was much debate on what to order- I cracked the joke I always do when I’m in a new restaurant with a group of folks: guys, it’s actually illegal to order the same thing here! The kitchen won’t let you! A few laughed but Adrian took this very seriously. He said he had never been to a restaurant like that before. How did you know that they did that here? Didn’t you just move here? Was this like a trendy place? I laughed and told him I was just messing around. I proceeded to order the pho, and when the hostess came around to him, he looked her in the eye and asked hey it’s okay if I order that too right? She hesitated for a second and said yes, of course it would be okay.
After the hostess took our orders, we went around and explained how we all found ourselves on this bizarre, but intriguing, platform. Trey said this was actually his second go at a 222 experience- the bracelet of his silver Rolex caught the light as he went through the in’s and out’s of meeting different people. Most of them were interesting enough, but no home runs just yet- he wanted to give the app another shot. Beth followed up and explained that her schedule as a nurse made meeting new people tricky, especially since she was in her mid 20’s and new to the city. Sabrina echoed that making friends in the city wasn’t easy, and it seemed like you needed an excuse just to plant the seeds of even casually pursuing a friendship. Everett began cryptically describing that he was actually from ‘here’, ‘here’ as in New York City, and that he was actively looking for new people after falling out with his group of friends in Brooklyn. He wouldn’t go into it more than that, saying the whole thing turned out to be ‘a real mess.’ My eyes narrowed, and I wondered if there was any chance that Everett was some sort of international arms dealer.
The conversation began to ebb. I panicked. Something that I worked on extensively last year in therapy was the practice of taking a breath, especially in a social setting- it was, and is not, my responsibility to ensure things go smoothly, that everyone is having a good time. Not every single interaction I have is me hosting a gala followed by a 3 star Michelin meal. In fact, I’ve never hosted a gala, or cooked in a Michelin kitchen. (But my one pot pasta is to die for.)
And… I remembered that here. I let silence envelop the table, instead of blurting out some faux interesting non-sequitur. There were 5 other people here on a mission to maybe make the best friends in their entire lives tonight. And as it always does, the silence goes away, and we continue exchanging bits and pieces of our lives with each other. But there’s just one small hiccup- and it went by the name of Adrian.
As we traded stories and the like, a fuller picture of Adrian began to emerge. If you’ve played video games at all, you know that often characters are split into classes- wizard, fighter, knight, hunter, etc. And if you meet lots of people for the first time in a group, you know that there exists a similar system. Adrian’s role in our group was that of the one-upper. This became clear to us after Trey had explained how much he loved skiing around the world, going from resort to resort. We were in disbelief, in a funny way, when he told us he even skied in Dubai, in an indoor mall, as it was nearly 100 degrees outside. Well, yeah… that’s cool, Adrian began. But isn’t skiing kind of boring? Right? Like you’re just going down on ice and then what. Have you ever been skydiving before? Now that’s like the best ever. You just can’t beat the rush there. I do it all the time in Jersey.
Trey was confused, but kept telling the story anyway. I was entranced by his world- he founded his own crypto company, and it seemed to be doing quite well. (A rule I had was leaving my snap judgements and knee-jerk reactions at the door.) I asked what Dubai was actually like, and as he began to explain its bizarre reality, Adrian once again chimed in. Dubai is cool, I guess. But you know where you guys really need to go? India. That’s another world my friend. You could spend a lifetime there and not even scratch the surface. Seriously, guys, go to India.
I want to say it slowly became obvious to the group that Adrian had been on many, many, 222 experiences. I want to say that, but I can’t, because he freely gave it up and announced it to everyone as we were finishing up dinner. Yea, this is maybe like my 10th, 15th experience, he said. I’ve tried a few other apps that are kind of in the same lane as this, but this is the best one, hands down. We all nodded in agreement, and he went on to tell us about his other times getting dinner, going to picnics, and hanging out at museums with curated strangers.
The more you examine someone like Adrian, the more curious you get- but not necessarily about him. You become curious about the role of 222, and the user base it attracts. Things begin to click- people like Adrian aren’t here because they want to spend their time at a 222 experience, they are here because, in one way or another, they need to spend their time at a 222 experience. There is something missing from their lives, whether it’s a thriving social scene, the thrill of meeting new people, or simply an opportunity to socialize without any pressure.
Indeed, taking away the pressure is the focal point, and the real draw of the app. Our dinner was good, and the sake bar we would go to afterwards was fine. But the true value of apps like 222 is creating this safety net, where socializing and meeting people loses its baggage, heavier in 2024 than any other time in history. Hey, we all paid to be here! Isn’t this so weird that an app sets us all up together! You bond over the surreal nature of meeting people in the modern day, and from there, the pressure, if there was any to begin with, melts away. And, to this platform’s credit, bits and pieces of a person’s true self begin to come out.
It was just unfortunate that the bits and pieces we got from Adrian were so charmless. For him personally, I nearly saw these experiences as a way to throw himself out there, brazenly, and see what stuck. Which, in a way, is what we were all doing.
As we finished up dinner, we got a text that the drinks portion of our night was about ready to begin. We split the bill, and began to make our way out. Trey asked if anyone needed a ride there- his BMW X6 M-Series, a hulking behemoth of a sports SUV, was parked directly across from the restaurant. Adrian chimed in and said actually there’s no reason for us to drive the sake bar is literally a block away and we all have to do a sake bomb when we get there, no questions asked. Sabrina was blown away that he had not just a car in this city, but a massive German SUV parked wherever he wanted. He told her not to worry, he usually does valet.
There’s an interesting song and dance to this next portion of the 222 experience- after dinner, your group is invited to a bar to meet with OTHER 222 groups and just have a grand ol time with each other. No specific guidelines, just, you know, if you don’t like the people the algorithm meticulously sorted for you, there’ll be other, equally highly vetted individuals for you to get on with. As we arrived at the sake bar, something felt off- this place was empty. Well, the staff were there. And there was one other guy, in the middle of the place, who was surrounded by expensive looking cameras and lighting equipment. He was, upon closer inspection, taking and styling photos of tuna nigiri. And it looked really, really good.
I trailed behind Beth and began chatting with her, asking her what nursing in Manhattan was like. It’s crazy, she said, but you do get used to it. Being one in New York was a unique experience, and she described seeing both the best and worst of humanity walk through their doors. She also mentioned that she smoked a lot of weed. It helps to unwind after a long day, she added. We both laughed, and ordered lychee martinis before sitting down at our table.
Everett looked up. Were you guys just talking about weed? He asked. Beth and I nodded. You remember how I said I had a big falling out with all of my friends earlier this year? Again, we nodded. Well, it’s because I quit smoking weed this year, and those guys are all hella addicted. They all stopped talking to me after I let them know I wasn’t fucking with that. It’s been like almost a year now without smoking, I feel way better. But I just can’t be hanging out with them anymore. It’s not good for me. I would have insane paranoia and shit, like thinking the CIA was following me. I had to call my mom to pick me up once in the city because I seriously thought that they were about to go and get me. She picked me up in the car and I was so high, I kept looking behind us, even as we got on the bridge to go home. I felt so bad. I started crying as soon as we got out of the car. I didn’t ever wanna feel like that again.
Suddenly, I had started to feel really bad for thinking Everett was an arms dealer.
For a guy who was silent nearly the whole night, Everett captured our entire table with this. He went on to talk about his desire to become a director, and his love for Martin Scorsese. When Everett revealed that he had never seen GoodFellas however, Adrian crashed out- how can you call yourself a Scorsese fan if you’ve never seen GoodFellas? Are you serious? That’s his best work, by far! He seemed to say all this jokingly, but no one laughed.
As Everett explained why, suddenly, the bar began filling up with people. Namely, six other people, who we pretty much immediately clocked as being another leg of the 222 amoeba. They didn’t really acknowledge us, but…something was clearly different about this group. They were hot.
Like, really hot.
I didn’t think our crew was ugly by any stretch, but these six looked straight out of a viral TikTok. Very conventionally attractive, and they walked with an air that they knew it, too. The algorithm works in mysterious ways, I guess.
The new group settled in at a nearby table, and after around 20 minutes, two of them joined us. What are we talking about over here? They asked. No hello, no how are you. Is this how it is when you look like you have at least a million followers on Instagram? The two guys squeezed into our booth and immediately threw themselves into our discussion around what our roles would be on a desert island. I’d be like, the leader, I think, said the one with top ramen hair and a puka shell necklace. I could be like, woodchopping gang, right? Said the one with the tastefully-distressed Carhartt jacket. They both laughed and then dapped each other up. It was at this point that I decided it might be time to call it a night.
Trey and Beth, who I was most interested in talking to, were getting visibly worn down as well. As I asked for my check, Adrian ordered another beer. It seemed as if everything was in its right place for me to make my way out of there. As I did, I sneakily asked for both Trey and Beth’s number. Everett overheard, and made sure to put all of ours into his phone, as well. I wasn’t sure if I would ever see these people again but… you never know.
A day later, 222 texted me once again. ‘On average, it takes 222’s algorithm ~5 follow up’s to best understand how to match you with people and places’. I laughed out loud. Five more! That’s a lot of commitment to an app. I imagined with horror meeting five more Adrians.
Then, my thinking shifted. The app had delivered exactly what it promised – a chance encounter, the opportunity to give yourself up to something bigger than yourself. Most surprisingly, I felt the friction (and the butterflies) of getting to actually know a couple of complete strangers. It was the antithesis to parasocial relationships and loneliness epidemics I began this piece with.
There’s real value there, and I am much more open to championing an app that emphasizes that kind of value in a world where I can have an AI doll educating my kids and a chatbot mistress in my DM’s. If we are going to keep marching into an increasingly digital world, then at the very least, there must be vestiges of that world that are avenues to escape it. Let the apps, websites, and products be a clear way to climb out of the rabbit hole, rather than going even further down.
The inherent beauty of being a person, even after our addiction, is the ability to connect and understand a stranger. A knowing glance, a boisterous laugh, a playful grin. As cliche as it sounds, these are all infinitely more valuable than any sort of data-backed insight or set of numbers. It should always be this way. It has to always be this way. It will always be this way.
