the death of the third space
internet social scenes, ugly design, & alcohol as our only respite: yes, indeed, a major loss for the culture
the death of the third space is not a novel concept. we all know it well: in recent years, coffee shops, libraries, bookstores, movie theatres, and museums have all moved away from their famous warmth of the early aughts, leaving only bars and online spaces as a social hub.
deep inside various pockets of the internet, there’s a sort of meta conversation taking place: has the internet itself become the new epicenter of water cooler conversations, and how does this take away from our essence?
elder gen z like myself have found themselves deep in the echo chamber of the internet, trying desperately to be free from the shackles of the chronically online hivemind, flocking to chatty, noncommittal podcasts like Giggly Squad, or to think piece platforms like substack, to mimic a simple, thoughtful conversation between friends. by engaging in this content as a consumer, we ask, will this make us feel like a participant of the world?
what if the solution to this baffling existential problem is a simpler one than renegade dancing ourselves into meaningful connection? what if all we need is to share a pot of coffee together, like they did in friends?
i’m sure you’ve read it by now, but in this amazing piece by
, titled “The Mainstreaming of Loserdom,” the loneliness epidemic amongst chronically online gen z homebodies is cut open and examined, and the greatest takeaway? that this whole problem is a “genuine cry for the warmth of other people.” that we need to be outside, together, in community.but how can we do that if all the third spaces are gone?
it'd be redundant to talk about how the pandemic killed the third space, and while indeed it was the nail in the coffin, i’d like to challenge this belief by arguing that the death of the public hangout began long before covid-19.
recently, i have been obsessed with early 00’s design of big chain stores like starbucks, global village coffeehouse, peet’s coffee, borders, barnes & noble, et cetera. you’d walk in, notice the warm, dark colors with funky, swirly lettering, order your coffee “for here” in a porcelain mug, and hang out under the warmly lit lights for hours at a time, relaxing or studying, while norah jones playing softly in the background. and the catch? they wanted you to!
the whole experience was rife with a sense of hominess, of comfort. kick your feet up, stay a while, the room seemed to say. and you did just that: a barnes & noble trip might mean getting a sugary frappuccino and drinking it on a worn-in couch as you read the first 10 pages of a book to see if you’d like to go through with the purchase. a run-of-the-mill summer target trip might mean sitting down in the food court to enjoy an electric blue slurpee. life back then allowed us more opportunities to pause our busy days, sit and collect ourselves, and press on.
somewhere along the way, capitalism was turbo-boosted by the nimble hands of the ever-exponentializing internet, and it just had to intervene on the fun. the public hangout had had its day in the sun — it simply needed to be phased out. how could a company like starbucks continue to host a bunch of smelly students hogging outlets for hours at a time for the price of a $1.50 drip? it was not a successful business model. thus, the era of to-go made a stunning reappearance, and the culture quickly followed suit.
in the transition from then to now, these companies have redesigned their brick & mortars to better reflect the quickening pace of life. sadly all too familiar, the homogenous look became the default. sterilized, clean, no-frills design. bright white overhead lighting, clean lines, black on white, legibility. to the point, sparse. an imperceptible eye roll when asking for wifi, gatekept bathrooms, sky-high prices — not really a comfortable experience that you’d like to extend and relish in, but a practical one: caffeinate, purchase, add to the bottom line. get in, get out.
of course, we can’t talk about the cold streamlining and modernization of third spaces without talking about modern-day vagrancy laws disguised slyly as safety policies.
recently, starbucks just announced that they are reversing their open-door policy, meaning, if you don’t make a purchase, using the restroom or hanging out at the cafe is not permitted. they did so under the effort to make starbucks a “safer” place, limiting the amount of homeless people who use the brick & mortar locations as a brief respite from the harsh conditions of their lives. interestingly, in the same breath, the starbucks ceo launched an incentive program of one free refill when ordering “for here” in a porcelain cup to keep customers in-store for longer stretches.
[carrie bradshaw voice:] and i can’t help but wonder: in the golden days of the coffeeshop hangout, were things so complicated? it was a bunch of twenty-somethings working the counter, pouring up joe, not really giving much thought to who frequented & stayed beyond the length of a typical visit. folks were in community, regardless of economic status, sharing the space, being citizens of the world. everything else was noise.
in 2024, the only watering hole left is, arguably, the bar. before anyone gets up in arms about that — i love a bar. i frequent them! even when i’m in a stretch of sobriety, i will happily cozy up with a topo chico if it means i can see a familiar face and chat about all the movies i recently watched.
but what does it mean that our social experiences are limited to a small window, often in the nighttime and on weekends? does it mean if, we are tired and want to rest early, socializing is off the menu? yes of course, there is the humble walk & yap, hike & coffee — but what about being seated, chatting for hours, listening to the gentle roar of other chatters near you?
there have been posed solutions to revive the third space, some of them even successful: kava bars, social collectives, galleries, exercise classes/gyms, movie theatres with a social element, bookstore bars, et cetera. in oakland where i live, clio’s books has become a known spot for folks looking for third spaces. here, starting in the daytime (!!!), you can order coffee, booze, nonalcoholic drinks, and delicious bites, but the main attraction is the cozy, moody vibe — and of course, the books. all for sale, customers grab their drink of choice, peruse the shelves, and enjoy each other’s company. perhaps they’ll sit down to a game of chess, or meet a neighboring group to discuss the state of the world. the only rule? phones are not allowed, and the bartenders will come ask you to put your device away if you’ve been on it for too long. because of this, the conversation is fluid, moving from stranger to stranger, making it deliciously easy to meet people organically — something i’ve struggled with for my entire adulthood.
clio’s is doing something impossibly right and delightfully current: resuscitating the humble third space. yes, we need to be outside, but it’s also true that we need good places to do so.
the third space is in desperate need of a reckoning, and thankfully, i think it’s on the precipice.
