the loss of the "third place" in the US and the shifting landscape of community

I have fond memories growing up on my childhood street, bikes and scooters scattered across the yard after school. Knocking on my neighbors’ doors to see if their kids, my brothers-in-arms, could come out to play. The city needed saving and this merry mercenary band of 3rd graders was the one to do it. Mighty dragons fell underneath our trusty steel. Armies quaked in fear when they heard our names. We’d go on to recruit even more comrades to the cause, kids on our street with nothing but time and a spirit for adventure.

As time pressed ever onward, this sanctuary of mine would change. Friday nights at church were nothing if not a place to see friends and play basketball after services. There was a late night taco truck that used to set up on the corner of an empty, shoddy gas station in my city. $1 tacos and a guaranteed chance of seeing someone else from my high school there. Conversations would flow and al pastor devoured.

Then there was college, where many a night was spent at the dorm floor lounge, shooting the shit ‘til 3 in the morning. Friends dropping in and out, almost like a recurring cast of characters in a sitcom.

These were our homes away from homes. Sanctuaries and safe havens.

A third place.

Sociologist Ray Oldenburg coined this term in the 80s, describing it as a physical, social space that was neither home nor work.

A place that facilitated social interaction and community building. This was where social and financial standing left the door and you engaged with each other on equal footing. A teacher can converse with a investment banker over drinks just as well as a musician can be seen chatting with a public official.

Coffee shops, bars, barber shops, gyms. Neutral grounds that fostered community and gave us a sense of belonging and togetherness.

According to Oldenburg, “third places” comprise of a few key characteristics:

• Free or inexpensive

• Highly accessible

• Welcoming and comfortable

• Available to both newcomers and old

It is a place to share laughter and ideas. Catching up with old friends and meeting new ones. The worries of work were behind us for the day and the laundry was already in the wash. It was us at our best, when we had the time and effort to be social.

the fall

But in the last few decades, this landscape of third places has radically shifted. Urban sprawl has inadvertently reshaped the social dynamic. Cities are designed and developed to facilitate the flows of cars rather than people. Third places like cafes and parks have lost their proximity from residential areas.

The essence of third places lies in their spontaneous, casual visits. When the nearest coffee shop on the corner is a 20 minute drive away, these places become less of a casual gathering spot and more of a planned destination.

We’ve sacrificed community for privacy.

Our fragmented neighborhoods all don the same cookie-cutter suburban homes and apartment complexes. And it is this sameness that saps a community of its character and lifeblood. This monotony is more than just aesthetic; it drains communities of their individual identities. The local 'flavor'—from unique businesses to local art—gets lost, making each neighborhood almost indistinguishable from the next. As we retreat into these isolated pockets, we inadvertently sacrifice the rich tapestry of community for the muted hues of homogeneity.

And in recent years, the rising cost of living has inundated business owners and patrons alike. The inflation of rent prices make it difficult for small businesses to maintain their foothold and this burden gets passed on to the customer through increased costs. Coffee chats can cost upwards of $7 in the city now, leaving individuals less likely to frequent their local stomping grounds.

And when these circumstances suggest it’s far more convenient to stay indoors, they alter the way we fulfill our need for human connection.

terminally online

The advent of digital spaces has had no small role to play in the dwindling of real-world, physical spaces. In the palm of our hands, we hold devices that unlock gateways of social connection, connecting us over vast distances. What once required carrier pigeons and weeks’ worth of travel can now be bypassed in a matter of seconds.

With the world just a swipe or click away, we’ve diluted the value of face-to-face interactions. Social media platforms have created virtual third places to converge, discuss shared interests, and even mobilize change. And though its benefits are undeniable, the sword it wields is double-edged.

The pandemic only exacerbated this intense shift from physical to digital spaces. I was fortunate enough to work from home, but that meant my first and second places had now blurred together. Stuck at home, my mental health took its toll. An online space called Discord became my safe haven.

I caught up with old friends and met new ones. Mornings were spent on camera, silently co-working, where just having faces on the screen helped keep me accountable and focused. Then afterwards, we’d naturally drink and play Among Us ‘til 2AM. Simpler times.

And so in this vein, Discord functioned as that virtual third place for me. It was comforting knowing there would be a cyclical cast of characters here every day. But as things opened back up, life continued and there was less of a need to be terminally online.

Despite its accessibility, online connections are no substitute for the real thing. It fails to catch the depth and richness of the person standing in front of you. The little things like the tone of one’s voice or the way their hands are folded on the table — nuances that video calls can never fully capture. The screen functions as a barrier between you and something more visceral, contributing to a sense of detachment.

We humans are innately social creatures. The decline of third spaces isn’t an indication the human desire for community and togetherness is waning, but that our access to it is growing increasingly harder.

the social recession

A recent study showed more than one in ten Americans have zero close friends, from 3% in 1991 to 12% in 2021. It’s become exceedingly difficult to maintain, let alone make friends in a digital environment that hasn’t been conducive for it. Attendance for churches, volunteer organizations, and clubs continue to decline year after year. We find ourselves craving for connection, using social media as a temporary painkiller to treat the symptoms of loneliness when it only deepens the underlying issue.

We see this a lot in men in particular, who have undoubtedly felt the weight of the loneliness epidemic. Men who feel like they have to hide their intimacy from their friends (or lack of friends even). Men who have long treated their girlfriends as their therapists. And when these men are now unable to find a partner, it’s no reason they get lonely.

When these lonely men have nowhere else to turn, it shouldn’t come as a surprise when you hear about the rise of extremist groups and ideals. Men feel heard and validated in these circles. From 4chan boards to Andrew’s Tater tots, we’re seeing this pipeline of impressionable men that are desperate for community. I could write enough for another post on this topic (and probably will) but you get the idea. The importance of community cannot be understated.

touching grass

I do not imagine the effects of urban sprawl and digitization to be intentional, but it is a road we have come to regardless. So is there a way out? I wouldn’t count it out but I’d be hard pressed to think our governments, municipal to federal, with such amazing track records, would be inclined to do away with white picket fences and car culture so easily. It comes down to a collective effort from city planners and community builders alike, building walkable cities and preserving public spaces. In the meantime, it may do us some good to reevaluate our priorities and reinvest in the places that truly make us feel grounded, connected, and genuinely human.