At the risk of being overly sentimental about my youth, something I remember rather fondly about my late teenage years is how everything seemed to happen in the group chat. Endless plans were made. Nights out were documented. Break-ups were dissected, analysed. An abundance of frivolous bullying took place. There was something sacred about the group chat: something so simple about the way it sustained a constant sense of closeness within a friendship group. 

Whereas now, for me at least, group chats have mutated beyond recognition, adopting a range of less leisurely functions in my life. Suddenly it’s calculations to split dinner bills, a back-and-forth with my sisters about a birthday present for Dad, the endless search for mutual availability – a space for life admin. This is partly because there are simply more group chats to juggle as time goes by and life expands, but there’s more to it than that.

The rigorous investigative journalism required to write this article found that no one among us considers leaving even the dormant group chats, though many have chats permanently muted. I can understand why. Group chats are the invisible thread between us and the friendship groups we’ve lost touch with. They house all the shared photos and videos that come with everything a group has done together. So I wouldn’t suggest that a mass exodus from group chats is the answer, but for the most part, they’re not particularly effective in their ability to maintain the closeness of a friendship group separated by years, distance or the general busyness of adult life.

Group chats work kind of like in-person group conversations. There are a couple of extroverted people who do all the talking, and then there’s the rest of us just lingering there, nodding along, reacting and attempting to contribute the occasional witty comment. At social gatherings, you can eventually find a gap in the conversation to duck away and recharge. The group chat, however, lingers – and to what end?

I don’t want to point fingers, but if I had to identify a suspect for inflicting upon me a constant state of exhaustion, I would first investigate my iron levels, people-pleasing tendencies and the state of the world generally, before turning promptly to group chats. The lowly task of responding always seems to find its way onto my to-do list alongside more pressing items such as “laundry” and “find true purpose”, persisting a kind of low-level anxiety for not having responded.

Setting aside the administrative burden, what is perhaps a less-considered shortcoming of the group chat is its inherent lack of intimacy. On a scale of FaceTime (most intimate) to being mass-invited to follow someone’s business page on Facebook (least intimate), group chat messages often fall closer to the latter than we realise. Take, for example, an invitation to hang out. Lobbed into the expanse of a group chat, the message “who’s free for a drink tonight?” feels almost like an expression of that person’s preference to not be alone. There’s an element of guesswork as to whether others will respond, or whether the message is even meant for you. But the same question, when received as a direct message, feels (unsurprisingly) personal.

There is probably one scenario in which the purity of the group chat is maintained: the three-person chat. If ever you need to air a grievance or debrief something untoward, the three-person chat is the arena for it. Somehow, this format manages to galvanise a shared lowering of the guard; a freedom to speak your truth without fear of judgement or reprimand. But what to do about the other ones?

This may sound radical, but why don’t we go back to calling our friends? The culture for phone calls has become dominated by scammers and our parents, and it’s about time we claw it back. If the thought of making or receiving phone calls doesn’t induce a gag reflex, one approach you may care to try is the ‘drive and chat.’ Instead of throwing on some personal development podcast during your next car trip, strap yourself in and phone a friend (hands free, obviously).

As for reigniting the spark in a crusty group chat, I’ve heard good things about a phenomenon known as the “Wednesday waffle” – a weekly commitment to share a short video of yourself with an update on how things are going. Another thing to do? Sure, but it’s probably a better way to feel close to a friendship group than Instagram surveillance and an attempt to summarise your entire life every few months at a dinner.

What works for some may not work for others, so the antidote to my qualms isn’t obvious to me, but I do know that the group chat’s empty promise to “catch up soon” has fooled me one too many times. Who knows; maybe that trust can be earnt back, or maybe the humble group chat is due to be replaced with something new.

This rant comes straight from the pages of issue 126. To get your mitts on a copy, swing past the frankie shop, subscribe or visit one of our lovely stockists.