When the Group Chat Replaces the Group

A couple of weeks ago, my friend wrote a message in our group chat, announcing that he’s moving to Newcastle—somewhere I love but rarely go. The initial flicker of excitement to visit the North East of England again was quickly countered by a pang of sadness. We barely see each other now, in London, so what’s going to change when he’s 300 miles away?

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Around the same time, in a different group, my friend who already lives in Islamabad shared news of a new job. Another posted pictures of his one-year-old son, who I still haven’t met. Moments like these remind me that life keeps moving forward, even when we’re not around to witness it. 

I talk to my closest friends every day. It’s not always direct. Sometimes, it’s just reading their messages, reacting with an emoji, or book-ending a meme bonanza with “haha.” But it is every day. 

Group chats—I’ve got three what I’d call “core” collections of friends—feel alive. They’re like hallways we all pass through, but we hardly ever hang out. The late nights playing video games, watching films, or musing which carnivores we could possibly beat in a fight, have been replaced by jobs, families, and lots of other adult responsibilities. 

The ease of friendship—that unthinking, ambient closeness you only get when you’re young, broke, and within walking distance of each other—dilutes as you grow up. Now, any get-together must be booked weeks or even months in advance. And there’s usually one dropout. Could we do mid-to-late September? How’s your 2026 looking? The logistical overheads of adult life mean that even the people I feel closest to exist mostly as bubbles on a screen.

Read More: How to Make Friends As an Adult—At Every Life Stage

We like to tell ourselves that the group chat is a lifeline—that it keeps people loosely tethered as geography and circumstance try to cut the cord. You can drop in, send a birthday message, share a Facebook memory (if you still have Facebook), or photo dump at semi-regular intervals to create the illusion of presence. 

It looks like friendship, when really, it’s thinner. But because it’s the default now, we don’t admit the group chat has its flaws. One may be that it isn’t a substitute for in-person connections, especially at a time when loneliness has been declared a “global public health concern”. Another is that group chats can feel draining. In one study of 1,000 American adults, 66% of respondents said they felt overwhelmed by their messages, while 42% said that keeping up with them can feel like a part-time job.

It’s also true that not everyone uses a group chat in the same way. For some, WhatsApp is just a glorified calendar. For others, it’s a therapist’s couch. Some people only speak in memes and reels. Some will never say anything but randomly “like” a comment from a month ago.

So it’s hard, maybe impossible, to create a group chat that can meet everyone’s emotional needs. Yet we keep expecting it to. We rely on it like a Swiss Army knife for adult friendship: an all-in-one tool for intimacy, vulnerability, humour and support. 

There are also some things which are simply too hard to say in a group chat. A redundancy, a break-up, or a bereavement are not easy to drop in.

None of this is to necessarily disparage technology. Group chats can be fun and useful. They’re just not enough on their own. True friendships ask us to be there for each other in ways that aren’t always convenient; to say things that don’t come with a reaction button; to risk showing up, even if we feel out of sync.

It’s hard. My own WhatsApp behavior is not perfect. I’ve missed important moments. I’ve left messages sitting unread for days because I was too tired, too busy, or just didn’t know what to say. And I’ve felt that same sting from others. 

It’s not too late to recalibrate, though. A group chat can be just one part of friendships. Bring back one-on-one phone calls. Don’t let meet-ups become memories. Carve out time, as much as you can, to see friends. Just do it and to hell with the cost of a train or plane ticket.

The people I love most still live in my phone. But I’m trying—perhaps imperfectly and clumsily—to invite them out of it now and then, to move beyond the placeholder. We need to remember that friendship, like any living thing, needs air and attention.