On "Designing With Loneliness"

One of my favourite things to do in Tallinn has been visiting the various open lectures and seminars at the Estonian Academy of Arts. The highlight thus far being Ezio Manzini's Liveable Proximity from 2024 ("shared irresponsibility" is such a profound concept). The talk was so inspiring that for a while, I seriously considered applying for the PhD programme in design at the Polytechnic University of Milan. There's an interesting parallel between design and software engineering - both think that they can fix everything by applying more of itself to the world around us. But I guess you could say that about a lot of creative fields. As they say - "when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail". And some actually are.

A reoccurring theme in these talks has been loneliness - one of the great plights of our networked-yet-totally-disconnected age and a subject I consider myself to be somewhat of an expert in. The previous talk on the topic was held in 2025 and featured interesting Japanese case studies in participatory design and urban planning.

Sadly, yesterdays session was probably the weakest thus far. The title didn't make much sense ("designing WITH loneliness"?) and was never properly expounded upon. I'm all for completely spontaneous, unprepared seminars, but this one felt like it could actually have used a slide deck. The word "design" was used a lot, but unlike last year, never with concrete examples or suggestions. The topics and panel discussions meandered around with no point in sight and not nearly enough time was allocated for public questions and comments (maybe max 20 minutes of the whole 1,5h session). The last part is particularly frustrating because the moderator explicitly asked to prepare as many as possible. The space was pretty much packed and I saw several hands going up that were completely ignored by the moderator - including mine.

But with this being such an important topic, I wanted to publish my notes and comments here instead.

Loneliness vs Solitude

A large part of the discussion revolved around physical proximity - ie having other people around you. As if that has anything to do with loneliness. That's solitude - the state of being alone. Solitude is a physical state, loneliness is an emotional one. As we all know, some of our loneliest moments can occur when we are surrounded by other people. This is the social level of loneliness - the feeling of not belonging to the group. But there's also a deeper, more personal level - the sense of being alone when you're supposedly in a relationship. This form is even more painful and difficult to reconcile. Loneliness is ultimately about loss of connection and has very little to do with proximity to other human beings. The need for proximity varies greatly between individuals, but the need for connection is universal.

The inverse is also true. Some of my most connected moments in life have happened in complete solitude. When I'm out alone in the wilderness connected to the vastness of nature or hacking away on code, prose or music connected to the vastness of creativity. "One" is not in fact the loneliest number.

I think design can be used to alleviate social loneliness, but probably not personal loneliness. This is because our social norms are largely determined by culture. 90% of culture is tacit - it's the stuff we learn from observing the people around us. The stuff that nobody actually teaches us. The stuff hidden in plain sight. It's really quite fascinating how many of the most important things in life are implicit and never actually explained to us. Probably because a lot of them don't actually make any sense.

Art and design can change culture in two ways - a) by making the implicit explicit - giving us the chance to actually see what was once hidden and b) by suggesting alternative realities.

Here are some concrete examples.

Disappearing Third Spaces

One obvious driver of social loneliness is the gradual disappearance of "third spaces" - the places that are not "home" or "work". "Home" is a private space - we already know all the people there, "work" is a semi-private space - we start out as strangers, but then become friends and colleagues. "Home" is a static, stable environment (or at least that's usually the goal). Changes in this space reflect significant changes in our personal lives - dating, marriage, divorce, birth, death. "Work" a bit less so, although it will vary significantly depending on your profession. The third space can also be semi private/public (your rehearsal room or karate class) or completely public (public library, town square).

The problem is, the remaining few public third spaces are not universal. Not everyone can or wants to access the "town square" and fewer and fewer of us visit the market, the church or the public library. In our highly individualistic, fragmented urban existence is there even any room for a universal third space?

Yes there is. It's all the space that connects the other two spaces - in other words - our streets and roads. Sadly, we've managed to "privatize" most of this space as well. Our roads and streets are littered with private cars - the "third space of one". Surely I'm not the only one who's noticed that 90% of cars on the road only have a driver and no actual passengers?

But there's a solution. It's called public transit. In my ideal city, public transit is where people of all city districts, walks of life and social status meet. In some cities, we're kind of already there. I think it was someone commenting on Vienna that said "a prosperous city is not one where poor people drive cars, but one where rich people take the bus". Public transit is kind of like the public toilet - it connects us through our shared physical human experience. Sadly, the general public opinion of public transit is about as low as that of public toilets. At least here in Tallinn.

But our buses, trains and trams are not third spaces. In fact, they are almost the opposite - it's considered rude to talk to strangers on a bus. Heck, we don't even want to sit next to another person, let alone hear their thoughts. But what if that wasn't the case? What if it was OK to talk to other people on your way to work? To someone who knows nothing about you and has therefore no reason to judge you. To someone you have no obligation to and thus also no risk of "losing face". What would you ask them? Anything!

Some of the most meaningful conversations in this post-soviet Fordlandia called Tallinn have come from these situations. Their significance only surpassed by their rarity. One time this old lady asked me - in Russian - "does it seem like the whole world is going crazy?". "Yes", I replied - "you are not alone". I almost busted into tears when I arrived at my stop. Just some random Tuesday, going to school. Felt totally connected to the world, if only for a fleeting moment. I have never seen that lady again.

In Estonian culture "getting into other peoples business" is considered reprehensible. But nobody actually taught us this. There is no curriculum (AFAIK) that teaches you shouldn't talk to people on the street. We just learn to act like this by copying other people's behaviour. There is no actual law that prohibits asking a stranger if they're OK. Only the invisible hand of our broken culture.

Design could fix this culture. For example - those stickers on public transportation that denote seats for the elderly and disabled? How about we have one with a pictogram of two people talking? Just one pair of seats where it is explicitly allowed to talk to the stranger sitting next to you. And if those seats are always empty in a crowded bus? Well, I guess we just learned something valuable about our true nature...

One of the attendees asked an interesting question - with so much of design focusing on making things more convenient, maybe we as designers should also design certain things to be less convenient. I've thought about this same question a lot as it relates to software - introducing barriers can actually have a positive effect. But in this case - we don't actually have to force people into certain - potentially uncomfortable - behaviour. The sticker would merely suggest a behaviour and that could go a long way.

The Q

The topic of queues came up several times during the panel discussion as one example of a disappearing chance for social interaction. The premise being that we've replaced them with online self-service and take-out platforms because everybody hates queues. Yes, some queues may indeed be annoying and totally unnecessary. It may make much more sense to submit a form electronically at your own convenience than to wait in line to hand it over on paper. But then there are also situations where the queueing is part of the experience. Heck, sometimes the queuing is actually more fun, meaningful and engaging than whatever awaits us "inside".

The queue - much like public transit - is a universal third space - a concept that all normal people understand. I use the term "normal" to exclude the ultra wealthy. But the queue also has an advantage over the bus - it gives us something to talk about. People love to complain about things and few things create more social cohesion than a common complaint. "Man, this is taking forever"... and I guarantee you will get at least a approving nod from a fellow queuer. Sometimes even a comment. Sometimes this will have a cascading effect and suddenly you feel like you have something in common with every single person in the queue. Because you do. It's the queue.

In Finland, queuing to some underground techno club, in freezing temperatures, it's not unusual to see a flask being passed around in the queue. You can often already hear the music a bit from the distance and so you get almost like a mini party happening. People dancing, talking, laughing, drinking. There's an actual sense of camaraderie and solidarity. A stark contrast to the loneliness of the dance floor with everyone in their own bubble, eyes closed, mindlessly swaying like hattifatteners, all alone in the dark.

So, why don't we design a little social experiment. Advertise a grand opening of "the hottest new venue in town". Rent a run-down warehouse, with some amplifiers and speakers. Hire a competent (possibly famous) DJ and have them play their set. Close the front door and put a mean looking bouncer in front of it. Try to make the queue as long as possible and place a few "agitators" in there. Have them complain and say something witty from time to time and make sure everybody hears them. Pass around flasks of hard liquor. Do it in the winter so it's cold and dark. The cold will make people huddle together, the darkness will help conceal the scam. Upon entering "the club", tell the person the truth and give them an opportunity to exchange contact information with the people they met in the queue. Ask them not to spoil the surprise for the remaining queuers.

You can call "the club" "The Q".

Both the bus and the queue are synchronous events. They force us to be present "right here, right now". By so doing, they also synchronize us (quite literally in the case of the queue).

Monetizing Loneliness

There was one very important question from the audience which sadly went completely unanswered. It concerned the various "loneliness apps" that have emerged on the market. Some of which were also mentioned during the panel discussion as possible remedies. I'm highly dubious of their efficacy. At best, they can bring temporary relief to acute symptoms, but like so many of our technological "solutions" - they tend to be a band-aids that don't actually address the root cause and always come with several side effects. Side effects that we then try to fix by even more technology.

At worst they can be used to monetize on the suffering of people and to keep them hooked for as long as possible. With dating apps being perhaps the most notorious example.

Hyperlocal Digital Experiences

There is one exception to the previous point - gaming. Video games and the virtual communities that spring around them can create very meaningful and positive connections between people. As a nerd growing up in the PC era I have witnessed this first-hand. One more recent example of such an experience was the PS3 game Journey. I finished the game with someone and even though I didn't know their name, heard their voice or even read a single message from them, I felt a meaningful connection with this person and I honestly think we could have been friends in real life.

This was probably someone on another continent, but what if your partner in the game was living in the same apartment block as you? Again, I don't need to know their name or apartment number. The mere realization that there is someone in this post-soviet concrete anthill with whom I share a common interest with is itself incredibly fulfilling. This experience may connect me with the person, but it will most definitely connect me with my place of residence and that can also go a long way.

In other words, I wish game developers would design an option to play with people "in my house" or "city district".

Gardens of Community

Lastly, I would like to mention a wonderful development I have seen in many cities across Europe - namely that of community gardens. The most "famous" one in Tallinn is probably Kopli 93 I'm lucky to have one next to our house as well and it's so heart-warming to see it spring to life every spring.

The most heart-warming thing about it is seeing Estonians, Indian expats and Russian-speaking babushkas all raking dirt and planting seeds together. Sometimes they even have cook-outs here. Maybe one day they will even invite strangers to the cook-outs.

All it takes is a bit of courage and curiosity...