This morning, Georgie was telling me about a video she watched that talked about how modern isolation is turning us all into consumers instead of community members. Their premise was that if we’re not constantly showing up for others and sharing experiences, or if we’re protecting our own peace, we’re being selfish and “just consumers.”

I agreed with my Georgie’s sentiment that it would be lovely to normalise having picnics on friends’ carpets instead of always going out for overpriced food and drinks. I’m all for more genuine connection. But we both felt largely negative about what the video was trying to preach.

There’s something problematic about framing individual boundary-setting as the root of societal isolation. I think it reveals a much larger issue with how we talk about community in our hyper-individualistic world. Therefore, the video will act as a springboard for my discussion of concepts inspired by this indirect experience, which I feel are more important than the video’s actual content.

First, there’s the claim that not sharing enough experiences makes us “just a consumer.” This fundamentally misunderstands what being a consumer actually means in our economic system. From a structural perspective, we’re all consumers under capitalism regardless of how social we are. Our individual social choices don’t change our position in the production cycle.

What the video seems to be getting at is the difference between commodified socialisation, where every interaction requires purchasing something, and genuine community connection. But calling individual boundary-setting “consumerism” completely misses the point. It’s like blaming people for being thirsty instead of questioning why clean water costs money.

Georgie noted an implication in the video’s tone that people complain too much about the effort required to show up for others. This reminded me of a situation at my last job that illustrates why blanket calls for “support” can be actively harmful.

The lead software engineer didn’t quit because he believed his departure would hurt the remaining workers. He was right—the entire company relied on his expertise and overworked efforts. But by staying and trying to individually support people emotionally and work-wise, he was inadvertently propping up the system he was trying to protect them from. I explained to Georgie that his presence became one of the “nice little distractions” that made the workplace just bearable enough that people didn’t feel the urgent need to leave or fight for better conditions.

While most people can’t simply switch to a better job, at least without his buffer they might have recognised earlier how things truly were and started planning their escape routes. His well-intentioned “support” actually became a relief valve that prevented collective action or individual self-preservation.

This is the problem with framing “support” as universally good. Sometimes the most supportive thing we can do is refuse to make a bad situation more comfortable.

Then there’s something pernicious about using moral language—calling boundary-setting “selfish”—to shame people into endless availability. This framing completely ignores power dynamics: who gets to demand that others show up? Who gets to set boundaries? Why are we placing the burden of community-building on individuals who are likely already struggling under the weight of an exploitative system?

Most people aren’t isolated because they’re individually selfish. They’re isolated because:

• Third spaces have been systematically eliminated by economic and urban planning decisions;

• Through technology, work productivity has intensified to the point where people are exhausted;

• The cost of living makes going out financially stressful;

• Mental health resources are inadequate or inaccessible and often support the individualistic status quo; and

• Economic precarity makes it difficult to maintain consistent social commitments.

Telling people they’re selfish for protecting their peace in this context is like telling someone they’re selfish for wearing a coat in winter instead of just toughening up.

This brings me to the main issue I have with the video’s message: it’s offering individual behavioural changes as solutions to fundamentally structural problems. “Just be more social! Just share more!” places the entire responsibility for fixing isolation on the isolated person themselves.

This is a classic example of what happens when legitimate critiques of our alienated society get filtered through our culture’s obsession with personal responsibility. Yes, commodified relationships are a problem. Yes, genuine community would be better. But the solution isn’t moral flagellance—we need to examine why authentic community became so difficult to maintain in the first place.

Why have informal gathering spaces disappeared? Why do most social activities require spending money? Why are people too exhausted after work to maintain relationships? Why do we lack the social infrastructure that would make community connection easy and natural?

The video’s approach reminded me of how the wellness industry has co-opted legitimate critiques of modern life and repackaged them as individual lifestyle choices. Community becomes another thing we’re supposed to optimise, another way we’re supposed to perform goodness, another metric by which we can judge ourselves and others.

But individual effort alone can’t produce genuine community. Community emerges from shared material conditions, common struggles, and systems that actually support human connection rather than extracting profit from it.

Real community support often looks different from what the video was advocating. Sometimes, it means recognising when a situation is harmful and refusing to make it more comfortable. Sometimes, it means setting boundaries that force systems to change rather than adapt. Sometimes, it means saying, “this isn’t working” instead of “how can I help you cope with this thing that isn’t working.”

Perhaps the most supportive thing the software engineer I mentioned earlier could have done for his colleagues was to leave. That could have finally forced the company to confront its weaknesses and flaws. His departure could have been the catalyst that helped others recognise their own worth and demand better conditions.

I personally don’t believe we should focus so much on whether people are being too selfish in their personal relationships. I think we need to question whether our economic and social systems actually support the kind of community we claim to want. And if they don’t, then we need to start refusing to distract from that contradiction with individual acts of heroic self-sacrifice.

Perhaps this is the first step toward building something better than what we’ve been told to accept. Because, at the end of the day, I’d rather have an authentic community that doesn’t require anyone to set themselves on fire to keep others warm. I suspect that’s what most people actually want too, even if they can’t quite articulate why the alternative feels so exhausting.