A lyric on the new MARINA album made me stop in my tracks: “Where are all the parties now?” the pop star asks on her song “I <3 YOU.”

Where indeed? I wondered. It has been widely reported that large face-to-face social gatherings are on the decline. Nightclubs and bars are certainly feeling the pressure. And with the widespread decline of late-night socializing, house parties have become more uncommon, too. We are partying, in general, a lot less. According to a report from The Atlantic, a 2023 study found that just 4.1% of Americans attended or hosted a social event on an average weekend or holiday. And a 2023 YouGov poll found that only 59% of Americans had attended a birthday party in the last year.

When my friends and I do get together in the evening, we go out for dinner or for one or two drinks at a bar. Perhaps a polite dinner party at someone’s house. But nobody is scuffing the dining table with their stilettos; no one is stargazing out in the garden. It increasingly feels like those halcyon days of thrumming speakers in the living room and packed hallways and bedrooms are a thing of the past.

I’m not altogether surprised. I entered my 30s last year expecting a wind-down in late-night fun. My constitution is not what it used to be: I’m more easily fatigued, more worn down by work. Most of my social circle is coupled up now, factoring in partners as well as friends and family when it comes to planning our downtime. And soon, many of us will start to have kids. I think of all this with a small sting of regret. Nostalgia nips at my heels, reminding me of how carefree I felt spilling wine in a friend’s kitchen at 2 a.m., gossiping with scantily-clad strangers. I yearn for the days when we would pile into somebody’s house and mingle with acquaintances and friends of friends, not knowing who we would meet or who some of us might kiss. I miss that limitless feeling of not knowing how the night would turn out and how late we would stay up. I get misty-eyed at the recollection of those next-day debriefs, trading stories and gossiping over bacon and black coffee.

These days, socializing is all very proper: we consult our diaries to arrange the next get-together, sometimes two, three weeks in advance. We agree that we need to be home by 10 p.m. so that we can be in bed by 11, latest. This structure is ever so slightly suffocating. It’s too prim, too predictable. Of course, when we do manage to meet and catch up on each other’s lives, it’s lovely. But we don’t meet to let loose and invite spontaneity into our lives. House parties provided a space to do just that—once you stepped through that front door and into a throng of chattering, laughing bodies, you forgot all about your work deadlines and list of chores. You were just there to have fun.

What really distresses me, what really makes me gasp and clutch at my Millennial pearls, is the thought that the younger generation might not experience house parties at all. Gen Z is not a partying generation, and if TikTok is anything to go by, a lot of 20-somethings are prioritizing early nights and 10-step beauty routines over leaving the house.

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Theirs is a generation that was raised with social media at their fingertips, and for many Gen Z-ers, it’s all about appearance. Late nights followed by sloppy takeaways are not a formula for good skin. Not to mention, in a sea of smartphones, you’re just one snap away from humiliation. Another reason for the lack of partying is the COVID-19 pandemic and its aftershocks, which are still being felt today. Many young people lost the freedom of those formative years, taking solace in self-care and meditative, solo activities at home like crafting and reading. It was how we managed the collective fear and anxiety clouding our world, and it hasn’t been easy for any of us to shake that mindset. The mindset that says that structure is good, chaos is not. That health and wellness must be prioritized in order to have any semblance of safety and sanity.

Then there’s the economy. It’s expensive to go out partying at a bar or club, even if you’re drinking less. The cost of transport, the cost of a new outfit if your current wardrobe fills you with dread, the cost of alcohol if you do drink, and the price of pizza acquired on the way home. We are living in a cost-of-living crisis, gnawing at our nails as we watch the prospect of a global recession loom larger.  Most of us do not have the expendable money for decadence. As a result, our homes have become a final refuge from the increasing costs of daily life, and we have grown used to staying inside to keep financial dread at bay. Money should be reserved for the essentials, not for frivolities, we tell ourselves.

It’s all very sensible. It’s all very understandable. And it’s all so sad. The phrase “loneliness crisis” is being voiced with greater urgency. According to a March 2025 survey by the global health service company Cigna, 43% of participants sometimes or always felt isolated from others. Just 53% of participants felt they had meaningful in-person social interactions on a daily basis. And the study found that Gen Z felt the loneliest. It’s important to understand the gravity of this: the World Health Organization (WHO) has deemed loneliness to be a pressing global health threat, noting that “people lacking social connection face a higher risk of early death,” and loneliness “can increase risk of cardiovascular disease and stroke.” Staying in might not be the golden ticket to the land of health and wellness that young people think it is.

Our collective phone addiction has made us retreat into the digital world for a feeling of connection and community, but “hearting” an Instagram comment isn’t the same as dancing with a friend. Firing off a Hinge message isn’t the same as blushing with a cutie on a kitchen counter. 

House parties bring us together physically and allow us to be our noisiest, messiest selves. They are a space dedicated to lighthearted decadence and enjoyment for the sake of enjoyment. They are decidedly unserious in a world that feels suffocatingly serious. I think we all need an injection of some joie de vivre at this moment; to energize us, to remind us that we have a wonderful world worth fighting for. Now more than ever, we need the warmth of a hand in ours; the sudden flash of a grin; the reviving, electric energy of community.

Because here’s the thing about house parties: You don’t need to drink if you don’t want to, and you don’t need to spend a ton of money. You could even suggest that other partygoers drop their phones into a bag at the beginning of the night, to ensure you won’t have gone viral on TikTok by the morning. It’s important to get out there and try to feel footloose and fancy free, even if just for a night. The dewiest skin in the world isn’t worth doom-scrolling all evening, loneliness tugging at your heart.