The simplest definition of loneliness is a state of longing for more connection and intimacy than you have. It is not the same as solitude, which can be pleasant and satisfying, and nor does it require total physical isolation. You can be lonely at a party; lonely in a marriage. The sensation is acutely painful, and brings with it profound physical consequences. Loneliness raises blood pressure, accelerates ageing and cognitive decline. It causes insomnia, weakens the immune system and predicts increased morbidity and mortality. To put this in ordinary language, it can prove fatal.

As to whether other people experienced it, I quickly realised that the lonely city was a very populated space indeed. I conducted my investigations by way of visual artists, among them David Wojnarowicz, Andy Warhol and Henry Darger. While we assume loneliness is the result of personal failure, a lack of attractiveness in some way, what I discovered by way of examining their lives is that loneliness is often a consequence of larger social forces of stigma and exclusion, which serve to isolate vulnerable populations of many kinds. Being poor, an immigrant, ill, transgender, a person of colour or of divergent sexuality: these were the drivers of isolation. If The Lonely City had a takeaway message, it was that loneliness is political and should never be a source of shame.

At least some of that shame has fallen away since my book was first published in 2016. Loneliness is no longer a taboo state. It is widely discussed, both as an emotional experience akin to depression or anxiety, and as a social problem, the subject of academic research and government policy. It is even regarded as a global public health concern. The 2024 Health Survey for England reported that 22% of the adult population felt lonely at least some of the time, with 6% – around 4 million people – feeling lonely often or always, while the 2025 World Health Organization report on social connection found that one in six people around the globe are lonely.

One of the most interesting findings of the 2024 Health Survey for England was that loneliness shows a strong correlation with area deprivation. The practical solutions put forward by bodies such as the Red Cross, the Campaign to End Loneliness and the Jo Cox Commission on Loneliness focus not on dating or friendship so much as community assets such as transport, green space, social centres and activities.

These are places where people can experience what sociologists call “weak ties”, a sense of being connected and visible, a person who matters inside a sustaining community. But these spaces and resources – from mother and baby groups, parks and libraries to rural bus routes, youth clubs and surgeries – have been decimated by austerity and years of systematic underfunding.

What I've learned (and I'm not stating an epiphany here) over the past few years is that there are social gatherings all around us. We're simply unaware of them until we are.

For a year, I was parked an eight-minute walk from the burner warehouse without knowing it existed. It took a friend inviting me, and integration without him around at future events was slow going.

It took a year and a half to shed impostor syndrome at the weekly gatherings, but I persevered, and this group has been key to much of my progress in that time.

Thinking back to college, meeting new people was easy. Keeping in touch past the quarter, less so, as there was a constant churn of people coming in and out of life.

I think there's a misapprehension about the speed at which weak ties should become strong ties, and a tendency to forget how much work (and time) that transition usually takes, choosing instead to just remember it as "a close friend suddenly appeared."

Joining a social circle with the explicit intent of hitting it off with someone is a fast-track to disappointment. Entering new environments with zero expectations does a fabulous job of obviating this pitfall.

Chatting online does not. I have a handful of people I consider friends who I've never met in real life, and I appreciate what they add to my existence, but they can't really make up for a sense of group belonging by bonding over activities and coming together again the next week.

Since lockdown started, I've found myself looking online more often than not. It passed the time but did little else. It wasn't until online conversation turned into meatspace meetups that I realized I'd been chasing the wrong goals.

It baffles me that societal breakdown would lead lonely people into the arms of the far right. These are the fucksticks who tore down the social contract and don't want you to have housing, food or healthcare, and -- above all else -- feel any shred of happiness or meaning.

Anger is the fuel.

And as to incels specifically, I don't even get the situation. The whole thing seems to be cart-before-horse, assuming that women inherently hate all men before testing that hypothesis for oneself. If you're a misogynistic asshole, there's your problem.

Chatting with a bunch of other ne'er-do-wells accomplishes the square root of nothing. Righteous indignation over one's own shortcomings is neither attractive (to anyone) nor a way out of the situation.

Expecting the world to change because of your desires will fail.