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Here’s something a cultural anthropologist said to me recently that I can’t stop thinking about:
“Americans schedule friendship just like they would concert tickets.”
Let that sit for a second.
We treat our friends (the people we claim are our top priority, the people we say we’d be devastated to lose) the same way we treat entertainment.
We schedule them in. We show up for the performance. We leave when it’s over.
And then we wonder why we feel so lonely. Why do our friendships feel shallow? Why nobody shows up when we actually need them.
James F. Richardson is a Ph.D. cultural anthropologist who has spent 20 years studying American society. He recently wrote a book called Our Worst Strength that questions our approach to individualism as a way of life.
And he’s not pulling punches.
After living in South India for three years and experiencing a much more communal culture, James came back to the U.S. with fresh eyes on something most of us can’t see because we’re swimming in it:
American individualism has fundamentally broken how we do friendship.
Not just made it harder. Not just made it less convenient.
Broken it.
And the cost? It’s way higher than we realize.
What “Friendship as Entertainment” Actually Looks Like
Before you dismiss this as “not me,” let me paint you a picture.
You schedule dinner with a friend. Maybe you haven’t seen them in a while: a few weeks, a few months, maybe longer.
You show up. You order food. And then what happens?
You exchange stories.
Not just any stories. Carefully curated, well-edited stories designed to be interesting. Compelling. Entertaining.
Stories of individual achievement. Stories where you’re the hero. Stories with dramatic pauses and punchlines.
I’ll give you a real example from my own life that perfectly illustrates this:
I recently got Taylor Swift concert tickets after trying for a year. It was a whole saga: the website almost crashed, we thought we’d lost them, a dramatic moment, a happy ending.
And I’ve now told that story at least 12 times in the past week and a half.
And you know what? By the 12th time, I have that story DOWN. I know exactly when to pause for dramatic effect. I know exactly when to speed up for excitement. I know exactly how to deliver the punchline.
It’s a performance. Literally a performance.
James put it this way: “If you recorded what you do when you go to these things, all of us, you will find that you are editing a tale. You’re trying to edit something impactful.”
We’re not just catching up. We’re entertaining each other.
And here’s what’s even more revealing: What are those stories about?
“All those stories are very American tales of individual achievement,” James said. “Look what I pulled off.”
That’s what’s entertaining in American friendship. Individual achievement.
Not: I’m struggling, and I need help.
Not: My marriage is falling apart.
Not: I’m so depressed I can barely get out of bed.
Those stories aren’t entertaining. So we don’t tell them.
The Hidden Rules of American Friendship
There are unspoken rules operating in American friendships that most of us have never consciously examined.
Here they are:
Rule #1: Keep It Positive (Even When You’re Complaining)
James explained this perfectly: “You can’t go negative. Everything’s gonna be positive, even the negative.”
Even our complaints have to be framed as victories.
“I love to tell stories of my great victories over the evil, insensitive, horrible phone bureaucracy,” James said. “I love to tell those. But really, I’m just whining. But I always tell it in the American story of the individual fighting the evil bureaucracy.”
That’s acceptable whining. That’s entertaining whining.
What’s not acceptable? “I can’t stand my boss, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
That’s real. That’s vulnerable. That’s asking for something.
And we don’t do that at Applebee’s.
Rule #2: Don’t Create Obligation
Here’s the real reason we avoid sharing real problems with friends:
“When you do that, I as a human am obligated to now help,” James said. “And I don’t want that obligation. I don’t even want to know. Don’t tell me about your problems, because then I have to help.”
Let me give you an example:
A friend recently told me she was going to the doctor for a medical issue. She was nervous but hopeful it would be fine.
The moment she told me, I felt obligated to follow up later and ask if she’s okay.
That’s it. That’s the “burden.” Not driving her to the doctor. Not doing anything big.
Just remembering to check in. And even THAT feels like too much for many people.
Because now it’s another task. Another thing to remember. Another obligation I didn’t ask for.
So the rule becomes: don’t create obligation. Keep it light. Keep it entertaining.
Rule #3: If You Must Share Problems, Do It One-on-One (And Apologize First)
Real vulnerability (the kind where you’re actually struggling and need support) gets relegated to very specific contexts in American friendship.
Usually: one-on-one. Often: over text or phone, not in person. Almost always: with an apology or disclaimer.
“Hey, I know you’re busy, but…”
“I don’t want to burden you, but…”
“Do you have capacity for this?”
We’re apologizing for needing support from our friends.
And if we DO share in a group setting? We better make sure it’s still somewhat entertaining. Still somewhat a story of achievement.
“I was depressed, but then I did therapy, and now I’m so much better!” = Acceptable
“I’m depressed right now, and I don’t know what to do” = Creates obligation
Why We Do This (And Why It’s So Hard to See)
If you’re reading this and thinking, “This is just how friendship works,” that’s exactly the point.
We think this is normal because we’ve never experienced anything else.
James spent three years living in South India, a culture that sits much further on the communal end of the spectrum.
And here’s what he experienced there:
“I didn’t have to fight to have social interaction. In America, we put so much responsibility on you crafting your own social world that it’s just exhausting being an American.”
In Tamil culture, people just scooped him up. No scheduling required.
You’d show up at the coffee stall or tea stall at certain times, and people you knew would be there. No coordination. No “are you free next Thursday at 7 pm?” No three-week wait for an opening in someone’s calendar.
Just presence. Just community. Just showing up.
And when someone was struggling? The community stepped in. Automatically.
“If you go tell your buddies at the coffee stall that you’re going in for surgery next week, I guarantee you two of them will volunteer to go sit with you, and they will go do it,” James said.
Not because they were asked. Because that’s just what you do.
But here’s the thing: We can’t see how weird our way is because we’re swimming in it.
American individualism (the belief that personal autonomy is the highest value, that independence is the goal, that self-reliance is strength) is so deeply embedded in our culture that we don’t even recognize it as a choice.
We think it’s just… reality.
But it’s not. It’s a cultural value. One that comes with costs we rarely acknowledge.
In the full episode, James and I go much deeper into how American individualism has shaped the unspoken rules of friendship. If you’ve ever felt like something was off about how we “do” friendship in this country, this conversation will put words to what you’ve been feeling.
The Hidden Costs We’re Paying
Okay, so we schedule friendship like entertainment. We keep it positive. We avoid creating obligations.
What’s the actual cost of all this?
Cost #1: We Can’t Ask for Help
James told me about a time when he was severely depressed in Seattle. He got invited to a birthday party for someone in his singles group.
“I just couldn’t fake it. I just couldn’t fake the fake smile. I literally looked like a depressed human.”
Someone noticed and asked what was wrong.
“In this country, you’re not actually encouraged to answer that question honestly,” James said. “So I just had to leave.”
There was no communal reaction. No “sit down and tell us what’s going on.”
Because in American friendship, your depression is YOUR problem. Not the community’s.
Cost #2: We Can’t Offer Help (Without Being “Co-Dependent”)
Here’s something I’ve experienced dozens of times:
A friend mentions they’re having surgery. My immediate thought is: someone should sit with them.
So I offer. And then I have to FIGHT to get them to say yes.
I have to convince them. Reassure them. Insist. Sometimes multiple times.
Because they’ve been taught that accepting help makes them a burden.
And you know what people call me for doing this? For offering help and then insisting when people say no?
A busybody. Potentially manipulative. Co-dependent.
“How dare you want to support the closest people to you by being co-present with them when they need you,” James said sarcastically. “You must be co-dependent. You obviously have no sense of self because you constantly have to be helping people.”
The stereotype of the “over-helper” is bizarre from a cross-cultural perspective.
In most communal cultures, helping your people is just… what you do. It’s not pathologized as co-dependence.
But in America? We’ve made it weird to care too much.
Cost #3: We’re Isolated in Our Hardest Moments
James’s research with older Americans (ages 47-76) revealed something striking:
Regardless of social class or demographics, they all struggled with maintaining friendships.
And here’s what happens: When life gets hard (depression, grief, illness, crisis) we retreat.
Because we don’t want to burden anyone. And because we don’t know how to let people in.
James shared about his own experience with depression: “I would get invited out and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t perform. So I just… stopped going.”
And nobody came after him.
Because in individualistic culture, we respect people’s autonomy. If they say they want to be alone, we leave them alone.
Even when being alone is the worst thing for them.
Cost #4: We Avoid Group Interventions
Here’s something James said that really struck me:
“We avoid the group intervention. And I just don’t understand this.”
When someone is struggling (really struggling) we’ll talk about it behind their back. We’ll express concern to each other.
But we won’t actually gather as a group and say: “We’re worried about you. We want to help.”
Because that feels confrontational. Invasive. Like, we’re not respecting their autonomy.
But you know what’s more persuasive than one person expressing concern? Eight people.
“When you have eight on one or ten on one, the human brain reacts totally differently,” James said. “It’s immensely more persuasive when eight people are all saying the same thing.”
But we don’t do it. Because individualism says: they have to ask for help first.
James and I explore this tension even further in the complete episode, including how other cultures handle group support and what we can learn from them. If you’ve ever wanted to help a friend but held back because you didn’t want to overstep, listen here.
What Actual Community Looks Like (The Contrast)
I know what some of you are thinking: “Okay, but what’s the alternative? I don’t want people in my business all the time.”
And that’s exactly the individualistic response.
But let me paint you a different picture: what James experienced in South India:
Hospital visits: If someone is having surgery, people just show up. Not because they were asked. Just because that’s what you do. There might be 12 people there to keep you company, play cards, and pass the time.
Yes, your drunk uncle you don’t like might show up. But you also have support.
Daily connection: No scheduling required. You just show up at certain places at certain times, and your people are there.
Skills trading: Before World War II, Americans did this, too. Home renovation was done with friends and family. You didn’t hire contractors (unless you were wealthy). You used your network.
“We no longer use our friends the way we did before World War II,” James said. “We’ve outsourced everything with a credit card to the service sector.”
Group care: When someone is struggling, the community steps in. Automatically. Not waiting to be asked.
Now, I’m not saying we should completely abandon American individualism and adopt Tamil culture wholesale.
But maybe… just maybe… we’ve swung too far in the individualistic direction.
Maybe there’s a middle ground where we can value autonomy AND community. Independence AND interdependence.
Maybe we can schedule a little less and integrate a little more.
What Integration Actually Looks Like (Practical Examples)
Okay, so if friendship isn’t supposed to be entertainment, what IS it supposed to be?
Integration. Actual presence in each other’s lives.
Here are some examples:
Example #1: Trading Skills
James has a friend who doesn’t know how to do his taxes. At 56.
“I just recently said, ‘Look, man, I’ll go over your Schedule C next spring because I’m concerned,’” James told me.
Not because his friend asked. Because James noticed a need and offered.
Think about what you’re good at. What you enjoy doing. What comes easily to you.
For me, it’s cooking. I’m known among my friends for always having a good recipe for any situation.
So when someone texts me: “I have 6 people coming over, one vegetarian, need something quick”… I can send them 2 options in under 10 minutes.
For them, that would have been hours of stressful research. For me, it’s 10 minutes.
That’s integration. That’s using your skills to help your people.
Example #2: Hospital/Doctor Visits
This is my personal hill to die on.
When a friend has surgery or a scary medical appointment, someone should be there with them.
Not because they asked. Because that’s what friends do.
Now, in American culture, you’re going to have to FIGHT to be allowed to do this. I know. I’ve done it dozens of times.
But keep offering. Keep insisting (gently). Keep showing up.
Example #3: Group Care in Crisis
James and I talked about a friend of mine who was severely depressed years ago.
Here’s what our friend group did that was actually communal:
We didn’t put it all on one person.
Instead, we took turns being the primary support person. We checked in with each other: “Are you worried? I’m worried.” We spread out the emotional labor.
Multiple people were checking in. Multiple people were holding space. We took turns tapping in.
That’s communal care. That’s not leaving it all on one person, or on the struggling person to ask for help.
Example #4: Just… Presence
Not everything has to be a scheduled event with a clear purpose.
Sometimes integration just means being around.
Doing errands together. Sitting in the same room while you both work on separate things. Having someone over while you meal prep and they fold laundry.
Presence. Not performance.
The Mindset Shifts Required
I’m not going to lie to you: Shifting from entertainment-based friendship to integration-based friendship is HARD.
It requires some fundamental mindset shifts:
Shift #1: From “Don’t Burden People” to “Asking for Help Is Connection”
Letting people help you is not a burden. It’s an invitation to deeper connection.
When you ask for help, you’re saying: I trust you. I value our relationship. I believe you care about me.
That’s a gift. Not a burden.
Shift #2: From “Respect Autonomy” to “Show Up Anyway”
Yes, people have the right to say no to help.
But we’ve taken “respect autonomy” so far that we don’t even offer anymore.
We wait for people to ask. And then we’re surprised when they never do.
Start offering. Even when you think they’ll say no.
Shift #3: From “Co-Dependent” to “Interdependent”
There’s a difference between co-dependence (losing yourself in others) and interdependence (mutual support).
Offering to sit with your friend during surgery is not co-dependent. It’s interdependent.
We’ve pathologized normal human care.
Shift #4: From “Individual Problem” to “Community Problem”
When someone in your friend group is struggling, it’s not just their problem.
It’s a community problem that requires a community solution.
Not because you’re responsible for fixing them. But because isolation makes everything worse.
Community makes hard things more bearable.
Where to Start (Because This Is Overwhelming)
I know this is a lot. I know it challenges fundamental beliefs about how friendship “should” work.
So let’s start small.
Here’s what James said at the end of our conversation:
“Don’t stop adding friends into your life. Our society is deleting them every 10 years. This has to be a separate part-time gig.”
So here’s what I want you to do:
Pick ONE small way to integrate more this week:
Maybe that’s:
- ▪️ Offering to help a friend with something you’re good at
- ▪️ Inviting a friend to do errands with you instead of scheduling dinner
- ▪️ Checking in on someone who seems down (even if they haven’t asked)
- ▪️ Saying yes when someone offers to help you
- ▪️ Gathering a group to support someone who’s struggling
- ▪️ Just… being present with someone without a clear agenda
Just one thing. One small shift away from entertainment and toward integration.
Because here’s the truth: We can’t change American individualism overnight. We can’t single-handedly fix this cultural problem.
But we can make small shifts in our own lives. We can notice the patterns. We can choose differently.
And when we do that… when enough of us do that… we start to shift the culture.
The Truth We Need to Hear
I’m going to close with something James said that I think we all need to sit with:
“Being an American is exhausting. We put so much responsibility on you crafting your own social world.”
You’re not failing at friendship because you’re not trying hard enough.
You’re exhausted because the system is set up to make friendship incredibly difficult.
We’ve prioritized individual autonomy over communal care. Independence over interdependence. Self-reliance over mutual support.
And we’re paying the price in isolation, loneliness, and shallow connections.
But it doesn’t have to be this way.
We can schedule a little less and show up a little more.
We can perform a little less and be present a little more.
We can respect autonomy a little less and offer help a little more.
We can stop treating friendship like concert tickets and start treating it like actual community.
It won’t be easy. It won’t be comfortable. It goes against everything we’ve been taught about how to be a “good” American.
But maybe… just maybe… it’s exactly what we need.
Want to dive deeper into how individualism is affecting your friendships? Check out James F. Richardson’s book Our Worst Strength: American Individualism and Its Hidden Discontents. It’s a thoroughly researched, eye-opening exploration of how our cultural values are shaping (and limiting) our relationships.
Want more thought-provoking content from James? Subscribe to his Substack Homo Imaginari where he writes weekly about American culture, imagination, and society.
Want to hear the full conversation that inspired this post? Tune into the full episode with James F. Richardson on Friendship IRL. We talk about everything from cultural comparisons to practical ways you can start building real community in your own life.
