We’re Forgetting How to Talk to Strangers

And why it matters

Americans are talking less than we used to. The only species that uses language to communicate, humans are becoming more laconic. A new study found that between 2005 and 2019, Americans spoke “330 fewer words spoken per day for each year during that time period” according to one of the authors. We went from speaking approximately 16,600 words each day to roughly 12,000 on average. That’s a lot less talking. But it’s not only that we’re having fewer conversations, rather who we’re no longer having them with.

Modern society has offered us a greater number of opportunities to engage with strangers online and fewer incentives to do so in the real world. Last week, I visited my first contactless store in the Dallas airport. You pick up an item, walk over to the screen pad, swipe your credit card, and off you go. It’s a seamless process. Many major retailers, including CVS, Whole Foods, and Target have self-checkout options. There are humans around to deter shoplifters, but they rarely talk to customers.

This experience is not unique to retail. QR code menus push us to order off online menus and allow us to bypass a conversation with a server. Food delivery apps (DoorDash, Uber Eats) have “leave at my door” as the default option, so there is no need to talk to or thank the delivery driver. Rideshare apps allow users to select a “silent ride” to avoid any conversation with their driver. Autonomous cabs are already a reality for some and the future for the rest of us. The loss of regular interactions with strangers has become so routine as to escape notice.

Most of these changes have been introduced in the name of reducing economic inefficiency, but they have limited our social interactions with strangers in the process. Given the opportunity to avoid talking with strangers, more of us are opting to do so. But why did this happen?

Why Socializing Feels Exhausting

In my forthcoming book, Generation Uncoupled, I argue that the palpable feeling of exhaustion that many of us feel is not in our heads or because we’re introverts, but is an inevitable byproduct of institutional decline. One of the great things about schools, places of worship, and workplaces is that they do much of the social heavy lifting for us. They establish social norms, set expectations, and create routines, all in the service of increasing predictability in our social interactions. We see the same people at roughly the same time and place, with similar standards applied to all members. There is a hierarchy that makes sense and processes to address issues that inevitably arise among members. We know where we stand. Of course, none of this works flawlessly in practice, but institutions don’t need to operate perfectly to be hugely beneficial.

Social anxiety is heightened when our environment becomes less predictable—such as when we’re not sure what to wear or how to act—and is lowered when these things are clear. Understanding our obligations to others is also an important contribution that institutions make to our social lives. Its absence invites problems. What do you owe the stranger you’re arguing with online? What kind of behavior is out-of-bounds? It’s not that clear––at least not to me––how these interactions should occur and what type of infractions require an intervention. So much seems to fall into an indefinite gray area. Why? Because online norms are weaker, we have no shared context or established rules beyond largely unenforceable “Community Standards” agreements.

What is the solution?

David Epstein argues that constraints are critical. In a cleverly titled new book, Thinking Inside the Box, Epstein shows that boundless opportunity can reduce our effectiveness as workers, performers, and people. Institutions not only constrain how we behave, but influence our social rhythms, when and where we spend time together. In an article for Time Magazine, Epstein writes:

“In previous generations, Americans often did roughly the same things at roughly the same times. We worked during the day and rested in the evening. We took weekends off together. We ate dinner around the same time. We watched the same shows on the same nights. Most of that is gone now.”

For decades, the values of freedom and autonomy have been prioritized over solidarity and cohesion, for understandable reasons. But the pursuit of unrestricted autonomy creates its own problems. It can make social interactions seem riskier. With fewer restraints, social interactions become less predictable. In a 2025 survey, we found that more than half (53 percent) of young adults said talking to people they don’t know well is an exhausting and uncomfortable experience. Seniors were less than half as likely to say the same.

Left to our own devices, we have chosen to communicate less frequently and to avoid conversations with people we don’t know well. I understand the motivation. Small talk can seem annoying or pointless. Except it isn’t. Our engagement with strangers matters a great deal. Recent work has shown that even brief conversations with others can produce positive measurable effects on wellbeing. The authors of one paper found that “just taking a moment to greet, thank, and express good wishes to strangers” increased subjective feelings of happiness. Another study found that people “systematically underestimate how caring and interested” strangers would be. In our own research, we have found that people who talk more often to “people they do not know well” around their neighborhood perceived their community to be a friendlier place.

The disconnect between how we think interactions will make us feel and how they actually do is part of the problem. When we believe that having a conversation with someone will feel wearying or uncomfortable we do it less often. We opt for alternatives, and new technologies are providing an ever-growing number of ways to avoid human contact. It’s not costless. The most effective way to build a rewarding and meaningful life is not through meditative self-reflection, journaling, or self-actualization. It’s spending time with people—those we know and those we do not.