Solitude used to mean sad singledom. Now it’s become a status symbol

A woman on her own once conjured images of Bridget Jones sadly eating boxes of mince pies and pining for Mr Right, writes Francesca Specter. But today solitude is considered aspirational, with solo travel booming and living alone an out-of-reach prospect for many. How did we get here?

Solitude has transformed from a shameful habitat for a self-proclaimed ‘spinster’ like Bridget Jones into something positive and empowering (Sky/Working Title/iStock)

I was a teenager in the early Noughties, so my cultural emblem for female solitude was Renee Zellweger’s Bridget Jones, drinking wine in button-down flannel pyjamas to the opening verse of “All By Myself”. As she checks her answerphone – “You have no messages” – and drains her glass, we’re left in no doubt that this famous, tragicomic scene is one of loneliness and isolation, rather than aspirational glamour (despite her covetable position of living alone in a central London flat aged 32). Two decades later, things couldn’t look more different. This summer, aVogue travel feature declared solitude a “coveted commodity”. Hermit, a new solitude-inspired memoir by Jade Angeles Fitton – a journalist in her mid-thirties – is a trending summer read, while Lady Gaga recently declared her desire for a “life of solitude”. The hashtag #solodate also has over 282 million views on TikTok.

Suffice to say, solitude has transformed from a shameful habitat for a self-proclaimed “spinster” like Bridget Jones into a boast-worthy status symbol. It’s sparked a female-led solo travel boom, too: 84 per cent of solo travellers are women, according to data by Booking.com, a figure no doubt inspired, in part, by the 2010 film adaptation of Elizabeth Gilbert’s self-discovery yarn Eat Pray Love. And in 2019, OpenTable reported a rise in restaurant bookings for one (up 160 per cent over a four-year period) –  a far cry from Lindsay Lohan’s socially outcast character in Mean Girls retreating to a bathroom stall with her lunch tray to avoid eating alone in the cafeteria. Through my own work, as the author and podcaster behind Alonement, I’ve witnessed my predominantly female, millennial audience connect with this topic – regularly sharing and hash-tagging their own #alonement (a word I invented to describe positive alone time) on social media.

“Soloism” (as Quartz dubbed this trend in 2019) is broadly defined as “people making active choices to live, work, entertain, and parent by themselves”. It could be taking yourself out for dinner; it could be travelling the world alone. While men and women might (and do) indulge in these activities, sociologist Jack Fong observes that there’s a “gendered dimension” to solitude. “Men who write about [it], like Nietzsche, tend to go out to the forest or desert, to find a philosophical basis for their existential crisis. Meanwhile, women employ solitude to get in touch with their emotional selves, and express their identity to the fullest degree. It’s an emancipation from the cultural prescription of how a woman has historically been told to behave within a patriarchal society, creating a nest for future offspring.” Bella Brown, 34, is a senior manager working in tech who lives with a flatmate in Clapham, and she tells me: “Solitude creates a delicious opportunity to become self-aware – my biggest goal in life. I travel alone at least once a year; go for solo date nights at my favourite restaurant; visit museums when I want to immerse myself without interference from someone else. The time I spend with friends becomes more rewarding because it’s an intentional choice.”

Radha Vyas is the co-founder of Flash Pack, a travel company for solos in their thirties and forties, and regards solitude as a “feminist status symbol”. She says it enables women to “curate lives on our own terms rather than following the cookie cutter ‘marriage and children’ template that society has told us we should want”. Some 70 per cent of Flash Pack’s customers are female. Flash Pack’s beautifully curated magazine, SOLO, explores more broadly the aspirational “solo-loving” pursuits of its customer base, from self-care to career advice –  cementing its status as not just a travel platform, but a millennial lifestyle community.

Contrary to popular belief, soloism isn’t anything to do with your relationship status. For instance, 60 per cent of those travelling alone are in a relationship, according to Travelzoo data. Nor are communities like Flash Pack a glorified platform for meeting a romantic partner. “There’s Bumble for that”, Vyas jokes. While it might vary in execution, soloism is just as valid a lifestyle choice, she says. “We have an increasingly big cohort of people in relationships, [as well as] mothers, who want to find themselves again after having children.”

For Phoebe Dodds, a 27-year-old start-up growth strategist who lives between London and Amsterdam, it was lockdown that made her understand “the beauty and value of solitude” – she was spending all hours of the day with her fiancé who, before the pandemic, had worked away half the week. “I was literally never alone, and found myself craving it… as soon as it was taken away from me, I understood the value of solitude and decided to seek it out more regularly.” She began to take a daily “Hot Girl Walk”, a TikTok trend for listening to podcasts and going on four-mile walks, typically on your own, that emerged during lockdown: “It’s a time to learn, grow and listen to something that interests you,” she says –  and this rings true regardless of your relationship status. There’s also a perception that moderate amounts of solitude might actually lead to more rewarding relationships, a notion shared by Hermit’s Jade Angeles Fitton, who met her husband after a period of solitude: “I wouldn’t have been ready to be in a relationship again if I hadn’t spent so much time on my own.”

People are far more accepting now if you say you want to do something alone. For some, that might normalise solitude – making it a value that stays with them for the rest of their lives. That’s life-changing. At least, it was for me

Jade Angeles Fitton

So how did we reach this tide shift in perceptions of female solitude? When did it go from being synonymous with “spinsterhood” to something that could be empowering, aspirational, and even compatible with the conventional norms of relationships and parenthood? In practical terms, it’s been facilitated by our socio-economic environment. “It’s both safer and more affordable for women to live alone compared to centuries, or even decades, ago,” says Dr Thuy-vy Nguyen, an assistant professor of psychology at Durham University. But, she caveats: “Affordable to a certain point.” I suggest that the sky-high housing prices in London or Tokyo make solo living unaffordable to many. “But at least now we have more opportunities for women to pursue a career and earn more.” Then, Nguyen adds, there’s the additional facilitating factor of increased infrastructure to support solo living “without having to rely on family”, like grocery delivery services.

Given that it wasn’t until 1974 that women in the UK were granted the right to open a bank account in their own names without a male co-signer (under the Equal Credit Opportunity Act), and that a gender pay gap still very much exists, it’s astonishing that women accounted for the majority of live-aloners (53 per cent) in last year’s ONS data. (Despite this, we’re still waiting for a female equivalent to “bachelor pad” to enter into popular parlance.) “People who can afford [it] often choose to live alone,” writes Dr Esteban Ortiz-Ospina in a report for Our World in Data, noting a strong correlation between richer nations and the prevalence of single-person households. Apparently, it’s a coveted, historically unprecedented luxury that women feel more compelled to splash out on than men. Carrie Bradshaw has a lot to answer for. It’s also notable that a company like Flash Pack – which exclusively offers boutique adventures with four-star and up accommodation – appeals broadly to a female demographic.

It’s clear why, as gender inequality has improved, women have aspired to the same glamorous “bachelor pad” lifestyle as men have for decades (even if the reality is presently a house share in Peckham). But what about the solitude date trends sweeping Instagram or TikTok, or the hordes of women pursuing their own Eat Pray Love moment? Is it, in fact, just a passing trend? Fitton – who first discovered solitude the hard way, after being abandoned by a former partner in a remote barn in Devon – hopes not. “I’m wary of anything zeitgeist-y. I don’t want ‘Hermit girl summer’ to be the trend of the season.” Despite its presumably positive effect on book sales, Fitton worries this kind of thinking “might diminish the experience [of solitude] as a whole, particularly if Instagram gets involved”, adding: “You need to switch off for a day or two – you might as well do it properly.” Fong takes a similarly scathing view: “Broadcasting your solitude to the world is not solitude. That is faux solitude.”

‘It’s both safer and more affordable for women to live alone compared to centuries, or even decades, ago’ (iStock)

However, fuel is fuel, Fitton concedes – and what’s currently being touted as a trend might reshape the “stigmatised” view of lone females as “crazy” and “transgressive” (compared to “wise men” on their own). “People are far more accepting now if you say you want to do something alone. For some, that might normalise solitude – making it a value that stays with them for the rest of their lives. That’s life-changing. At least, it was for me.” Nguyen adds: “I think it’s good just to encourage people towards the possibility that solitude can be positive – even if it comes from a trendsetter on social media.”

So where will this lead? Critics of the female-led “solo” movement might speculate that this individualist thinking could lead to increased loneliness –  particularly as single female millennials and Gen Z-ers are statistically the loneliest demographics, according to recent YouGov data. “There is a risk there, and we need to pay attention to it,” says Nguyen. “However, we’re learning, as a society, to recognise the difference between solitude and social withdrawal.” And there’s no doubt that Nguyen is doing a lot to drive this definition home –  both within the world of academia, and in the published research entering mainstream perceptions.

Vyas, meanwhile, has personally witnessed an increased appreciation for solitude and its benefits – and has no reason to think this will falter. “When we launched Flash Pack in 2014, we had a lot of work to do in educating the market on why solo travel could be an uplifting, positive experience. Now everyone understands that.” As for tackling loneliness, Vyas sees Flash Pack’s role as creating a supportive community around solo living, particularly for its typical clientele of single female millennials. This might well include women choosing to have children later in life, or not at all (last year, the average age for a woman having their first child surpassed 30 for the first time in recorded history). In these sorts of life stages, it may be the case that holiday companions are harder to come by (an experience Vyas had herself, which inspired her to co-found Flash Pack in her early thirties): “You start feeling lonely because it’s not solitude by choice, right?”

Within this context, it’s not just solitude, but friendship, that proves more important than ever. “When you balance that with alone time, it’s really empowering,” says Vyas. And it’s when combined with meaningful connection, and a feeling of autonomy, that the fruits of solitude can be enjoyed to the fullest –  no trending hashtag necessary.