The More, The Merrier?

ringing in the antisocial century

During college and graduate school, I would have described myself as a “more, the merrier” person. If I was hosting a party, I would invite everyone I knew. The limit did not exist. I remember those parties fondly—my living room packed with friends, some meeting for the first time, soft music, laughter, and the sweet feeling of being surrounded by friendship.

Then the pandemic forced a moratorium on “more the merrier” activities. In fact, “the fewer, the better” became the new rallying cry. As a public health-minded person, I embraced small gatherings with limited guest lists—and in the process, I realized something important about myself.

I don’t actually like big parties. Or rather, I like the idea of them. I like watching them from a balcony or through a one-way glass mirror. But I don’t enjoy being in them. I’m not sure if this has always been true or if the pandemic shrank my social capacity, but either way, that’s how I feel now.

On Saturday night, I had a few friends over. In the days leading up to it, I considered inviting more people. But I felt comfortable with the size of the gathering and my ability to handle it socially. Still, the thought lingered: Am I just being exclusive? Judgmental? Have I become a bad friend for no longer living by “the more, the merrier”?

On one hand, I like some people more than others—so why wouldn’t I spend my time with those I enjoy most? On the other hand, I cringe writing that because it sounds like something Regina George would say. Can I still be a kind, generous person and also be selective about who I spend time with?

And at what point does it stop mattering what others think of my choices, as long as I’m investing in meaningful time with the people I love?

I have friends who live by “the more, the merrier” in everything they do. House party? Invite everyone. Hike in the woods? Text the group chat. I respect and admire their openness, but I no longer feel like that reflects who I am.

To complicate matters, I recently listened to a podcast featuring the author of The Antisocial Century, and it stuck with me. We are choosing solitude more than ever, often in the name of self-care. This phenomenon is especially stark among men but affects women too. It made me wonder: Is my hesitation toward “more the merrier” contributing to a broader societal problem? Am I causing my own loneliness by being so selective? Should I expand my circles, even if I don’t feel as much joy with some friends as others?

I also wonder if I’d feel differently if I didn’t have a husband and a dog to come home to, or a full-time job where I interact with 10+ coworkers every day. Work drains my social energy, and whatever I have left, I want to spend on Ryan and my closest friends.

Still, I don’t want to become so strategic about my friendships that I lose sight of what truly matters: connection. “More the merrier” aligned with a time in my life when my social tank was bigger, when large gatherings felt exciting rather than overwhelming. That just isn’t the case anymore. And I’m learning to be okay with that. I’m becoming the person who says, “I’d prefer if it was just us” or “I don’t think I want to invite anyone else.”

Maybe I need a new philosophy: The more high-quality, small gatherings with friends that fill my bucket, the merrier.

Wow, that has a ring to it.