Are You a Good Villager or Is Your Idea of Community Performative?
Words: Zahra Hanif
A New Year is now defined by three things: fireworks, eating twelve grapes under the table at midnight, and - the most recent addition - sharing a Notes app screenshot of your “ins” and “outs” for the months ahead. While these repackaged resolutions vary from person to person, one that frequently topped internet users’ “ins” lists this year is some variation of “showing up” or “being a good villager” - a reference to the idea that the people around you make up your ‘village’ and that you care for them in order to maintain a thriving ecosystem, even - or especially - when it’s inconvenient.
At its core, it's a wonderful idea. It’s the perfect pushback against hyper-individualism and today’s “catch-up culture”, as it encourages us to be active participants in each other’s day-to-days rather than just recounting life events over the phone or coffee once every six months. It urges us to nurture our friendships and family relationships the same way we would romantic ones. Everybody stands to gain something from expanding personal care beyond just their intimate relationships: single people aren’t made to feel as though they “need” a significant other to receive support, and those in relationships are less likely to fall into co-dependency.
However, the original sentiment has come to be widely misconstrued online. As the concept of villagerdom gained traction over the course of the past year, a separate discussion about Gen Z going out less also gained prominence. Naturally, cultural commentators have tried to work out why this is the case - but it appears as though internet users are now muddling the two issues, and have incorrectly meshed them into a single narrative.
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There are countless TikToks captioned with some variant of “when I don’t feel like going to the function but then I remember in order to have a village you must be a villager” or “when I’m too tired to leave the house but I remember inconvenience is the cost of community”. This equates general socialising with meaningful acts of care, and while both are important, they are definitely not the same and therefore should not be treated as such.
To be a villager means to be reliable and consistent as an individual: giving friends, family, and neighbours lifts, dropping off food when they’re not well, letting them crash on your sofa if need be. It’s about strengthening relationships through actions and continuity to contribute to a flourishing community.
“It is important that we pivot back to the fundamentals if we truly want to grow our own thriving villages, and so we need to understand that real villagerdom is often unglamorous.”
This is not to say that it’s about being constantly available, but about coming through when it really matters. You can reply to people’s texts every two weeks as long as you know a call warrants an immediate pick up. A key factor in all of this is that these efforts are mostly unseen - coming from a place of genuine care and done in the hope that someone would return the favour for you, should you ever need them to do so.
On the other hand, going out is a social activity designed for personal enjoyment, with the aforementioned “function” typically referring to a party or a nightclub. While there is a degree of conversing done here - an essential component of community - the primary purpose of the function is to unwind and de-stress from the day in a much more mindless way. Going out as a shared experience can be supplemental to your relationships, but only when there is already a strong foundation. Therefore, it is incorrect to suggest that solely “going to the function” is to necessarily be a good villager.
With this, it’s also crucial to acknowledge why we’re going out less - for the majority of people, it’s not simply that we “don’t feel like” leaving the comfort of our homes. It stems from a culmination of factors that weigh disproportionately on Gen Z, from higher burnout levels to increased financial pressure. When the working day is done, we’re forced to be more selective with our leftover energy for the sake of self-preservation. This is why it’s important to clarify that true villagerdom is - showing up rather than simply showing face - or else we risk guilt-tripping people into spending their precious energy needlessly.
The rapid adoption and repetition of this misconception - displayed in the comment sections of the aforementioned TikToks, where there appears to be rare, near-unanimous agreement - highlights our collective tendency towards a performative sociality. We’ve been long conditioned to interpret visibility as intimacy (see: “Is my partner not posting me a red flag?”). And of course, building up a perfect community behind a camera lens is much easier than dealing with the emotional and practical labour that constitutes a real one. But the reward of being surrounded by a genuine community, and having multiple points of support available when you need them, far outweighs the instant gratification of performative connections.
It is important that we pivot back to the fundamentals if we truly want to grow our own thriving villages, and so we need to understand that real villagerdom is often unglamorous. I think of villagers, and I think of my best friend driving over at 2am to deliver me chocolate cake while I cried on the sofa of my second year university house. I think of villagers, and I think of my friend’s boyfriend driving me back to my other friend’s flat when I was sleeping on her sofa for the weekend. These moments aren’t so easily documentable, and certainly not shareable, but that’s what makes them magical. It’s ultimately about lightening each other's loads, and it’s more important than ever now as we navigate a society burdened by collective exhaustion.
