On a quiet street in SoHo, a pair of unassuming doors swing open into a furniture store doubling as a listening room, complete with rows of vinyls, acoustic panels, and a sleek turntable as the centerpiece. The space is less retail and more retreat, where Swiss furniture company USM and self-proclaimed “sound guru” Devon Turnbull have found a way to make the phrase “social listening” literal. As visitors sink into cushioned chairs, jazz records flow through speakers that cost more than most cars — but that’s besides the point. The real luxury USM offers is a dedicated environment to enjoy good music and good company, free from outside noise.
The allure of in-person experiences shouldn’t be surprising. The Atlantic reports that Americans spend more time alone now than ever, making any face-to-face interaction feel like a special occasion. Young people are ditching dating apps in favor of matchmakers and run clubs. And then there’s the rise of "soft clubbing,” community-based live music experiences — minus the alcohol, the late nights, and, well, the clubs. Think EDM sets in a coffee shop. DJs at clothing stores. Raves at your favorite bagel joint. Notice a theme here: young people coming together to have an unconventional experience in a totally conventional setting, leaving with a sense of community that's both intimate and expansive — no purchase required.
Yusuf Ntahilaja argues that IRL experiences like soft clubbing are the new counterculture. Part pandemic aftershock, part social media frustration, part financial pragmatism during economic uncertainty, these sorts of gatherings represent a collective exhale from digital fatigue. In an era when feeds are fractured and algorithms prioritize addiction over substance, simply coming together in real life feels radical.
But here’s where we should pause. Gen Z craving community isn’t exactly a new phenomenon. We’ve seen countless white papers and trend reports declaring it for years. So why write about it — again?
Because we're witnessing a critical disconnect: despite overwhelming evidence of what audiences want, major brands are retreating from community-building at precisely the wrong moment. Just a few months ago, REI closed its 40-year-old experiences business, which offered hiking trips, guided desert tours, and intro to backpacking classes that fostered connections among outdoor enthusiasts. And, as DEI programs face widespread cuts, community teams — those who keep a pulse on what audiences actually want — are often among the first to go.
Major brands’ withdrawal from community-building creates an opportunity for challenger brands that have already made community the foundation of their business. Take handmade cosmetics company LUSH, which removed their official accounts from social media platforms in November 2021, leaving industry observers wondering how a brand could ever survive without Instagram — or TikTok. Fast forward to a little over three years later, mid-TikTok ban drama and Meta’s Community Notes rollout, LUSH has proven its critics wrong, boasting three million newsletter subscribers and close to two million app users. And that’s because their retreat from social media wasn’t a retreat at all — it was a recalibration. Rather than abandoning social media altogether, LUSH empowered each of its stores to create and share their own content, strengthening local communities of loyal consumers through the channels they controlled.
Or consider Hikerkind, a women’s outdoor clothing brand that builds its identity around in-person community events — even to the extent that its SEO tagline reads “Women’s Outdoor Brand & Community.” Hosting women-led day hikes in cities like Austin, Denver, Portland, and New York, Hikerkind turns shared experiences into brand loyalty. Productivity software company Notion takes a similar approach, maintaining an official community page where users can find live meetups and events in cities from Lima to Vienna to D.C., helping Notion superfans exchange ideas — and find some new friends.
Even brands in traditionally transactional spaces have invested in community-building. Oatly launched a magazine, Hey Barista, that celebrates baristas as cultural tastemakers, handing over the editorial reins to them to shape the conversation around coffee culture. Its Instagram has a modest 13.7k followers, but the brand’s deeper play was an app where baristas guide coffee enthusiasts to the best cafes, reinforcing Oatly’s presence in coffee shops worldwide.
When it comes to creating communities for an audience starving for connection, challenger brands — or even larger players who are feeling the pinch in our current economic moment — have a counterintuitive advantage: limited resources are actually assets. You don't need an enormous budget to foster genuine connection — you need to understand what your audience wants and create the right spaces, online or offline, for them to find it. For LUSH, this meant going local. For J.Crew, it's print media and pop-up events. For luxury brands like Louis Vuitton, Prada, and Rebecca Minkoff, it's exclusive Discord servers. For Glossier and Away, it’s the close friends story on Instagram — where Away recently launched its White Lotus collaboration, which sold out almost immediately.
As young consumers increasingly seek refuge from digital overwhelm through real-world connections, brands face a clear choice: build the communities audiences crave or watch them go elsewhere. The brands that recognize community isn’t just a strategy, but the ultimate luxury won't just survive shifts in culture, business, and technology; they'll ride them to new heights. And those questioning whether they can afford to invest in community may soon find out they can’t afford not to.