Last year, a friend asked me to join him at an event in town where he was giving a presentation. With no more information than that, I agreed to go, because he’s my friend. It didn’t require further thought — that is, until the morning of the event, when I needed to learn where it was and what time I had to show up.
After a quick search, I found the event’s website, which promised to help members of the creative community “take a deep breath” and move “from exhaustion to optimism.” Framed against a backdrop summary of the frenetic pace of modern work, it claimed the day’s discussions and breakout groups would generate the kind of “camaraderie” and “inspiration” that is only possible when given the reminder “you’re not alone.”
Oh, brother, I thought. It’s going to be one of those. And it was one of those: part kumbaya smile-fest, part networking event, part TED Talk karaoke in which various life coaches soft-sold their services.
Suffice to say, I did not “take a deep breath.” Nor did I move from “exhaustion to optimism.” If anything, I became more exhausted–because the misleading suggestion that community and connection are things people can “add to cart” is already a tired idea.
“Community is everything,” a headline on Lululemon’s website shouted a couple years ago, suggesting people could be unified through the love of moisture-wicking pants. More recently, the consulting company McKinsey called “community” the “big idea” for marketing in the 2020s, and every few days business magazines publish articles with titles like, “Want to Sell Like Mr. Beast? Brands Must Build a Strong Community.”