From childhood, we're taught a simple equation: connection = happiness.
"Do you have lots of friends?"—the first question parents ask a child after school, whether in Paris, Tokyo, or Buenos Aires.
"Are you seeing anyone?"—the main question adults ask each other across all cultures.
"Family is everything"—a mantra repeated from Italy to India.
The idea that a person can be happy alone is perceived as an anomaly. Or as a loser's defense mechanism.
I call this the imperative of connection—the cultural pressure that dictates: you must strive for relationships, for sociability, for connection. Otherwise, there's something wrong with you.
Where did this come from?
Evolutionarily, humans are social creatures. For thousands of years, our survival depended on the tribe. Exile meant death—in the African savanna, the Siberian tundra, the Amazon jungle.
But the world has changed.
Today you can live alone in Stockholm, Singapore, or São Paulo and not die of hunger or cold. You can work remotely from Bali or Barcelona, order food online, entertain yourself with streaming services, communicate online with people from anywhere on the planet.
The biological necessity for constant physical proximity to other people has disappeared. But the cultural imperative remains.
The Romanticization of Relationships
The imperative of connection manifests especially strongly in romantic relationships.
Hollywood, Bollywood, K-pop culture, Latin American telenovelas, European cinema—all tell us: love is the meaning of life. Finding "your other half" is the main goal. Being alone means being incomplete.
"You complete me"—a romantic phrase from films around the world. But think about it: if someone completes you, does that mean you're incomplete without them?
The "other half" metaphor literally says: you're 50% of a person until you find a partner.
This isn't just a poetic metaphor. It's an ideology that shapes our relationship with ourselves and others.
Single people constantly face questions:
"Why are you still alone?"
"Don't you want to start a family?"
"Aren't you sad being alone?"
Behind these questions lies an assumption: there's something wrong with you if you choose solitude.
Takeshi's Story: Programmer, 41, Tokyo
Takeshi lives alone in a small apartment in Tokyo. He was married at 25, divorced at 32. Since then he's had brief relationships, but nothing serious.
"Every time at family gatherings, it starts," he says. "My parents ask: 'So, when are you getting married again?' Colleagues say: 'You just haven't met the right one yet.'"
He tried to explain: he's not looking for "the one" because he's content alone.
"They look at me like I'm an alien. In Japan, where everyone lives for work and family, choosing solitude is almost a crime against society."
Takeshi actually went to a psychologist—not because he considered himself problematic, but to understand why society was so insistent that his choice was wrong.
"The psychologist said: 'You're not obligated to want relationships. If you're comfortable alone and it doesn't interfere with your functioning—that's a normal choice.' It was the first time someone didn't try to 'fix' me."
Pressure on Women
The imperative of connection weighs on everyone, but especially harshly on women.
A single woman after 30 automatically falls into a category—whether it's "old maid" in English-speaking countries, "Christmas cake" (unwanted after December 25th) in Japan, or "quedada para vestir santos" (left to dress the saints) in Latin America. The terms differ, but the meaning is the same: you're late, you've missed your chance, there's something wrong with you.
She's pitied. People offer to set her up with "a nice guy." They ask her: "Aren't you afraid of ending up alone?"
The idea that a woman might choose career or personal freedom over family is still perceived by many as a tragedy or selfishness.
Second and third-wave feminism changed much in the West, but the cultural pressure remains. And in more traditional societies—in India, Middle Eastern countries, Latin America, East Asia—the pressure is even stronger.
Priya's Story: Doctor, 38, Mumbai
Priya is a surgeon at one of Mumbai's best hospitals. She built a successful career, travels, practices yoga, writes medical articles.
"I'm happy," she says. "But nobody believes it."
In India, where marriages are often arranged by families, her choice is perceived as a challenge to tradition.
"My parents spent years trying to get me married. They organized meetings with potential grooms. I refused. They thought I was too picky."
At work, colleagues constantly try to set her up. Patients say: "Such a beautiful girl, and alone—what a shame." Relatives ask every time they meet: "So, when already?"
"The most offensive part is when married friends look at me with pity. As if I've missed the main thing in life. And I look at them—tired, exhausted, lost in caring for husband and children—and I think: have I?"
Priya isn't against relationships in principle. But she's not willing to compromise just for the sake of "not being alone."
"If I meet someone with whom I'll be better off than alone—great. But so far, that hasn't happened. And I don't see the point of being with someone just because 'that's what you're supposed to do' or to avoid disappointing my family."
The Cost of the Imperative
Cultural pressure for connection has real consequences across all cultures:
Toxic relationships—people stay in unsuitable or even harmful relationships because they fear being alone or fear societal judgment.Early marriages—entering marriage not for love, but because "it's time" or due to family pressure.Internal shame—single people feel inadequate, even when they're objectively happy.Lost autonomy—sacrificing personal goals and interests to meet social expectations.
The imperative of connection doesn't make people happier. It makes them conformist.