Inside the rise of boujee 'social wellness' clubs – and whether you really need to join
Walk into The Other House in London’s South Kensington and you’ll be greeted by an inviting scene. The furniture is formed of plush, jewel-toned fabrics; the lighting gentle; the space soundtracked by clinking glassware and soft chatter.
Since opening its doors in 2019, members – from interior designers to investment bankers – have enjoyed an events calendar featuring yoga classes, sound baths and talks on sustainability, with the understanding that joining in is as much a health intervention as a heart-pounding workout or nourishing lunch.
If you have £1,950 a month to spare, that is. And with The Other House welcoming members to a second outpost in Covent Garden in 2025, all signs point to there being a thriving market for connection.
The grand properties are bricks-and-mortar manifestations of the growing trend for social wellness. Also called ‘social fitness’ or ‘social health’, it’s the phenomenon of seeking human connection for the sake of your wellbeing – and it isn’t debuting this season.
‘The pandemic shed a light on a pre-existing loneliness epidemic in western countries,’ journalist Rina Raphael, who explores the trend in her 2023 book, The Gospel Of Wellness (£16.99, Souvenir Press), tells WH. ‘Now, with more awareness about the lack of social connection over the past few years, brands have got interested.’
While buzzwords including ‘community’ and ‘connection’ have long been a part of the marketing lexicon of online platforms, in recent years, there’s been a shift from virtual to IRL spaces. Remedy Place – the world’s first ‘social wellness club’ (from $300 per month) – has two locations in New York and LA. Elsewhere, Continuum Club ($10,000 per month), The Well ($375 per month) and Othership (from $51 per month) are popping up across north and central America, offering alcohol-free happy hours, ice bath classes and foot-rub lounges.
Over here, Grey Wolfe (£488 per month) and the newly opened Surrenne (£10,000 per year) are bringing the formula to these shores, while luxury members’ clubs – including Soho House and Mortimer House – are adding wellness offerings such as cryotherapy and longevity consultations to their roster alongside film screenings and author talks.
The gyms are at it, too; Virgin Active has rebranded as a ‘social wellness club’, while The Gym Group recently launched student run clubs. So, if topping up on human connection is as important to your health as staying active and eating a diverse diet, are dedicated social wellness spaces the answer?
The truth about our loneliness
The rise of social wellness goes hand in hand with the loneliness epidemic; the crisis affects nearly a third of adults, according to the Office for National Statistics, with women – particularly those living alone and aged 16 to 34 – more likely to report feeling isolated.
‘I think your twenties and early thirties are a life stage when you may diverge from your peers for the first time,’ says Francesca Specter, a 33-year-old London-based writer. ‘You might have been in the same year at school or university, or have met on the early rungs of the career ladder, but then things fall out of step.’
For some, it may be flashing engagement rings, bump-based baby announcements or ‘PSA: work news!’ that causes them to feel left behind. For Francesca, it was a break-up, aged 27, that proved a turning point. She lost many of their couple friends and felt the social chasm widen as others, entering their own serious relationships, turned to her less now they had a partner on the scene.
Particularly seismic periods can also leave women more vulnerable. Since the pandemic, the average 30-year-old has shed 4.5 friends, while one study found that more than a third of new mothers in the UK spend eight hours a day alone with their babies.
It was a divorce that first caused Claire Doré to struggle with loneliness. ‘I’ve never really had to sit with the feeling until now,’ says the Wiltshire-based dating and relationship coach, 51. Her relationship with her ex husband lasted 21 years and its demise resulted in her living alone. ‘Before that I was with someone else for seven years and also grew up surrounded by lots of siblings.’ Her circle has gradually shrunk.
That Claire is struggling with the shift is normal, shares Tasha Bailey, a psychotherapist and spokesperson for the UK Council for Psychotherapy. ‘Humans thrive on social connection,’ she tells WH, adding that positive interactions release a rush of the feel-good hormones, oxytocin and dopamine.
These hormones, adds Rachael Adams, psychotherapist at health platform Arvra, act as a buffer against conditions such as depression and anxiety. ‘When we’re alone for long periods, our cortisol levels are higher and our serotonin lower,’ she explains. ‘So we’re more likely to feel low. This is when negative thoughts about ourselves go unchallenged.’
Evolutionarily, before the modern era, you couldn’t have survived outside a group setting. And while abundant access to food and the ability to find shelter alone means you can survive long stretches in isolation, your body still craves connection. Last November, the World Health Organization declared loneliness a ‘global public health concern’, linking it with a 30% reduced life expectancy.
‘Technology is a factor,’ says Raphael, of how we got here. ‘But it’s also culture – the eroding of social norms and communal connections has been happening for decades. From food delivery to watching films – everything is becoming more convenient at the expense of socialisation.’
Whether it’s ordering a takeaway to your door instead of visiting your local Italian or streaming the latest blockbuster on Amazon Prime in lieu of a cinema trip that features a chat with the person behind the popcorn counter, we’re missing out on the ‘micro interactions’ that elicit a safety response, putting you physiologically at ease.
Similarly, Bailey suggests that, with more focus from Instagram therapists on self-help and self-love, we risk cutting people out too enthusiastically. And while the victims of a ‘focusing on myself’ crusade might be replaced by new friends, that’s not always the case.
Raphael points out how, with the growth of a female workforce in the past half century, there’s been the emergence of the ‘double shift’ – a full-time job followed by a big workload at home.
‘You’re left with women so stressed they don’t have the capacity to be there for their friends – who, in turn, have to go to their therapist,’ she explains. Add in the proliferation of work from home dispelling in-person office connection and the reality that many of us now leave our hometowns to pursue work and opportunity elsewhere? It’s easy to see how we exist in a culture of fewer and fewer points of contact.
Members only spaces: what are the benefits?
Enter: the social wellness space. ‘These places can take the awkwardness out of meeting new people because we know others are also there to mix,’ offers Bailey, when WH asks for her take on the trend. Indeed, informal spaces – with spontaneous rather than forced interaction – can take the pressure off, particularly if you suffer from social anxiety or your social battery is low.
‘I felt pretty disconnected while working from home during the pandemic,’ says nutritionist Sophie Trotman, of how she ended up signing up for £210 per month to Oru Space’s outpost in London’s East Dulwich, which fuses co-working with a calendar of weekly members’ breakfasts as well as sound baths and yoga sessions. ‘I’ve met a great community of likeminded people – copywriters, filmmakers and agency owners – and it’s lovely to see familiar faces every day.’ She can invite guests in for a matcha and cardamom brownie, too.
Sophie might not use the label, but this is her ‘third place’ – a concept coined by sociologist Ramon Oldenburg in the 1980s. The term denotes a space that’s separate from home (the first place) or the workplace (the second place) where no one is obligated to be there, and where you might meet friends, run into acquaintances by chance or get to know strangers.
‘Historically, they were the points of connection for individuals – where we met romantic partners and made social bonds – that gave our lives meaning,’ says sociologist Jess Carbino. ‘But given the changing demands of work, shifting foundations of family life and decline of institutions that traditionally fostered connection – like religion – over time, we’ve neglected our participation in such spaces.’
Oldenburg declared that ‘third places’ should have little to no financial barrier. Yet, it’s affordable spaces that have fallen victim to austerity measures and post-pandemic echoes. More than two-thirds of council-funded youth centres have closed in England over the past 14 years, while more than 180 UK council-run libraries have closed or been handed over to volunteer groups since 2016. Places of worship and parks remain, but the number of people describing themselves as having ‘no religion’ increased by 12% between 2011 and 2021 and hanging out in a cold park is all well and good until you can no longer feel your fingers.
But while something needs to shift, Raphael questions the need for Social Wellness Inc. ‘To me, this is just branding,’ she tells WH. ‘[Companies] just want a slice of the social wellness pie. Is any shared social experience or human interaction now marketable as “social wellness?”’
Well connected: what's the cost of connection?
Cost has been a consideration for Francesca, who’s paid hundreds over the years for a desk in a co-working space. ‘A membership has become almost synonymous with belonging,’ she says. ‘But I do crave having places I can go without spending money.’
They’re becoming harder to find; even her local library is only open two and a half days a week. It’s one reason she’s found connection in places of her own choosing. ‘I’m not religious, but classes at my local yoga studio are a ritual I love – the feeling of doing the same movements in sync with other regulars.’
Ditto, making new friends through a neighbourhood book club – a concept that saw a 350% increase on ticketing site Eventbrite between 2019 and 2023. ‘Look back at the times you felt more socially connected,’ suggests Adams, on how to go about searching for more connection. ‘Have friends moved away or other circumstances changed? Explore opportunities to bring that back and do things with others who have shared interests.’
Crucially, social wellness doesn’t detract from the value of alone time. ‘A series of bad dates, as a snap reaction to my break-up and being scared of time alone, made me realise that this fear was getting in the way of me living the life I wanted – like a lazy Sunday brunch or weekend away to Paris – because there were fewer people around to do it with,’ shares Francesca, of how she came to launch her podcast Alonement and write her book of the same name, both of which celebrate enjoying life solo.
‘I didn’t want to be my own plan B any more.’ It’s an introspection that Bailey also encourages you to embrace. ‘Spend time reflecting on when you feel loneliness the most and what could be contributing to it,’ she explains, of how working through such feelings – rather than bottling them up – is key.
Claire has also learned to get comfortable with the discomfort. ‘You have the gift of space to understand who you really are and what you want,’ she explains.
The positives of which have included not entering another relationship that’s not right, deleting dating apps that were diverting precious energy, embracing stronger friendships, making new ones by joining her local CrossFit, starting singing lessons to express herself and enjoying deep conversations with strangers in the launderette she uses.
‘I’m now living, temporarily, in a place in the heart of my town and I’m having small interactions with familiar faces on the street daily. I’m really feeling part of the community, which almost feels like a new family,’ she says. ‘I’ve lived here for 15 years but have met more people in the past six months. It’s wild.’ The kicker? This patchwork of social connection didn’t cost the guts of the monthly UK median salary.
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