I had gone through my fair share of friend disappointments and break-ups, and had concluded that “my people” didn’t exist. Nobody that took friendships as seriously as me, nobody that felt things as deeply as me, nobody that liked me as much as I liked them.

Seven years later, I thankfully can say I was wrong. So wrong.

The thing about friendships is that so many of us assume they just automatically happen to us. So naturally, when they don’t, we think there must be something wrong with us.

Like if you didn’t make a big friend group in high school or university, you’ve already lost the game, and it’s only going further downhill from there.

And part of that isn’t all wrong. Researchers at Oxford and Aalto University analyzed the phone-communication patterns of around 3 million people, and found that the number of people’s social connections peaks at around 25. After that, our social circles generally start to shrink (Bhattacharaya et al., 20216)

Anthropologist Robin Dunbar’s work helps explain why. According to him, a lot of our friendships are built through repetition and shared environments, like school and university. And once these environments fall away, maintaining social connections and creating new ones becomes considerably harder and a more intentional investment (Dunbar, 1992; Dunbar, 2018).

But here’s what many of us are missing: a smaller social circle doesn’t necessarily mean a worse social life.

Dunbar’s research (ibid.) further suggests that our social connections form in layers, with only a small portion occupying our innermost circle. And our emotional wellbeing is disproportionately linked to the quality of that very inner circle rather than our extended network.

Moreover, psychologist Laura Carstensen’s socioemotional selectivity theory suggests that we tend to become more selective about who we invest in, and that our remaining relationships become more emotionally meaningful as we grow older due to our limited perception of time (Carstensen, 1992).

And this theory isn’t just about old age. In a longitudinal study following people from their late teens to middle age, Carstensen and colleagues (ibid.) found that while people engaged less frequently with loose acquaintances, emotional closeness in their close relationships increased.

I didn’t know all of this back then but it certainly would have given me a lot of peace of mind to know that I didn’t have to have my social life fully figured out in my twenties.

And obviously, by any academic standard, my personal experience is a far too limited sample to substantiate the thesis. So you’ll have to take my word for it when I say that as I became more certain of who I was, what I valued in friendship – in any relationships for that matter – and gained more experience, I slowly but surely started attracting the “right” people.

Today I have a small, curated circle of close friends that 22-year-old Me could only dream of. And I have a sneaky feeling that I haven’t even met all “my people” yet.

So if you’re at a point where you feel like I felt back in 2019, let me tell you this: statistically, your best relationship years are still ahead of you, not behind you. Whether you’re 19, 24, 36 – or well beyond.

References:

Bhattacharaya, K., Ghosh, A., Monsivais, D., Dunbar, R. I. M, & Kaski, K. (2016). Sex differences in social focus across the life cycle of humans. Royal Society Open Science, 3(6), 160097. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsos.160097.

Carstensen, L. L. (1992). Motivation for social contact across the life span: A theory of socioemotional selectivity. Nebraska Symposium on Motivation, 40, 209-254.

Carstensen, L. L. (1992). Social and emotional patterns in adulthood: Support for socioemotional selectivity theory. Psychology and Aging, 7(3), 331-338. Psychology and Aging, 7(3), 331–338. https://doi.org/10.1037/0882-7974.7.3.331.

Dunbar, R. I. M. (1992). Neocortex size as a constraint on gorup size in primates. Journal of Human Evolution, 22(6), 469-493. https://doi.org/10.1016/0047-2484(92)90081-J.

Dunbar, R. I. M. (2018). The anatomy of friendship. Trends in Cognitive Sciences, 22(1), 32-51. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tics.2017.10.004.

Dunbar, R. I. M. (2025). Why friendship and loneliness affect our health. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences. https://doi.org/10.1111/nyas.15309.

Roberts, S. G. B., Dunbar R. I. M., Pollet, T. V., & Kuppens, T. (2009). Exploring variation in active network size: Constraints and ego characteristics. Social Networks, 31(2), 138-146.

A lot has changed since I last published an article here – including what I spend most of my time thinking and talking about.

After 12 years of creating content I started a completely new IG and TikTok account in June where I talk about connection, friendship, belonging, and our (sometimes strange) modern social lives. It unexpectedly grew to over 40k followers across both platforms.

So my Substack’s been on the back burner for a while – but I miss you. With you I mean this platform and my dear readers.

So I decided to give this little corner of the internet a soft rebrand.

Welcome to Selin’s Social Hub – a place where I delve deeper into personal observations, cultural phenomena and research behind we connect the way we do.

Still my style of writing that has apparently resonated with a few of you – just with a clearer focus.

The plan is for my pieces to feel more essayistic than my short-form videos, infused with bits of research from the social sciences, anthropology and psychology.

But honestly, don’t hold me to it – we’ll see where it goes.

If you’re still here, I appreciate you!

And if you’re completely new here: Hi, I’m Selin. I’m a trained media researcher, content creator and founder of the cultural event studio and community Sparks Social Club – and I’m fascinated by how we connect beyond the screen, swipe-fatigue and algorithmic interactions.

P.S.: Find me here in the meantime.✨

In reality, good grades and degrees can only get you so far. Especially in creative fields, a big determining factor in whether you’ll be successful or not is how well connected you are, and how creative you get with seeking out opportunities.

From an early age, I knew I wanted to work in media. I wanted to write, to perform, to present. And I loved fashion and all things aesthetic. When I was ten, I used my parents old, bulky computer that needed 20 minutes to load one single internet page to research fashion shows and designers, and wrote up my findings in a handmade magazine. It was then I decided my first concrete career goal was working at a fashion magazine.

So I made my way through high school with this dream in the back of my mind, and as soon as I had turned 16 (two years before I’d finish high school), I started looking into how I could get there. How I would make it out of my small town of 6000 residents into the halls of one of the prestigious publishing houses in the big city.

One day, we got an assignment at school; each one of us was supposed to research a professional field of our choosing and present to the rest of the class what said career entailed, and what kind of education or training you’d need to get there. I chose journalism. That choice might have seemed small at the time – just another school presentation – but I now not only had a dream but also an action plan.

Right around that time I also saw the first blogs pop up, and decided I wanted to create one myself – to practice my writing alongside university and eventually earning a degree. By the way, a decision I got bullied for like crazy by my fellow students – “haha who does she think she is writing her little blog” – but I had a vision and thankfully kept my eyes on the “prize”.

Fast forward to my time at uni: I was grateful to be accepted into a communication science program – one of the closest things to a media qualification available at a public university. Private education wasn’t an option I could afford (in Germany public education is practically free of charge, you just pay a “Semesterbeitrag” – semester fee – of a couple hundred euros that also includes public transport), so this felt like both a lucky break and the most realistic path toward the career I envisioned.

I almost immediately started applying for internships at fashion publications… and received nothing but rejections, if any response at all. I distinctly remember one phone call with someone from HR at Codé Nast who told me “We only accept people from (private) fashion schools, I’m sorry…” – how disheartening.

Parallel to my studies, however, I still worked on my blog and social media. And I soon got my first PR gifts and event invitations – brunches, product launches, comped getaways – it felt like I was suddenly living in some kind of fairytale. Mind you, this was all in 2015, back when the term “influencer” wasn’t even a thing yet, and when we’d get invited alongside actual journalists and PR people (imagine me at 18 pretending I knew what I was doing, next to a 32-year-old editor of a big-name-publication; terrifying and exciting at the same time).

And suddenly, one day, I was booked for a hairstyling-event with L’Oréal Professionnel where I ended up in the seat of an incredibly talented hair stylist, and even kinder person, who I quickly bonded with while he was doing my hair. We talked about anything and everything, and eventually, I told him about my studies and about how I dreamt of working at a fashion magazine but how nobody was giving me a chance. That’s when he said “Would you be interested in working at ELLE magazine? I know the editor in chief, I’ll happily forward your CV!”.

He stood by his word and after years of trying and failing, I finally landed an internship at one of the largest fashion publications in the world (manifestation is real, guys). Not through my studies, not through my endless applications, but through a connection I made at a booking I scored through a platform I created for myself – my blog.

And it went on like this. I moved to the Netherlands, did my Master’s at one of the most prestigious universities (this very study program even ranked in first place globally in the QS university rankings for multiple years in a row) and when I applied for jobs afterwards, what people were most intrigued by were still my blog and social media. And so I landed the next job, and the one after that, etc.

More recently, I wanted to start hosting events. So I co-founded Sparks Social Club, a social experience brand where my best friend and I organize and host gatherings, panel talks, and community events for single creatives in Berlin – and even distribute our own Conversation Cards. Had I tried to break into event management, e-commerce, or any of the fields I now touch through Sparks, in a more traditional way, chances are nobody would have given me a real shot – maybe an internship at best, at 28, with a Master’s degree. But in my bones I knew I could do it. And I have done it. And I still am doing it. Quite successfully, if I may say so myself.

To me, this proves two things: you don’t always need formal experience to succeed in something, and when doors close on you, you can always carve out your own way in.

So, in case any managers, recruiters, or gatekeepers stumble across this: give people more chances based on drive. Look beyond perfect CV matches, value transferable skills, and show appreciation for self-starters – not just those privileged enough to begin with resources and killer connections (see: my Condé Nast example).

And if you’re a young creative just starting out: put yourself out there. Publish that vlog, write that Substack piece (wink), shoot that short film – even if you think nobody cares. Because you never know how far the smallest act of showing up for yourself might carry you.

There’s something truly unsettling about being in your twenties – especially your late 20s – that makes you believe if you don’t act quick now, all is lost. That this is your one chance to get everything right or else you’ll have regrets until the day that you die. That any and every decision you make in this limited time frame defines the rest of your life – and in a way it does, but in a way it also really doesn’t.

Because in all honesty, and I bet anyone 10+ older than myself would agree, you’re still really freaking young in your (late) twenties. However – and this is not a novel thought – the societal pressure of approaching your thirties still is very real, especially as a woman.

Living in a big city (and in Berlin of all places) sometimes distorts my view of what’s “normal” (hate using this term though, because what IS “normal” anyway). I see people nearing 40 – and 40-somethings – still out partying with 20-year-olds (kind of weird, by the way). I see people in every possible relationship and family setup – open relationships, friends co-parenting children, you name it (LOVE that by the way, I’m all for living your truth).

But you know what yanks me right back into the reality of how most people live? Facebook. The moment I open it, I’m greeted by a wedding photo avalanche and and baby photo shoots – all belonging to people that used to stick gum under tables in maths class. And let me tell you, at this point, it’s alarmingly many.

Meanwhile, I still feel like a child bride and whenever someone my age announces a pregnancy, in my head I think “Omg what are you gonna do about it???”, followed by the realization that they did, in fact, purposely get pregnant.

And it’s in those moments I sometimes wonder where that leaves me: turning 29 this year, very much single, with my dating highlight of the past three years being a failed delusionship with a pro footballer (or, in the words of one of my closest friends’ friends: “Professional footballer? More like professional cheater!” – touché). Renting an overpriced city apartment. Not an ETF in my name. Oh, and recently quitting my corporate job to pursue a new business that, ironically, is centered around dating.

But then sometimes I get a glimpse of hope while scrolling on TikTok and seeing posts from other creators in their mid-30s or even older, saying things like “If you think you’re running out of time – you’re not. I was x years old when I moved countries and met the love of my life” and so on and so forth. And for a moment, somewhere in between thinking love is just not for me and I’ll never find something that truly fulfills me professionally, I trust that everything’s gonna work out – in due time.

And I know that even having the space to ponder such existential questions is a luxury many people on this planet don’t have. I’m incredibly thankful for everything I have and the life I’ve built in the ten years since leaving my hometown.

However, if my life were one of those “body-swap movies” like Dating the Enemy (1996), I’d be intrigued to – just for a day – swap bodies with a 38-year-old man in Berlin still sharing a flat with three roommates, without a care in the world, who, when confronted about his Peter Pan lifestyle, just shrugs and says, “So what if she’s 17 years younger? Age is just a number.”.

Anyway, this isn’t even about love or careers per se, this is about giving visibility to a struggle I believe many other young women face. This weird in-between-phase of having figured out some things but not all; of feeling a little more settled, but not quite home yet; of having all the possibilities in theory, and not knowing how to go about them in practice. I wish I could tell you it will get better from experience, but I am, in the words of Britney Spears, “not a girl, not yet a woman” myself (I know I very much am a WOMAN, please read between the pop-cultural lines).

So I can only hope that it will – and maybe that’s the point. That life in your (late) twenties isn’t about having it all figured out, but about building the courage to keep going without a perfect map. That the in-between isn’t a holding pattern, but its own season – full of random side quests, unexpected plot twists, and people you haven’t met yet. And maybe one day, I’ll look back and realize this was never a race against time at all but a (slightly confusing) chapter of self-discovery in my book of life.