How to Build Real Connections in a Real Digital World

From AOL to Blogs: How I found my people (and how you can too).

The First Connection

The first time I realized the internet could be more than just a tool—a place where real people were waiting to talk at all hours of the day and night—was in 1995, standing in the kitchen of my Spanish teacher’s house in Clinton, NY. Her son, lanky with Eddie Vedder hair, introduced me to AOL, specifically, the chatrooms. I’ll never forget the feeling when it clicked: this was everything I’d been looking for. I knew it would change my life.

Bjork on the computer in the 90s

AOL wasn’t just technology; it was a way out. Out of my small, dead-end conservative town where I felt stuck and unseen. And very 16. Through the fantastical place called the world wide web, I could communicate with people (my age) all over the world—people who didn’t exist in my town. Kids who made zines, listened to music that wasn’t Nirvana-level mainstream, went to all-ages shows, and felt just as isolated as I did.

I stayed up til 3am each night talking to friends, in Chicago, New Jersey, Conn, California, Florida – all very American and all very Online. Chronically, even then. After school I took a nap so I could have the energy and my life come alive during the wee hours. I watched Talk Soup, lifted weights, drank water, and ate pretzels all while I waited extremely anxiously as I listened to the vocal fry of the dial-up to god-willing connect into the internet.

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From Screen to Scene

The internet connected me with Amman, Alex, and Chelsea, friends who moved beyond digital spaces to become integral parts of my life. Each of them helped shape my journey from teen misfit to creative adult. (note: I included the last names of Alex and Chelsea, because we’re still close and I texted them about this piece.)

Here are our stories:

1. Amman S.

Amman was my first online friend turned real-life bestie, a fellow misfit whose sharp humor and shared love of punk rock made Boston feel less lonely.

Amman and I met in the mid-90s, probably in an oi/ska/punk rock chat room—one of my regular online haunts. We had the same sharp sense of humor and enjoyed chatting. Back then, it wasn’t uncommon for online friendships to transition to the phone (landlines, of course). I think we had a few calls.

We were both 17, juniors in high school, and I remember telling him I’d gotten into MassArt. He was also applying to art schools for graphic design. When he decided to go to MassArt too, we finally met in person on the first day of freshman year.

I can still picture it. I was sitting on top my desk in the new dorms on Huntington Avenue, with a view of the train stop and quad (modest, but still a quad). I saw Amman crossing the street, hands in his pockets, wearing Levi’s and a maroon bomber jacket, walking with purpose. I waved, then ran down to the entrance to meet him.

From that day on, we were inseparable. As rare out-of-staters, we spent weekends together while my suitemates went home. We roamed Boston, went to shows, drank underage at bars, and hung out with local scene kids in Cambridge. Amman’s fun, hippie-ish roommate Rob often joined us, and Amman and I were so close we’d even sleep in the same twin bed.

When Amman transferred to Pratt, our adventures continued. I visited him in New York and stayed at his childhood home in Westchester, where I discovered Aveda products for the first time—life-changing. One New Year’s Eve, we wandered NYC together. I wore fishnets despite the freezing cold. His friends sent me into a liquor store to buy booze (I was 19), and when the store owner asked my age, I blurted out, “19.” No booze for us.

Eventually, we drifted apart in our early 20s. I still think fondly of our friendship and the wild times we shared. Amman lives in California now, working in tech. He’s always been incredibly smart, kind, and talented.

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2. Alexandra Segreti

Alex was my creative twin, a weaving partner whose esteemed design sensibility and yurt-living Philly vibe complemented our shared obsession with textiles.

Alex and I met in the heyday of blogging—through her Tumblr and my WordPress. I was obsessed with her style: her curation, her visuals, her entire aesthetic. I emailed her out of the blue because I couldn’t stop thinking about how good her work was. That was 2010.

We started a project together before we even met in person. We were both obsessed with weaving and textiles. Alex was a professional textile designer at Urban Outfitters, having studied at RISD. She lived inside a literal yurt in a Philly loft. (Yes, her bedroom was a yurt.)

We emailed constantly—this was before apps and texting took over. We decided to weave on small frame looms and even mailed each other yarn to create a shared palette. A few months later, I took a Bolt Bus to Philly to meet her in person.

It was winter, and we met at the Urban Outfitters office before heading to her yurt. We laid our weavings out on her bed, and the synergy was undeniable—they were meant to go together. That was the beginning of New Friends.

The name came from our blogs: hers was “Weird Friends,” and mine was “Nothing Is New.” Together, we became a studio. We showed our work at NYC Design Week, got represented by Matter, and designed rug collections for Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters.

When Alex moved to New York, we shared studios in Brooklyn, including a beautiful space in Gowanus (now condos). Alex was the first person I came out to after breaking up with Brock. I told her in our studio, with Brock still working as our studio mate. (He’s still a close friend.)

Eventually, we closed New Friends. Studio rent was high, weaving took forever, and we weren’t making enough to sustain it. Around the same time, I got consumed by a new obsession: GIRLS. Coming out was chaotic—I was dating, partying, and fully absorbed in the Herstory Instagram.

Alex confronted me about my lack of involvement, and she was right. We decided to part ways creatively, but we’re still close. We were bonded by the blogs, and we’re still dogs today. We’re meeting up for lunch at Thai Diner today!

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3. Chelsea Fairless

Chelsea is a solid, brilliant, fashion-scholar friend who saw through my confused identity explorations, offering unwavering support and genuine kindness.

Chelsea was another friend I met through blogging. She had a Blogspot called Cat Party—a name as perfect as the gorgeous print magazine she later created from it. Chelsea worked in fashion, having studied at FIT, and had recently moved back to New York from California.

We followed each other online, started corresponding, and eventually met up. Our first hangout was peak early-2010s Brooklyn: nails at Cutie Calls and three Old Fashioneds in East Williamsburg.

At the time, I was in a long-term relationship with Brock. Chelsea and I had a loose but steady friendship, meeting every six months or so for drinks. About two years into our friendship, we were at Metropolitan (a gay bar) when I confessed I lived with a man—my boyfriend.

Chelsea was shocked—hand slap on the wooden picnic table shocked. A lot of our conversations had been about lesbian culture, zines, riot grrrls—all things mostly gay. It was my repressed, confused way of trying on an identity I wasn’t ready to claim.

Years later, when I finally came out for real, Chelsea and her girlfriend met me at Cubbyhole to celebrate. Her reaction? “Duh.”

Since then, we've stayed close. Chelsea has been there through the chaos, heartbreaks, and now the calm. She's incredibly witty, down-to-earth, genuinely caring, and truly one of the best people I’ve ever met. Today, she’s a total bombshell with her podcast/media empire, Every Outfit. If you’re into fashion—both contemporary and historical—you need to listen to this podcast (though you probably already do). Oh, and Alex is obsessed with it too.

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The Loneliness Epidemic

Despite living in an era where we’re more “connected” than ever—likes, comments, and DMs flying across screens—loneliness is at an all-time high. Social media, for all its promises, often leaves us feeling hollow. Connection has become performative, curated, and transactional.

In 2017, former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy wrote about the "loneliness epidemic," highlighting how rising isolation, despite increased digital connectivity, harms both health and workplace productivity. He noted that loneliness, as damaging as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, is linked to chronic diseases, depression, and burnout.

Before finding Murthy’s framing, I found myself googling, “Was the loneliness epidemic invented by startup founders building social apps?” Because, honestly, that’s where my cynical brain is at. I know it’s not true, but founders definitely leverage this crisis when pitching their social apps. I know—because I did. And it’s not to say some aren’t solving it here and there, in small ways.

I understand the desire to help, but it’s not going to work unless there’s something deeper connecting people. Bringing random strangers together, with loneliness as their only commonality, feels insufficient. For me, trust requires something tangible—shared obsessions, personalities, or tastes—and that’s where the internet shines at its best. It connects people through niches and shared interests, offering both potential and realness.

I’ve seen this work. I just shared three of the many friends I made using platforms ranging from AOL to blogs, Instagram, Tinder, and Lex. Lex, especially, has built real relationships—friendships and community that still thrive today. I continue to hear stories of people finding meaningful connections through the platform.

The New York Magazine article “How Far Would You Go to Make a Friend?” by Allison P. Davis dives into the growing trend of startups attempting to solve the so-called “loneliness epidemic,” focusing on initiatives like Radha Agrawal’s Belong Center. While I agree with the critique that some of these solutions feel forced or overly commodified, I can’t ignore that I once pitched Lex using the same bleak framing of the “loneliness epidemic.” And honestly, I believe Lex did solve for some little corner of it. People made real friends, best friends, grew relationships, and even started bands. It wasn’t performative—it was real. So while I share the skepticism around glossy, prepackaged fixes, I know firsthand that tech, when approached thoughtfully, can foster genuine connection and belonging.

Finding Belonging: Start with Your Story

Before AOL, apps, and group chats, we made friends in the simplest ways—by walking up to someone on the street or outside a school smoking spot and saying, “I like your shirt” or “Your shoes are so cool.” That worked then, and it can still work now.

If you’re trying to create belonging in a digital or physical space, start with your own story—how did you solve your own loneliness? What worked for you? Did you find your people through a comment on a blog, a Discord server, or a Slack group? Or was it at an art opening, a basketball game, or the gay beach? Connection can happen anywhere and everywhere—you just need to understand what sparks it for you and trust the power of showing up, noticing others, and letting them in.

Also, a tip—when someone invites you to do something, go. I remember Alex sharing advice her dad once gave her: "If someone invites you, go. You’re lucky to have that invitation. Many people don’t get invited, and you’re fortunate to have friends who ask." It’s a reminder to appreciate the network you’ve built and cherish the experiences they offer. And another tip—ask new people to do things! ☆

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