Going Solo

Have you ever wondered why so many people today choose to live alone—and not feel lonely doing it? In Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone, sociologist Eric Klinenberg unpacks one of the most significant yet misunderstood social transformations of our time: the explosive growth of one-person households. What was once considered a sign of isolation or failure has become an emblem of freedom, independence, and modern adulthood.

The Rise of the Singleton Society

Klinenberg begins with a staggering fact: nearly half of adults in developed nations now live alone. In cities such as Stockholm, Manhattan, and Tokyo, single dwellers make up between 40–60% of households. Rather than viewing this as evidence of social decay, Klinenberg reinterprets it as a triumph of modern civilization—a result of economic prosperity, gender equality, urban development, and communication technologies that allow people to stay connected while living independently.

Our ancestors needed the family unit for survival—mutual labor, economic production, and caregiving. But modern societies, especially those with strong welfare systems, liberated individuals from those constraints. As Klinenberg writes, this new form of living is not a withdrawal from society but a different way of being social.

Why This Shift Matters

Klinenberg calls our age “the singleton society.” It reveals what happens when the basic building block of civilization shifts from the family unit to the individual. Living alone enables people to pursue what he calls the “sacred modern values”—freedom, personal control, and self-realization. For many, solitude is not isolation but restoration—a necessary retreat for creativity and self-discovery. Yet he also recognizes its paradox: the same autonomy that empowers us can, for others, deepen vulnerability, especially among the elderly and poor.

To understand the full story, Klinenberg explores the experience of living alone at every stage of life: the young professionals postponing marriage, middle-aged divorcees rediscovering independence, urban poor using solitude as self-protection, and elderly adults aging in solitude. Across these groups, he finds that living alone is rarely antisocial—it is often a way to build healthier, more intentional relationships in an era defined by connection overload.

From Fear of Isolation to Embracing Solitude

The book also challenges older narratives that equate living alone with loneliness. Klinenberg revisits classics like Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam, which lamented the demise of civic life, and turns the lens around: instead of being disconnected, singletons often have richer social lives. They frequent cafés, volunteer organizations, and community events more than their married counterparts. Living alone becomes less a retreat from people than a reorganization of how we engage with them.

He acknowledges, however, that the freedom to live alone is unevenly distributed. For the affluent, a solo apartment may mean sanctuary; for the poor, isolation can become a trap. Through vivid case studies—from Manhattan journalists to recovering addicts in New York’s single-room occupancy hotels—Klinenberg shows how economic security determines whether solitude heals or harms.

A Mirror of Modern Values

At its heart, Going Solo is not just about housing policy or lifestyle trends. It is a meditation on what it means to live a meaningful life in an individualistic, hyperconnected age. Klinenberg’s interviews reveal that solitude today is not self-absorption—it’s a stage for personal renewal, creativity, and emotional clarity. But he tempers enthusiasm with realism: living alone also exposes social inequities in care systems, city planning, and the treatment of aging citizens.

Ultimately, Klinenberg invites us to see the rise of the singleton society not as a crisis but as a collective adaptation—a natural evolution of human connection in modern life. Whether we celebrate or fear this shift depends less on who lives alone and more on how societies choose to support their single dwellers. The question isn’t why so many live alone, but how we can ensure that doing so helps us live better.

Klinenberg traces the roots of modern individualism to centuries of cultural evolution—from religious hermits to cosmopolitan intellectuals. Solitary living, he shows, was once the domain of monks or misfits. Now, it’s seen as empowerment. Understanding this shift requires looking at how industrialization, urbanization, and cultural change redefined what it means to be alone.

From Hermits to City Dwellers

Ancient hermits like Abba Moses viewed solitude as a path to divine truth. Later, thinkers like Emerson and Thoreau turned it into a moral experiment—living apart to discover one’s authentic self. By the 20th century, the city provided a new context for solitude. Sociologist Georg Simmel argued that urban life liberated individuals from tradition, enabling self-expression in crowded anonymity. Solitude became less religious and more psychological: a way to cultivate creativity amid chaos.

The City as a Laboratory for Individuality

Cities like New York and Chicago offered fertile ground for this “modern type.” Early 20th-century bohemians, from artists in Greenwich Village to gay men carving out safe neighborhoods, used solo living as rebellion and self-invention. By claiming small apartments and rooming houses, they forged what Simmel called “freedom of movement beyond the family’s jealous boundaries.” Over time, these experiments normalized an entire culture of self-directed living that would later expand to the middle class.

The Feminine Revolution in Independence

One pivotal moment in this transformation was the rise of women’s autonomy. Helen Gurley Brown’s Sex and the Single Girl sparked a revolution by declaring that unmarried women could—and should—build fulfilling lives on their own. Instead of marrying for survival, they worked, rented apartments, and pursued pleasure. The feminist and sexual revolutions, combined with better education and job access, empowered women to treat independence not as exile but liberation.

That cultural rebranding reshaped urban life. What had once been “rooming houses” for wayward men became aspirational “studio apartments.” Living alone was no longer lonely—it was stylish, cosmopolitan, and even erotic. (As Barbara Ehrenreich observed in The Hearts of Men, the bachelor pad and the single woman’s flat became emblems of postwar modernity.)

Individualism Becomes Culture

By the late twentieth century, urban living and consumer capitalism made single life possible—and profitable. Cities catered to solo dwellers with takeout culture, compact apartments, and new industries of pleasure and convenience. Klinenberg calls this a “collective experiment in autonomy.” It marks a shift from survival-driven cohabitation to expressive independence: people living alone not because they must, but because they can.

For better or worse, the sacred goal of modern adulthood became the capacity to live alone without feeling alone. Instead of retreat, solitude emerged as the new frontier of freedom.

Klinenberg shows that living alone is not a default—it’s a skill. To thrive as a singleton, one must master the art of building social networks, nurturing self-sufficiency, and maintaining emotional balance. In industries where overwork blurs personal life, solitude can be both refuge and reward—but it requires conscious cultivation.

The Work-Centered Self

For young professionals, solo living often starts as a practical response to work. Klinenberg meets people like Justin, a journalist in Manhattan, who moved from noisy roommate apartments to his first solo studio. That move felt like “arrival”—a milestone into adulthood. Living alone gave him control and recovery space in a culture that demands relentless productivity.

At the same time, this independence mirrors modern capitalism: free agency, flexibility, and self-branding. As authors like Daniel Pink (Free Agent Nation) observe, work has become a site of identity. Living alone complements this ethos—your apartment becomes both sanctuary and command center.

Solitude as Self-Development

Many of Klinenberg’s subjects describe solitude as empowering. Bella DePaulo, psychologist and author of Singled Out, says she’s “deeply single” by choice. For her, living alone is a moral stance—a way to be fully authentic. Others, especially women, use it as a period of self-reinvention between relationships or careers. Ella, a public-interest lawyer, learns to “cook for one” not as a chore but as self-care, turning everyday life into an act of confidence.

Yet the transition can sting. Klinenberg notes that many people experience “the second adolescence”—years spent experimenting with independence before partnership. This period, once stigmatized as immaturity, is now recognized as essential to adulthood’s emotional education.

The Gender Divide in Solitude

For men, solo living tends to emphasize freedom—no domestic obligations, more spontaneity. For women, it demands boundary-setting against social pressure. Molly, a web designer in her late thirties, resists the cultural pity directed at single females. “Maybe something’s wrong with me,” she confesses, “but I like time when it’s just me.” Her story shows that mastering solitude also means mastering stigma. Women, especially, must fight the idea that independence equals incompleteness.

In contrast, single men risk falling into isolation by neglecting emotional maintenance. Klinenberg notes that women are generally better at building and sustaining friendships—the invisible social fabric that makes solitude sustainable.

Choosing Company, Not Clinging to It

Ultimately, thriving alone means turning choice into connection. Successful singletons, Klinenberg finds, intentionally create “families of friends.” They volunteer, join yoga communities, or nurture pets as emotional anchors. The key isn’t detachment—it’s designing companionship on your own terms. As DePaulo reminds readers, living single is best when you live it socially.

Divorce, Klinenberg observes, is not just an ending—it’s a doorway into the second act of adulthood. He profiles men and women who rediscover purpose, identity, and vitality after separation. While some grieve lost intimacy, others find that solo living provides the emotional clarity marriage once obscured.

Breaking the Myth of Romantic Salvation

Helen, a twice-divorced writer in her sixties, reflects on her generation’s mistake: believing marriage would complete them. “We fell in love twice and it didn’t work,” she tells Klinenberg, “and once you have experience, the myth of romantic love as salvation ends.” This confession captures a generational awakening: people learned that companionship can’t cure existential loneliness.

Reclaiming the Self Through Solitude

For women like Charlotte, an office manager in Manhattan, solitude becomes liberation after decades of motherhood and caretaking. “I paint, I write, I read,” she says. “When I feel like being bothered with somebody, I am.” Freedom from domestic compromise allows many divorcees to reclaim lost passions and rebuild social lives on their own terms. Contrary to stereotypes, most are not isolated—they often participate more in civic life than married counterparts.

Men, Loneliness, and Learning to Feel

Divorced men, on the other hand, struggle more with isolation. Klinenberg’s interviews reveal men like Lou, a lawyer-musician who admits that his independence can slip into inertia: “When you’re married, you have responsibilities. Alone, you become lazy.” His story echoes research showing men’s weaker friendship networks and heavier reliance on spouses for emotional support. Learning to live alone, for men, often means learning to nurture connection for the first time.

The Courage to Refuse Settling

Interestingly, many middle-aged women reject remarriage not from bitterness but discernment. “You become a lot pickier when you’re older,” says Madeline, a 61-year-old in San Francisco. “I wouldn’t live with anyone again.” They prefer “intimacy at a distance”—emotional closeness without domestic entanglement. Klinenberg calls this one of the quiet revolutions of contemporary adulthood: the right to define togetherness without surrendering autonomy.

Redefining Companionship

Post-divorce lives reveal that connection comes in multiple forms—friend circles, church groups, neighbors, even spirituality. Sam, a counselor in recovery, fills his solitude with faith: “I seldom feel lonely because I’m closer to God.” Across such stories, the moral is clear: the end of one relationship doesn’t mean the end of relational life. Instead, it may mark the beginning of learning how to be alone without being lonely.

In the digital age, Klinenberg warns, our problem isn’t solitude—it’s saturation. We live in constant connection, vibrating with notifications, emails, and texts. Living alone, paradoxically, has become one of the few ways to create space from this perpetual connectivity. Yet solitude today requires vigilance; it can restore or erode us depending on how we use it.

Solitude as Sanctuary

Many of Klinenberg’s interviewees describe their apartments as urban monasteries. Phil, a Manhattan journalist, spends his evenings in quiet reflection, calling his home “a sanctuary in the city.” He views solitude like prayer—“calm, like how it feels in church.” For successful professionals overwhelmed by “continuous partial attention” (a term by Linda Stone), living alone offers reprieve and renewal.

Defensive Individualism and Its Dangers

But solitude isn’t always serene. For the poor, mentally ill, or marginalized, withdrawing from society is often an act of defense, not choice. Klinenberg shares painful portraits: Greg, a recovering addict in an SRO, avoids old friends to resist relapse. Others—like Rick or Miguel—retreat into isolation after losing loved ones. What begins as self-protection becomes “defensive individualism,” a state that fosters distrust and emotional decay.

When Homes Become Caves

The story of Mary Ann, a seventy-nine-year-old who died alone in Los Angeles, illustrates solitude’s extreme. When investigators searched her home, they found piles of unopened packages, magazines, and dust-covered furniture—a hoarder’s cave of comfort and confinement. Mary Ann’s case blurs compassion and caution: did she die tragically alone, or peacefully within a world she built for herself? Klinenberg concludes that our judgment of such solitude often reveals more about us than about them.

Finding Balance in the Age of Networks

The challenge of the connected era is to find balance—to protect the self without severing ties. Living alone works best when grounded in active social life, work purpose, and self-knowledge. As philosopher Anthony Storr observed, solitude can deepen creativity only if it’s freely chosen and wisely used. Otherwise, it breeds despair. Klinenberg’s lesson is both practical and profound: solitude is medicine; dosage matters.

If living alone is modern adulthood’s privilege, aging alone is its ultimate test. Klinenberg devotes one of the book’s most emotional sections to how the elderly navigate life—and death—without daily companionship. Far from uniformly tragic, he finds that independence in old age can be a source of meaning, pride, and even joy.

The Longevity Revolution

Sixty years ago, only one in ten seniors lived alone; now, one in three does. This remarkable shift is partly due to medical progress and partly cultural: few older people wish to burden their children or surrender autonomy. As one elder quips, “They don’t want to live with me either.” This preference for independence, Klinenberg notes, is a distinct hallmark of Western individualism.

Two Paths: Renewal and Decline

Ava, a widowed bookkeeper near Coney Island, exemplifies thriving in age. At seventy-eight, she fills her days with yoga, mahjongg, volunteer work, and outings with her boyfriend Victor—whom she calls “the fun without the fuss.” In contrast, Edith, disabled and housebound, resists moving to a care home out of fear of losing control, even as isolation worsens her health. These paired profiles demonstrate that aging alone has two paths: restorative solitude or punishing loneliness, shaped largely by health, wealth, and community design.

The Tyranny of Independence

Klinenberg’s assistant, sociologist Elena Portacolone, calls this the “tyranny of independence.” Many elders cling to autonomy even when it hurts them, fearing that dependence equals failure. Edith’s stubbornness to stay home despite malnutrition exemplifies how cultural worship of independence can become cruel. True dignity, Klinenberg argues, lies not in isolation but in interdependence—balancing self-care with communal care.

Resilient Aging and Support Networks

Still, countless elders thrive through friendship networks and community programs. Ava’s naturally occurring retirement community creates “intimacy at a distance,” letting residents mingle yet preserve privacy. Dee, a 90-year-old Harlem woman, draws strength from solitude itself: “I don’t mind my own company.” Klinenberg’s message: with respect, resources, and connection, aging alone can be not a failure of care but a fulfillment of character.

How do we make living alone sustainable for everyone—not just the affluent urbanite? Klinenberg closes by moving from sociology to design, urging societies to build environments that support independent living while fostering connection. The future, he insists, depends on redesigning cities, housing, and social services to fit the singleton age.

Rethinking Homes and Communities

Most modern cities were built for nuclear families, not individuals. Klinenberg spotlights innovators like Rosanne Haggerty of Common Ground, who transforms decaying hotels into vibrant single-room communities where the homeless and working poor can regain stability. Similarly, “natural retirement communities” show how shared spaces—gardens, gyms, dining rooms—can prevent isolation while preserving autonomy. He envisions compact, walkable neighborhoods that promote both privacy and proximity.

Technology, Care, and Ethical Design

Technology, too, promises aid—if used wisely. Klinenberg describes prototypes like “Pearl,” a robot nurse that reminds patients to take medicine or contact help. Yet ethicists warn that robot companions could replace human care rather than enhance it. The line between assistance and abandonment is thin. The goal, he emphasizes, is not high-tech substitutes for love, but digital tools that extend human connection.

The Politics of Care

He calls for policy reform to support caregivers and affordable housing. Programs like the U.S. Lifespan Respite Care Act, though underfunded, point toward the right path—viewing care as social infrastructure, not private charity. For aging populations, forward-thinking countries like Sweden and Denmark model how welfare systems can sustain both autonomy and equality.

The Green City of Solos

Interestingly, Klinenberg notes, cities dense with singletons—like Manhattan or Stockholm—are also the most environmentally efficient. Shared resources and small spaces mean smaller carbon footprints. Designing for one-person households may, paradoxically, help the planet: “The greenest city,” he writes, “is the one that works for people who live alone.”

His vision is hopeful: a world where solitude is supported, not stigmatized; where homes foster connection, and independence becomes sustainable. In that future, living alone won’t mean living apart—it will mean living fully.