There’s something almost scandalous about being in a room full of people… and not a single soul is holding a phone.

That was our (re)launch party in October. 

We didn’t just suggest less screen time. We literally took phones away at the door. There was an actual moment where people were standing there, holding their phones like emotional support animals, and we were like, “Thank you so much, we’ll take that.” You could see the panic flash across their faces. The micro-second of withdrawal. The “Wait, but… how will I… exist?”

And then, something wild happened. They got inside. They adjusted. They forgot.

Within twenty minutes, the room felt different in a way you could physically feel. Just actual humans, in an actual space, looking at each other like it was 2006 and we’d all time-traveled back to the last era of undistracted eye contact.

And honestly? It was intoxicating.

There was this weird collective exhale.  Like everyone remembered, at the exact same moment, “Oh right. This is what it feels like to be here.” To have someone’s full attention. To laugh without wondering if you look good from that angle. 

You could see shoulders drop. You could see people lean in, not away. Without phones, no one was performing their night away for an invisible audience. No one was weighing every laugh, every drink against how it might look on a story. The only proof the night happened was… the fact that we were in it.

People were talking. Really talking.

Groups formed naturally. Strangers became friends without the safety net of scrolling. No one was half-in, half-out, mentally wandering through their notifications. It was presence. The real, old-school kind, and it felt like drinking cold water after weeks of being dehydrated.

Here’s the really wild part: No one missed their phones. Not once. Not even a little.

And heading into the holidays? The most emotionally loaded, overstimulating, memory-heavy time of year? My god, we need more of that.

Now look. If your phone is the only way you get to see your family (hello, fellow expats and long-distancers), keep it. Use it. Treasure it. Technology is a blessing when it actually bridges the gap between you and the people you love.

But the rest of us? Put the damn thing down. And look the fuck up.

We’re so busy capturing memories we don’t actually live them. We’re recording moments instead of absorbing them. We’re half-present, half-scrolling, and then we wonder why everything feels blurry and rushed. January hits and we’re like, “That went so fast, I barely remember any of it.”

Of course it went fast, babe. You were busy being your own cameraman.

What if this next year is different?

I dare you to sit at dinner and let conversations wander. Let someone finish a story without glancing at the time. Notice the room. Notice the people in it. Notice the tiny things you only see when you’re not busy trying to document them.

Because if our launch party proved anything, it’s that presence is still magnetic. Still grounding. Still rare enough to feel rebellious. People remembered that night not because they rewatched it later, but because they felt it as it was happening.

So whether you’re toasting with friends, reconnecting with family, or just sitting on a couch you’ve known since childhood, try giving the moment your eyes, your ears, your whole fucking self.

Your phone will survive a night without you. And you? You might just remember what connection feels like when nothing is competing for your attention.

Until next time x