"Why I Think Most Friendships Are Fake After 25"

Why I Think Most Friendships Are Fake After 25
by


The moment I realized most of my friendships were performative came during my 29th birthday dinner. Eight people RSVP’d “yes,” five confirmed the day before, two said they were “on the way,” and in the end, only one actually showed up—thirty minutes late, without an apology, and with half a cupcake in a takeout bag as a gift. I wasn’t mad. I was embarrassed. Because in that moment, over soggy fries and forced smiles, I had to face a truth I had been avoiding: I didn’t really have friends. I had people I used to be close to, people I kept on my contact list out of nostalgia, and people who were only around when it was convenient.


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When you're in your teens and early twenties, friendships come easy. Proximity plays a huge role. You're in school, at university, working in retail or restaurants, constantly surrounded by peers. You bond over late-night assignments, bad bosses, heartbreaks, and hangovers. There’s a sense of collective chaos—everyone is figuring it out, and friendships are forged in the trenches of early adulthood.

But something shifts around 25.

People start to “settle”—into careers, relationships, cities, routines. Schedules become harder to coordinate. Texts become less frequent. Some friends start building families, others get consumed by work or move far away. And then there’s the darker truth: some people simply outgrow you, or vice versa.

I used to blame logistics. “We’re all just busy,” I’d say, giving people the benefit of the doubt when plans got canceled or birthdays were forgotten. But over time, I noticed a pattern. I was always the one initiating. I was the one sending “let’s catch up!” texts, organizing group chats, remembering milestones. And slowly, I began to wonder—was this friendship, or was I just the one holding onto the illusion of it?

The thing about post-25 friendships is that many of them become transactional, whether we like to admit it or not. People keep you around because you’re useful, entertaining, or make them feel better about themselves. Some friendships revolve entirely around gossip, mutual complaining, or shared enemies—not genuine care.

I had a friend, let’s call her Sara, who I’d known since college. We went through so much together—breakups, job searches, family drama. But as we entered our late twenties, I realized that every time we talked, it was about her problems. She never asked about mine. If I brought up something difficult, she’d nod and redirect the conversation. Eventually, I stopped sharing. Our friendship became lopsided. She didn’t notice. I started replying slower. She never followed up. And just like that, the silence between us grew until it turned into distance.

And here’s the thing no one tells you: letting go of a friendship hurts more than most breakups. Because friendships aren’t supposed to end. There’s no closure talk, no “what are we” discussion, no obvious betrayal. Sometimes, they just fade. Sometimes, they reveal themselves to have been hollow all along.

I’ve also noticed how easy it is to confuse social media engagement with real connection. Someone likes your post, reacts to your story, sends you a laughing emoji—and you think, we’re still cool. But when was the last time you had a real conversation with them? When did they last check in on you—not just respond to something you posted?

Now that I’m in my thirties, my standards for friendship have changed. I no longer chase people who make me feel like an afterthought. I don’t keep relationships on life support just because of shared history. If I have to convince someone to be in my life, I let them go.

What I’ve learned is this: after 25, real friendships don’t just survive—they show up. They text back. They remember the things you said in passing. They’re there when you succeed and when you fall apart. They don’t just comment “proud of you” on your new job post—they ask how you’re really doing, behind the scenes.

I’m not bitter. I’m grateful. Losing fake friendships made space for real ones. Some of my most meaningful connections now are with people I met later in life—people who didn’t know me in college or high school, but see me clearly now. And I see them, too.

So, if you’re reading this and feeling that ache—that quiet realization that your friend circle has grown thinner, that your “ride or dies” don’t really ride anymore—you’re not alone. You’re not crazy. You’re just growing.

And the beautiful, painful truth is: growth doesn’t always come with company.