When we talk about the loneliness epidemic facing older adults, we often treat it as a modern problem. But it’s not new - it’s been building for a hundred years. Slowly, steadily, we’ve designed a society that separates generations, erodes daily connection, and sidelines older people from family and public life. Here’s how we got here.
In the early part of the 20th century, it was common, expected even, for families to live together or nearby. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins: the family unit was wide and intertwined. Older adults were embedded in the rhythms of daily life.
After World War I, housing shortages made multigenerational living even more common. Families consolidated under one roof out of necessity, and older relatives played a clear role - helping with childcare, contributing financially, offering wisdom and continuity. They weren’t an afterthought. They were part of the home.
The post-war boom brought prosperity, and with it, a new ideal: the nuclear family. Parents and kids moved into shiny new suburban homes, often far from the communities they grew up in. Space and privacy were prized. So was independence. The extended family model began to dissolve - not abruptly, but meaningfully. Grandparents were no longer a built-in part of everyday life. Old age, once respected and visible, started to become synonymous with decline and detachment. Dependence was quietly reframed as failure.
As car ownership grew and job mobility became the norm, young adults moved further away - physically and emotionally from their parents. Ageing relatives became a phone call, a Christmas card, a weekend visit at best.
This was the era of self-actualisation and individualism. The idea that “success” meant leaving home, standing on your own, and putting yourself first. Community bonds were replaced by personal growth.
When older adults needed care, the responsibility was often outsourced to institutions. The family became a support system in name, not in practice.
As technology took off, younger generations adapted quickly. But older adults - many of whom had already been edged out of the workforce found themselves left behind.
Email replaced letters. Texts replaced phone calls. Eventually, retirement homes and care facilities became the default setting for elder care, not the exception.
Technology promised connection, but delivered exclusion. The digital divide widened, not just in access, but in relevance.
Smartphones and social media became embedded in everyday life. For many young people, their primary form of connection became digital-first, location-agnostic, and algorithm-driven.
Older adults were often invisible in this new world. A grandchild might live just an hour away but feel entirely out of reach preferring WhatsApp to a phone call, or simply too busy to visit.
The physical presence of older people in daily life once normal, now felt optional. Many were still living, but no longer felt seen.
The COVID-19 pandemic made an already fragile situation worse. Lockdowns cut off in-person contact entirely, and older adults bore the brunt. Many went months without physical touch, casual conversation, or even a glimpse of loved ones.
But the damage was deeper than inconvenience. Loneliness has been linked to faster cognitive decline, poorer physical health, and shorter life expectancy. As one study put it: chronic loneliness is as bad for your health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
Governments and charities are now calling it what it is: a public health crisis.
We’ve spent a century designing for separation. And now we’re paying the price - not just in economic terms or healthcare burden, but in our collective sense of humanity. The antidote isn’t complicated. It’s reconnection.
More intergenerational homes. More inclusive tech. More ways to make older adults part of the everyday again - not sidelined or "cared for" at arm's length, but valued, seen, and heard. Because loneliness isn’t inevitable. It’s structural. And we can design something better.
AI is ushering a new age. We're at a crossroads whether to allow this gap to continue, or to design and build a society we want that benefits from the wisdom of old age.
