It’s 8 p.m. on a dark, rainy Wednesday in January. I’m in a fluorescently lit, warehouse-style coworking space with a zesty non-alcoholic sparkling drink. I’m clutching a book I didn’t enjoy reading and making small talk with some of the 100 adults wearing color-coded name tags. I’m asking myself why on earth I’m here.
The answer speaks to something that I and my Gen Z peers are constantly engaged with—the search for community. That’s why I joined a non-fiction book club whose events feature speakers, group activities and discussion. And I’m not alone; barely a week goes by without a Gen Z peer enthusing about a run club/creative collective/radio station/swimming social/gym group they’re part of or are creating. A study from Impero found that 82% of Gen Z want to be part of a community.
Advertising to Gen Z is a hot topic. As the first digitally native generation, we are adept at spotting and debunking ads and especially dislike being targeted on social platforms. Even influencers are viewed with trepidation, as 84% of Gen Zers have lost faith in them.
In advertising, we often talk about “owning” an audience. But how can you own an audience that doesn’t want to be owned? One option, I would argue, is to participate in a community.
In 2022, the charity Eden Project Communities named Gen Z the loneliest generation. And a study in Psychology Todaysuggested that 73% of Gen Z report feeling alone either sometimes or always—the highest level of any generation.
While many factors are at play, this phenomenon can in part be attributed to formative years occurring during the COVID-19 pandemic. This is interesting when coupled with Gen Z’s reported proclivity toward self-definition. McKinseydescribes Gen Z as “identity nomads” who want to “experiment with different ways of being themselves.”
For Gen Z, the self is a project that is always under construction and communities are vital to this process, offering an arena for experimentation. We are therefore a generation that is inherently invested in community yet has been deprived of it. It’s no wonder that in a post-pandemic world, we are furiously creating our own.
Social media has been named a major contributor toward loneliness, but it has also been a vehicle for the communities on which we missed out. A prime example is the grouping of content into different “sides” of TikTok. Communities range from the understandably appealing (#BookTok, a community of book lovers, 157 billion views) to the extraordinarily niche (#TinnedFishTok, 24.6 million views).
However, as data privacy concerns proliferate and trust in digital platforms wanes as billionaires vie for online supremacy, the online world seems like a less and less appealing place. Moreover, in the never-ending echo chamber of the online world, communities can sometimes morph into something much more sinister. Indeed, The Times recently named Discord a “haven infected with hate.”
There is, therefore, a distinct opportunity for brands to show up for a generation that is yearning for community. Some brands are already getting it. Resell platform Depop has a strong community at its heart and recognizes the value of this. In May it hosted Depop Night Market, bringing its online sellers together for an immersive pop-up market. Crucially it looked to its community about how to run the event, grouping wares according to themes that Depopers have created such as “exaggerated minimalism,” “romantic grunge” or “alien waters.”
A community-first approach seems even more relevant to brands given audiences' increasing concerns regarding data privacy (Apple's recent work shows how brands are already adapting to this) and to the slow but sure demise of third-party cookies. By Q1 of 2024, Google plans to have disabled them for 1% of Chrome users. Speaking to, adding value to and even building communities seems more vital than ever for brands when the data that allows them to target consumers might not be around for much longer.
CBD wellness brand Puresport is another excellent example. Puresport, a product-driven brand, has tapped into the enormous community of Gen Z fitness fanatics—including #runtok devotees (1.9 billion views) and even the mere fitness-curious—through its free run and cycle clubs.
The community aspect of these clubs is vital and Puresport clearly works hard to keep them, well, pure. There’s not a cringy #sponsored post in sight, but attendees frequently vlog their experiences, racking up millions of views on social media. Puresport is reaping the rewards; last year the business secured backing from more than 300 investors, raising £1.3 million ($1.62 million)
The question for brands then becomes: How can we authentically participate in the sometimes-niche communities that Gen-Zers are part of and are incessantly creating? The word “participation” here is key. Showing up in a community is not enough; you have to prove you belong there. Unlike the one-to-many broadcasting framework of traditional advertising, communities operate on a many-to-many basis with creators constantly feeding off each other and authenticity acting as currency. Crucially, brands must add value.
In short, when brands enter a community, they must take their shoes off at the door.
This article was originally published in AdAge
