"On cue, the room fell silent. A man seated to my left at a long wooden table began to scratch at a piece of paper with a coloring pencil. To my right, another guy picked up a book. Across the way, someone buried themselves in a puzzle. We had gathered to take part in an unfamiliar ritual: being extremely offline. I arrived at 6:45 pm that Monday evening at a nondescript office block in Dalston, a recently gentrified area of East London."
"I was greeted at the door by the event host, who was wearing a T-shirt that read, "The Offline Club." I handed them my phone, which they stowed in a specially built cabinet-a sort of shrunken-down capsule hotel. The entryway opened into a narrow room with high concrete walls painted white, with space enough for about 40 people to sit. The wooden table ran down the center of the room, bordering both a couch area and a kitchenette stocked with herbal teas and other drinks."
Attendees arrive at a Dalston venue and surrender their phones to a cabinet labeled The Offline Club, participating in a device-free social experiment. The space features a long communal table, mezzanines with cushions, a kitchenette with herbal teas, and plant-lined windows. About 40 people, aged roughly 25 to 40, gather, many alone, and engage in quiet activities such as coloring, reading, and puzzles while conversing with neighbors. The group reflects local fashion and demographics, including creative and tech workers. The Offline Club organizes similar phone-free events across Europe and charges around $17 for entry. The aim is to disconnect briefly from devices to foster in-person interaction.
Read at WIRED
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