Slow spaces for conversation

My story for building spaces where conversations are not just good, but great.

Hello from New York 🍁

I traveled a lot this year—7 out of 10 months to be exact. When I could work remotely without having strong ties back at home, I took advantage of making the world a home.

I loved spending time in different cities. Yet, I missed consistency and intensity. Instead of breadth, I seek depth. Instead of continuing with the travels, I want to put in the work to build something that I can say I’m proud of.

Today, I came back to New York—ever more determined to build—to build that community and global brand that is close to my heart.

If any of these ideas resonate, feel free to respond to this email directly or shoot me a DM.

Coco

Slow spaces for conversation

The world needs more slow spaces for conversation.

People follow a template for social gatherings—alcohol, loud music, big crowds. These fast-paced, vibrant, party-like environments are the go-to regardless of the purpose of the event.

At a networking event or conference, the shared desire to connect is obvious. People put in their best effort to look great, to make conversation and speak with high energy, to fully "switch on". Yet somehow, after a few rounds of cursory interactions and surface-level conversations at these templated spaces, many often leave unsatisfied.

There is a better way.

A few years back in San Francisco, I founded an initiative to build third spaces¹ in cities around the world. I created my definition of a slow space. To gain traction, I ran events bringing people together to "talk with strangers over tea."² Inadvertently, these events became my mini social experiments to learn what helped people connect better—I noticed not only when the conversations were good, but also when the conversations were great. 

After hosting over 100 events, a specific instance stood out that consistently resulted in the best conversations.

I paid great attention to the space when designing events. In preparing for each event, I often primed the space for a good conversation: ensuring it was clean and the chairs were arranged to face each other. I carefully placed my handmade laser-cut conversation coasters on the tables. Instead of “What do you do for work?” the coasters prompted “When have you worked hard and loved every minute of it?”

As guests arrived, I ensured they did not need to approach others on their own. Instead, I sat them in small groups of four to eight, introduced them to one another, and served hot tea. Occasionally, I shuffled the groups for people to meet others sitting at the far corner of the room.

The people that came were largely random aside from the goal to “meet strangers”. They were not from a specific industry or age group and did not particularly share a common interest (that I was aware of).

My coasters, with varying degrees of intensity and depth as signified by the number of question marks. At some point, I thought about selling them—if interested, see here :)

When the events ended, I let people stay to continue the conversations. There was no time limit. I wanted to truly give people space to connect.

Time and again, one group stayed the longest—the group sitting inside a glass conference room. Across a sample size of hundreds of conversations, where many left shortly after the events ended, the “glass conference room group” often stayed an extra few hours—sometimes past 11 pm!

One time, I was curious and sat inside that glass room. That time, the room consisted of the five of us—a visitor from Singapore who came to San Francisco on a business trip, a student who recently started college, a retiree who had lived in the city all his life, and a software engineer with a typical San Francisco persona.³ The conversation flowed naturally, occasionally prompted by the coasters. The traveler brought a fresh perspective while drawing parallels between this city and his home; the engineer contributed with his analytical and intellectual mind as he tied to the larger trends observed in this world; the student shared ideas that surprised us in the maturity of his age; and the retiree occasionally let out wise words and phrases that made me wonder what life could look like if we engaged more with older generations.

I don’t remember what we spoke about specifically. I just remember the energy of the room. We looked into each other’s eyes, felt unexpected trust in these strangers, and found the comfort to share.

From those conversations, I felt nourished, seen, and inspired. A conversation is good when we find someone easy to talk to, when perhaps we learn something new; it’s great when we no longer notice the passing of time, when after the conversation it is as if we’ve gained a greater appreciation of humanity through hearing from another and feeling seen.

“I ended up staying an extra hour or two after the event ended and everyone just kind of got distracted with the time. And then I went back a week later and the same thing happened.” —a lovely guest

What was special about the glass conference room?

If I did not curate the people in the groups, the confounding factor had to be the space. Inside the conference room, there was a couch, armchairs, and a coffee table, designed like a small living room. The space felt comfortable, quiet, inviting peace and presence. The group inside was sheltered from outside noise. Curiously, this room had the perfect balance of privacy of a secluded space and connectedness with the outside world from the see-through properties of the glass. Perhaps people inside felt “protected”, yet connected at the same time. Humans have an evolutionary instinct for safety. We like to be inside under shelter, yet we also like to sit by the window so we can look out at the world—in case there are predators around! In this odd glass conference room, we had both. This balance created a magical ambiance that helped people feel relaxed; this space bred amazing conversations.

Our behavior is shaped by our environment. The physical environment does not only include the decor, the catering, and the size of the turnout; it also includes the spatial arrangement, lighting, and the comfort of the seats. To have consistently deep and engaging conversations, we need consistently well-designed spaces: slower spaces with warm drinks, comfortable seating, and soft textures such as cushions and blankets. If we want to get technical, the 2700 Kelvin ambient lighting is the sweet spot—the temperature of sunsets, candles, and wood burning in a fire.⁴

Hygge, the definition of cozy (photo source).

Slow spaces invite us to sit down. Instead of standing in heels for hours and feeling distracted by the physical discomfort while fighting with the music in the background, such spaces help people feel relaxed, making mental space to connect with the people in front of us. Slow spaces allow for conversations to blossom.

Slow spaces allow people to connect meaningfully.

..

A few years later, serendipity brought me back to San Francisco to host another event. I revived the email list and sent a note to these slow conversationalists from the past.

In addition to the regulars and the familiar faces, a couple that I looked somewhat familiar came to me. 

“We met at one of your events, and we’re still together.”

I’m not sure which event they had met at. Maybe in that glass conference room.

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A personal note

Socialhaus is what this initiative was called at the time back in 2019, a project that I put a lot of heart and soul into.

In 2020, I felt burnt out after hosting countless events. Obscure planning rules in San Francisco shut us down. The advent of Covid was possibly the worst timing to start a social space. Over the past years, I joined as the co-founder of a city-building project in Africa, probably one of the most amazing projects of this scale on the continent.

At the same time, I never forgot about my passion. 

I move and travel a lot, and still have yet to find that consistent community. I continue to dream about that space that I can stop by after a long day of work, to see familiar faces and fearless strangers. I want that evening hangout lounge that is not driven by alcohol, one that feels just like a friend’s living room. 

And that every time I travel, I’ll find a similar space in every city.

With an “education” and worldview in tech, the philosophy is—if it doesn’t exist, build it.

It’ll be a difficult journey, yet I’m determined to build more slow spaces for the world, to create more spaces that resemble the magical glass conference room.

Follow my journey by subscribing here.

Special thanks to friends from Write of Passage for the edits and the ideas (in no particular order): Andrew Fink, Peter Jacobson, Manan Hora, Vidhika Bansal, Claire Butler, Jake Ballinger, Daniel Huang, Yolanda Truong, Jennifer Scott, Dominik Gmeiner, Constance Landsberg, Yujia Du, Kat Koh, Rebecca Jones, Kalyaani, Mandell Conway, Arjun Mehrotra, Amit Bhatia, Jason Blydell, and Eddy Oceja.

1. A third place is a social space outside of the home and workplace where people can connect with others, build relationships, and exchange ideas. The term was coined by American sociologist Ray Oldenburg in his 1989 book The Great Good Place.

2. At the time, there were events of similar flavors known as Tea with Strangers by Anikit Shah. I’ve also attended one of his events and it was amazing! I would say our difference is that he focused on hosting these conversations around different cities, while I advocated for a real estate component to anchor the community—and hence my focus for this essay: slow spaces.

3. Had to throw this in here. The tech persona in San Francisco means software engineer, UX designer, product manager, or data scientist; their weekend hobby is going to Mission Cliffs, hiking, working on a side project, or participating in a Machine Learning Sunday study group.

4. Source: Meik Wiking’s The Little Book of Hygge The Danish Way to Live Well.