Do you (secretly) want to join a commune?

You're not alone...

Photo by pawel szvmanski on Unsplash

Let me ask you something. Have you, at any point over the last few years, had a conversation with friends about the merits of setting up and living in… a commune? Perhaps as a retirement plan – or as a way of making childcare a bit easier. Perhaps as a way of saving on electricity bills and huddling together with others for warmth like penguins. Maybe just to avoid cooking the daily tedium of cooking for one.

Whatever the reason, commune chat is A Thing. And – I have a theory – is growing.

Perhaps it’s the people I hang out with, but over the last few years every friendship group I’ve been part of has at one time or another discussed – with gusto and half seriousness – the benefit of The Commune. And I find when I mention this to others, the response is always the same “Oh my God – I have THE SAME conversation with my friends!”.

Something is afoot.

But before I get into why, let’s be quite clear about what The Commune is. And what it’s not. The Commune is not a cult. There are no suicide pacts, bizarre sexual rituals or creepy cloaks. You are not required to wear hemp and spend your days gardening, brewing beer or reluctantly bearing other people’s children. Unless that’s your happy place. Nor are you required to eat communally, adopt a vegan diet, or rise at 4am to pray/meditate/be interminably smug.

Communes I have planned range from funky old people’s homes on Ibiza where vintage House DJs from the 90s headline regularly, to simply a large plot of land where everyone lives in their own luxury hut. In many ways they are like retirement living – but without panic buttons and pervasive scent of piss and boiling cabbage.

One factor remains consistent across all these pipe dreams, however – it’s about living almost like-minded people who really fucking have your back. Who are there to chat when you’ve had a shit day, who will gladly watch your dog/child/bonsai tree when you have to go somewhere unexpectedly. Who actively look out for you and care for you. It’s living in a community – but a chosen one without people who tut if you park in the wrong place or get bin day wrong. Anyone can join The Commune – you can be single, married, living in a thruple with a charming life-sized sex doll called Destiny. All we ask is that you look out for everyone, help out when you can and generally encourage, celebrate and commiserate with each other on life’s journey.

Perhaps this has always been a thing. Perhaps there is just a certain time of life when everyone craves a little community. But over the last few years I’ve noticed a growing number of these conversations – and, honestly, I don’t think they’re entirely a joke. There is something missing from our lives that’s not quite being met – and I speak as someone who lives in a very friendly village with a number of charming neighbours.

Of course it’s not really that surprising. We live in a world where nuance is ignored, extreme views are celebrated and the cult of the individual seeps through Instagram, LinkedIn and TikTok, poisoning how we relate to our home and work lives. We must all be mini-brands, pigeon-holing ourselves into a short-hand package others can understand, rather than the curious contradictory messes most of us are.

And in a scary world where leaders act increasingly deranged, I believe many of us – myself included – are shutting ourselves off more and more. Closing the doors, battening down the hatches. Trying desperately to control the small bit of living real estate around us, too exhausted to reach out to the rest. Heading inwards on a quest to perfect our thinking/sleeping/eating rather than looking outwards.

But we don’t actually want to live that way. We want real, legitimate community. The difference between The Commune and nice neighbours is a deeper level of caring – and a deeper level of conversation. It’s being around people you can be fully authentic with – rather than keeping your comments to the weather, how your dog is or whether you’ve been to London recently.

This was bought home to me a couple of weeks ago when I indulged my crippling addiction to wellness retreats – specifically The Body Camp, a surreal and wonderful world of fitness, 80s music, childish behaviour, criminally good food, proper conversations, laughter and genuinely helpful life advice. It’s my annual pilgrimage – and I’ve never found a retreat that does things quite as perfectly and joyfully.

When I’m there I feel I’m living in a sort of Arcadian idyll where like-minded folk support each other, chat in the evenings rather than watch TV and discuss what’s truly on their minds. With the option to retreat – unjudged – to your own quarters whenever it feels too much. Why can’t real life be like this?

At the end of the week I was reflecting with one of the owners on what the magic sauce is – is it the programme, the food, the venue? “Honestly – I think it’s the community”, she said “I think this is how we are meant to live”.

“Do you ever talk to your friends about retiring to a commune together”, I asked, casually. Her face lit up.

“Oh my God, we talk about it all the time!”.

Who’s joining us?

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Morning, team! How are we? Good week? Really curious to hear your views on this. Does this sound at all familiar? If not, I’m about to feel veeerrryyy awkward. But if I’m not alone… tell me more! What does your commune look like? How does it work? And why do you think you fancy it? While you’re at it, why not tag a friend you’d like to join….!

Love and kisses, Annie x