Latest news with #socialexclusion
The Guardian
16-07-2025
- General
- The Guardian
My friends made plans without me – is it weird to invite myself?
I'm at the pub with my friend, catching up over drinks, when her friend walks in – let's call her Clara. Clara mentions the party she's throwing next weekend. Our mutual friend is counting down the days, but it's news to me. I arrange my face into an expression of polite interest, imagining that they will soon move on. But they keep going – about Clara's preparations, the drinks she's ordered, the DJ. It's not that I expect an invitation – I don't know her well – but their focused discussion is starting to feel pointed, especially in the small city we share. I can't help feeling left out. Finally, they turn to a new topic, but the interaction leaves me feeling uneasy and insecure, like I'd just been dragged back to high school. Were they really excluding me, or should I have angled for an invite? New research has shed light on the psychology of 'self-invitation', and why people hold back from asking to join others' plans. Psychologists staged eight experiments, involving both hypothetical scenarios and participants' real-life experiences, and found that anxieties associated with 'self-inviting' were rooted in misunderstandings about the organiser's mindset. Namely, the study found that when we learn friends have made plans without us, we tend to overestimate the possibility that they had decided against inviting us, rather than just being preoccupied with other things. We also overestimate how irritated they would be if we asked to join. In fact, researchers found that, more often than not, organisers would prefer we did, and that including us had probably 'merely slipped their mind'. When we jump to the conclusion that we've been deliberately excluded, we're usually projecting our anxieties and insecurities, says Daniel M Grossman, an assistant professor of marketing at the University of Missouri-St Louis, who co-authored the paper. 'We're not very good at reading others' minds and motivations – or even our own, sometimes.' For example, we generally assume that we've been actively considered and discounted when, in reality, organisers are likely to have been busy with logistics such as finding a time that suits everyone or booking tickets. 'We have this natural, egocentric tendency to overestimate how much people are considering us or paying attention to us in general – not just with invitations but also the clothing we wear, our appearance and our behaviours,' Grossman says. Sometimes, people are left out on purpose, he allows: 'I don't want to say that never happens.' But his study suggests it's more likely that our names just didn't come up, or the organisers didn't think we'd be interested. After all, Grossman points out, if friends had really meant to exclude us, they probably wouldn't be so open about their plans. 'Organisers really can't think about including everyone, to everything they decide to do. I think that's an exhausting expectation to put on anyone.' Likewise, we hold back from asking to join in because we believe that would be irritating to organisers when Grossman found that – not always, but often – they would rather we did. That said, Grossman says, it can be nerve-racking to put yourself out there, even with people you're close to. His research didn't explore individual differences, but he suspects that traits like high self-confidence, low sensitivity to rejection and strong social belonging might make people feel more comfortable asking to be included. Conversely, those high in social anxiety, or 'especially concerned with impression management', may be more hesitant. Prior experiences may also play a part. 'If you had one experience growing up when you said 'Hey, can I join?' and someone said no – these rejections really stick with us, especially when they occur at a younger age,' Grossman says. Feeling left out is the core fear of the teenager – hence why my run-in with Clara felt so adolescent. But we don't have to stick with those internal scripts. Sign up to Well Actually Practical advice, expert insights and answers to your questions about how to live a good life after newsletter promotion I became more comfortable taking social risks when I moved countries – first aged 23, then again at 26. I learned to be quite shameless about asking to join colleagues and acquaintances in their plans because my social life depended on it. Most were more than accommodating, introducing me to friends and new circles. On the occasions when they politely brushed me off, I tried not to take it personally – I'd benefited from taking the chance and flexing my social muscle. Grossman says people routinely overestimate the discomfort, awkwardness or pain of social rejection. Even asking to be included is likely not as difficult (or excruciating) as they may imagine. Across their eight experiments, Grossman and his team tested two approaches to 'self-inviting': asking 'That sounds like a great time – can I come with you?' versus stating, 'I'll join you'. The latter is less common and 'a lot more assertive', Grossman says – even 'a little bit presumptuous'. Yet the researchers found the outcome was no different 'whether the self-inviter asked to join, or simply stated that they would'. Grossman nevertheless recommends asking nicely – with an emphasis on the word 'ask'. (I tend to drop obvious hints, like 'I've always wanted to do that – and I'm free that day!') More from Why am I like this: I'm an adult. Why do I regress under my parents' roof? I like my own company. But do I spend too much time alone? People say you'll know – but will I regret not having children? Grossman's findings don't necessarily mean that 'all self-invitations are going to be met with open arms', he adds: context such as the nature of the plans, the closeness of the relationship and the personality of the self-inviter 'all likely play a role in how the self-invitation is received'. Additionally, the study only looked at casual, everyday plans, like going to see a film or for a walk in the park, rather than formal events with curated guest lists, like weddings. Still, Grossman believes the results should encourage us to take more social risks. 'Overall, our findings suggest that many people are missing opportunities for connection out of this fear that oftentimes we find is overestimated,' he says. Organisers can do their bit by making invitations explicit, instead of assuming that others will infer that they're included or else feel comfortable asking to come. 'Just a 'You're welcome to come' dissipates all of that,' Grossman says.Z After speaking with him, I stumble upon a template on Instagram that lists 'Activities I like being invited to'; it has been shared over 136,000 times, personalised with each user's preferences. Some people signal that they're keen for camping and clubbing but not karaoke; others are open to going for a run, but not to a bar. I am reminded of the different ways there are to spend time together, and feel inspired to take initiative, as Grossman suggested. Connection isn't a zero-sum game, split between organisers and guests. Instead of waiting to be invited, or asking to be invited, we can also create more opportunities for socialising. When my friend mentions she's going to try a new pilates studio, I don't hesitate to ask if I can tag along. I'd have survived a rejection, but she says yes – and when another friend asks me if she can come too, so do I.
Yahoo
16-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
My friends made plans without me – is it OK to invite myself?
I'm at the pub with my friend, catching up over drinks, when her friend walks in – let's call her Clara. Clara mentions the party she's throwing next weekend. Our mutual friend is counting down the days, but it's news to me. I arrange my face into an expression of polite interest, imagining that they will soon move on. But they keep going – about Clara's preparations, the drinks she's ordered, the DJ. It's not that I expect an invitation – I don't know her well – but their focused discussion is starting to feel pointed, especially in the small city we share. I can't help feeling left out. Finally, they turn to a new topic, but the interaction leaves me feeling uneasy and insecure, like I'd just been dragged back to high school. Related: Is it true that I 'don't get angry'? Or am I actually dangerously suppressing it? Were they really excluding me, or should I have angled for an invite? New research has shed light on the psychology of 'self-invitation', and why people hold back from asking to join others' plans. Psychologists staged eight experiments, involving both hypothetical scenarios and participants' real-life experiences, and found that anxieties associated with 'self-inviting' were rooted in misunderstandings about the organiser's mindset. Namely, the study found that when we learn friends have made plans without us, we tend to overestimate the possibility that they had decided against inviting us, rather than just being preoccupied with other things. We also overestimate how irritated they would be if we asked to join. In fact, researchers found that, more often than not, organisers would prefer we did, and that including us had probably 'merely slipped their mind'. *** When we jump to the conclusion that we've been deliberately excluded, we're usually projecting our anxieties and insecurities, says Daniel M Grossman, an assistant professor of marketing at the University of Missouri-St Louis, who co-authored the paper. 'We're not very good at reading others' minds and motivations – or even our own, sometimes.' For example, we generally assume that we've been actively considered and discounted when, in reality, organisers are likely to have been busy with logistics such as finding a time that suits everyone or booking tickets. 'We have this natural, egocentric tendency to overestimate how much people are considering us or paying attention to us in general – not just with invitations but also the clothing we wear, our appearance and our behaviours,' Grossman says. Sometimes, people are left out on purpose, he allows: 'I don't want to say that never happens.' But his study suggests it's more likely that our names just didn't come up, or the organisers didn't think we'd be interested. After all, Grossman points out, if friends had really meant to exclude us, they probably wouldn't be so open about their plans. 'Organisers really can't think about including everyone, to everything they decide to do. I think that's an exhausting expectation to put on anyone.' Likewise, we hold back from asking to join in because we believe that would be irritating to organisers when Grossman found that – not always, but often – they would rather we did. That said, Grossman says, it can be nerve-racking to put yourself out there, even with people you're close to. His research didn't explore individual differences, but he suspects that traits like high self-confidence, low sensitivity to rejection and strong social belonging might make people feel more comfortable asking to be included. Conversely, those high in social anxiety, or 'especially concerned with impression management', may be more hesitant. Prior experiences may also play a part. 'If you had one experience growing up when you said 'Hey, can I join?' and someone said no – these rejections really stick with us, especially when they occur at a younger age,' Grossman says. *** Feeling left out is the core fear of the teenager – hence why my run-in with Clara felt so adolescent. But we don't have to stick with those internal scripts. I became more comfortable taking social risks when I moved countries – first aged 23, then again at 26. I learned to be quite shameless about asking to join colleagues and acquaintances in their plans because my social life depended on it. Most were more than accommodating, introducing me to friends and new circles. On the occasions when they politely brushed me off, I tried not to take it personally – I'd benefited from taking the chance and flexing my social muscle. Grossman says people routinely overestimate the discomfort, awkwardness or pain of social rejection. Even asking to be included is likely not as difficult (or excruciating) as they may imagine. Across their eight experiments, Grossman and his team tested two approaches to 'self-inviting': asking 'That sounds like a great time – can I come with you?' versus stating, 'I'll join you'. The latter is less common and 'a lot more assertive', Grossman says – even 'a little bit presumptuous'. Yet the researchers found the outcome was no different 'whether the self-inviter asked to join, or simply stated that they would'. Grossman nevertheless recommends asking nicely – with an emphasis on the word 'ask'. (I tend to drop obvious hints, like 'I've always wanted to do that – and I'm free that day!') More from Why am I like this:Grossman's findings don't necessarily mean that 'all self-invitations are going to be met with open arms', he adds: context such as the nature of the plans, the closeness of the relationship and the personality of the self-inviter 'all likely play a role in how the self-invitation is received'. Additionally, the study only looked at casual, everyday plans, like going to see a film or for a walk in the park, rather than formal events with curated guest lists, like weddings. Still, Grossman believes the results should encourage us to take more social risks. 'Overall, our findings suggest that many people are missing opportunities for connection out of this fear that oftentimes we find is overestimated,' he says. Organisers can do their bit by making invitations explicit, instead of assuming that others will infer that they're included or else feel comfortable asking to come. 'Just a 'You're welcome to come' dissipates all of that,' Grossman says.Z Related: Gaming in their golden years: why millions of seniors are playing video games After speaking with him, I stumble upon a template on Instagram that lists 'Activities I like being invited to'; it has been shared over 136,000 times, personalised with each user's preferences. Some people signal that they're keen for camping and clubbing but not karaoke; others are open to going for a run, but not to a bar. I am reminded of the different ways there are to spend time together, and feel inspired to take initiative, as Grossman suggested. Connection isn't a zero-sum game, split between organisers and guests. Instead of waiting to be invited, or asking to be invited, we can also create more opportunities for socialising. When my friend mentions she's going to try a new pilates studio, I don't hesitate to ask if I can tag along. I'd have survived a rejection, but she says yes – and when another friend asks me if she can come too, so do I. Solve the daily Crossword
The Guardian
16-07-2025
- General
- The Guardian
My friends made plans without me – is it OK to invite myself?
I'm at the pub with my friend, catching up over drinks, when her friend walks in – let's call her Clara. Clara mentions the party she's throwing next weekend. Our mutual friend is counting down the days, but it's news to me. I arrange my face into an expression of polite interest, imagining that they will soon move on. But they keep going – about Clara's preparations, the drinks she's ordered, the DJ. It's not that I expect an invitation – I don't know her well – but their focused discussion is starting to feel pointed, especially in the small city we share. I can't help feeling left out. Finally, they turn to a new topic, but the interaction leaves me feeling uneasy and insecure, like I'd just been dragged back to high school. Were they really excluding me, or should I have angled for an invite? New research has shed light on the psychology of 'self-invitation', and why people hold back from asking to join others' plans. Psychologists staged eight experiments, involving both hypothetical scenarios and participants' real-life experiences, and found that anxieties associated with 'self-inviting' were rooted in misunderstandings about the organiser's mindset. Namely, the study found that when we learn friends have made plans without us, we tend to overestimate the possibility that they had decided against inviting us, rather than just being preoccupied with other things. We also overestimate how irritated they would be if we asked to join. In fact, researchers found that, more often than not, organisers would prefer we did, and that including us had probably 'merely slipped their mind'. When we jump to the conclusion that we've been deliberately excluded, we're usually projecting our anxieties and insecurities, says Daniel M Grossman, an assistant professor of marketing at the University of Missouri-St Louis, who co-authored the paper. 'We're not very good at reading others' minds and motivations – or even our own, sometimes.' For example, we generally assume that we've been actively considered and discounted when, in reality, organisers are likely to have been busy with logistics such as finding a time that suits everyone or booking tickets. 'We have this natural, egocentric tendency to overestimate how much people are considering us or paying attention to us in general – not just with invitations but also the clothing we wear, our appearance and our behaviours,' Grossman says. Sometimes, people are left out on purpose, he allows: 'I don't want to say that never happens.' But his study suggests it's more likely that our names just didn't come up, or the organisers didn't think we'd be interested. After all, Grossman points out, if friends had really meant to exclude us, they probably wouldn't be so open about their plans. 'Organisers really can't think about including everyone, to everything they decide to do. I think that's an exhausting expectation to put on anyone.' Likewise, we hold back from asking to join in because we believe that would be irritating to organisers when Grossman found that – not always, but often – they would rather we did. That said, Grossman says, it can be nerve-racking to put yourself out there, even with people you're close to. His research didn't explore individual differences, but he suspects that traits like high self-confidence, low sensitivity to rejection and strong social belonging might make people feel more comfortable asking to be included. Conversely, those high in social anxiety, or 'especially concerned with impression management', may be more hesitant. Prior experiences may also play a part. 'If you had one experience growing up when you said 'Hey, can I join?' and someone said no – these rejections really stick with us, especially when they occur at a younger age,' Grossman says. Feeling left out is the core fear of the teenager – hence why my run-in with Clara felt so adolescent. But we don't have to stick with those internal scripts. Sign up to Well Actually Practical advice, expert insights and answers to your questions about how to live a good life after newsletter promotion I became more comfortable taking social risks when I moved countries – first aged 23, then again at 26. I learned to be quite shameless about asking to join colleagues and acquaintances in their plans because my social life depended on it. Most were more than accommodating, introducing me to friends and new circles. On the occasions when they politely brushed me off, I tried not to take it personally – I'd benefited from taking the chance and flexing my social muscle. Grossman says people routinely overestimate the discomfort, awkwardness or pain of social rejection. Even asking to be included is likely not as difficult (or excruciating) as they may imagine. Across their eight experiments, Grossman and his team tested two approaches to 'self-inviting': asking 'That sounds like a great time – can I come with you?' versus stating, 'I'll join you'. The latter is less common and 'a lot more assertive', Grossman says – even 'a little bit presumptuous'. Yet the researchers found the outcome was no different 'whether the self-inviter asked to join, or simply stated that they would'. Grossman nevertheless recommends asking nicely – with an emphasis on the word 'ask'. (I tend to drop obvious hints, like 'I've always wanted to do that – and I'm free that day!') More from Why am I like this: I'm an adult. Why do I regress under my parents' roof? I like my own company. But do I spend too much time alone? People say you'll know – but will I regret not having children? Grossman's findings don't necessarily mean that 'all self-invitations are going to be met with open arms', he adds: context such as the nature of the plans, the closeness of the relationship and the personality of the self-inviter 'all likely play a role in how the self-invitation is received'. Additionally, the study only looked at casual, everyday plans, like going to see a film or for a walk in the park, rather than formal events with curated guest lists, like weddings. Still, Grossman believes the results should encourage us to take more social risks. 'Overall, our findings suggest that many people are missing opportunities for connection out of this fear that oftentimes we find is overestimated,' he says. Organisers can do their bit by making invitations explicit, instead of assuming that others will infer that they're included or else feel comfortable asking to come. 'Just a 'You're welcome to come' dissipates all of that,' Grossman says.Z After speaking with him, I stumble upon a template on Instagram that lists 'Activities I like being invited to'; it has been shared over 136,000 times, personalised with each user's preferences. Some people signal that they're keen for camping and clubbing but not karaoke; others are open to going for a run, but not to a bar. I am reminded of the different ways there are to spend time together, and feel inspired to take initiative, as Grossman suggested. Connection isn't a zero-sum game, split between organisers and guests. Instead of waiting to be invited, or asking to be invited, we can also create more opportunities for socialising. When my friend mentions she's going to try a new pilates studio, I don't hesitate to ask if I can tag along. I'd have survived a rejection, but she says yes – and when another friend asks me if she can come too, so do I.
The Guardian
16-07-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Teenage pregnancy rates are a barometer of Britain's progress. The tale they now tell is not reassuring
It takes the passing of time to fully grasp the scale of the previous government's vandalism. Think where we would be now had the Tories not dismantled the social programmes they inherited from New Labour, with so many showing rapid progress. Those watching the statistics had a jolt last week when figures from the Office for National Statistics for 2022 seemed to show the second annual rise in teenage pregnancies in England and Wales, after a decade of falling rates. This may turn out to be the result of pandemic distortions in the previous year, when numbers dropped due to teens not meeting. The next figures may return to the previous trajectory, but that's still a sluggish rate of falling teenage conceptions and it throws into stark perspective how far Britain lags behind similar countries. The UK now has the 22nd-lowest teenage pregnancy rate out of the 27 EU countries and us. Many of these countries' rates are falling faster, while ours lags, largely due to our exceptionally high level of inequality. Had New Labour's remarkable programmes around social exclusion been doing their work through these wasted Tory years, we may no longer be such a social laggard of the western world. It's worth recounting what was lost. As soon as Labour came to power in 1997, it founded the social exclusion unit, with 18 taskforces pursuing the causes of deprivation. Truancy, bad housing, juvenile crime, debt, mental ill-health, addictions, rough sleeping, school expulsions, youth unemployment and teenage pregnancy each had a dedicated team seeking out social research. Their results were recorded each year in the index of multiple deprivation, an annual Domesday Book of the dispossessed. In 1997, halving teenage pregnancies was regarded as one of the hardest targets. That type of deeply complex social behaviour seemed beyond the reach of the state. To start with, Labour had to take on the bogus moralising among a particularly nasty cohort of Tories. The outgoing Conservative government had imposed the section 28 ban on schools discussing homosexuality and gave parents a legal right to remove children from sex education. In 1992, Peter Lilley, the minister for social security, sang a ditty about 'single mothers who get pregnant just to jump the housing queue', while John Redwood, the Welsh secretary, castigated single mothers in Cardiff the following year as 'one of the biggest social problems of our day' ('The assumption is that the illegitimate child is a passport to a council flat,' he said). Moral blame was an excuse to cut lone parent benefits, a last-minute pre-election trap that Lilley bequeathed to the New Labour government, forcing Labour MPs to carry it out, pledged to stick to Tory spending plans. What worked was tackling all causes at once, from child poverty to school absence, alcohol use, poor sex education, a lack of access to contraception, mixed messages about sex, dismal future prospects and the impact of spending a childhood in care. Alison Hadley, who led New Labour's teenage pregnancy taskforce, explains in her book Teenage Pregnancy and Young Parenthood why this matters: young mothers and their children tend to do badly, suffering from higher maternal depressionand higher infant mortality, with children left with a delayed verbal ability and a worse life outlook. What helped was raising the school leaving age, girls staying on until 18, going to college with an array of courses that raise aspirations and an education maintenance allowance paid to the poorest. Pastoral care at school improved, with school nurses dispensing the morning-after pill. So, too, did sex education. Alcohol use among young people fell. Youth services grew, with Connexions offering 13- to 19-year-olds everything from mental health support to careers advice. School absence rates fell as the curriculum became more flexible and fun, with a wider range of subjects and activities. Sexual health clinics for young people opened, with sessions suiting school hours. All of these were attacked by the moralisers as likely to cause an explosion of young sex. But instead, the opposite happened: the number of young people who said they had had sexual intercourse decreased substantially among boys and girls, and there were fewer conceptions. When a new government took power in 2010 and axed the programme, so many of these improving indicators went backwards. In the intervening years, teenage pregnancy rates had still been falling, though far more slowly than in comparable countries as so many key services have been lost. Brook's special sexual health clinics for the young have closed in places such as Wirral, Burnley, Southwark, Liverpool, Lambeth and Oldham. The Connexions youth service was abolished. Schools cut drama, sport, music, arts and technical subjects as Michael Gove's curriculum reforms sidelined anything but his five-subject Ebaccs. In England, attendance fell and school expulsions rose, as did the off-rolling of pupils who were likely to reduce a school's results, all reasons for Britain falling so far behind. The poorest places still have the highest rates of teenage pregnancy: there is still a seven-fold difference in rates between well-off and destitute areas. And those nasty attitudes still lurk on the Tory right among the likes of Danny Kruger, who has called for a return to 'normative' family values. The former Tory MP Miriam Cates was forever attacking sex education with grotesque parodies of what was taught. She asked Rishi Sunak at prime minister's questions if he knew about 'graphic lessons on oral sex, how to choke your partner safely and 72 genders – this is what passes for relationships and sex education in British schools', then demanded he launch an independent inquiry, which he duly did, a month before the last election. What did it take to address the problem? Everything. But the unit is a hopeful reminder that what was done before can be done again. Today, the education department issues bolder broader sex and relationships education guidance, a good sign, bringing schools closer to encouraging their students to think and talk about relationships, misogyny, pornography, bad influencers and internet threats. All of this has been recorded by Moira Wallace, a permanent secretary who became the head of the social exclusion unit from 1997 to 2002, who say she 'watches like a hawk, not an ostrich' the progress or often backsliding of those programmes. Her recent survey on school absence shows the number of students persistently missing is rising sharply, linked to multiple bad outcomes, especially teenage pregnancy. Not everything in her social exclusion unit hit its goal, but many areas did, with action on teenage pregnancy exceeding its target, and youth employment, rough sleeping and early years metrics among other notable successes. The unit's ambition propelled an optimism about what can be done. Lessons to be learned? Nail down improvements in the public mind, so no future government dares commit such social sabotage again. Polly Toynbee is a Guardian columnist
