Something has shifted in how we spend money, and it's not just about convenience anymore. The economy has quietly reorganized itself around a different kind of need: not faster shipping or cheaper groceries, but the feeling of being seen, known, and emotionally tended to. We are paying, in increasingly large amounts, for experiences that used to come from human relationships. Therapy, companionship apps, parasocial subscriptions, curated wellness rituals, and personalized AI companions are all growing industries now, and the timing is not a coincidence.
The loneliness data has been grim for years. In 2023, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy declared loneliness a public health epidemic, citing research showing that social isolation carries health risks comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Meanwhile, according to Grand View Research's latest report, the global mental health apps market was valued at USD 7.48 billion in 2024 and is projected to reach USD 17.52 billion by 2030. The market did not manufacture this demand. It found demand that was already there, sitting in the gap between the connections people needed and the ones they actually had.
We Started Paying for What Community Used to Provide
For most of human history, the emotional infrastructure of daily life was largely free, because it was woven into the fabric of community. You had neighbors, religious institutions, extended family, workplace friendships, third places like barbershops and town squares where belonging was ambient and low-effort. Those structures have been eroding for decades. Robert Putnam documented the collapse of American civic participation in his 2000 book Bowling Alone, and the trend has only accelerated since. By 2021, Gallup reported that only 47% of Americans belonged to a church, synagogue, or mosque, marking the first time in its eight-decade trend that religious membership fell below a majority.
When those structures dissolve, the needs they served do not dissolve with them. What happens instead is that the market steps in to offer a commodified version of what community used to provide organically. You can now pay for a "professional cuddler," hire a friendship coach, subscribe to an app where a trained listener will hear you out for a fee, or book a "social fitness" class specifically designed to help you make friends as an adult. These are not fringe services. They represent a real and growing sector of the economy, often called the "loneliness economy" or the "connection economy" by researchers and journalists covering the space.
The uncomfortable part is that these services work, at least partially. Paid therapy has real clinical outcomes. Structured social programs do reduce isolation. Wellness subscriptions that encourage daily check-ins help some people maintain routines. The problem is access: these solutions cost money, which means the loneliness economy, like most economies, concentrates its benefits toward people who can already afford to participate in it.
The Parasocial Product Is Now the Main Product
Parasocial relationships, the one-sided emotional bonds people form with creators, streamers, podcasters, and celebrities, have existed as long as mass media has. What has changed is that platforms have figured out how to monetize them directly and at scale. Patreon, OnlyFans, Substack, and the subscription tiers on Twitch all sell a similar thing underneath their different surfaces: the feeling of closeness with someone you admire. You pay for Discord access, for personal newsletters, for the sense that a creator is talking to you specifically rather than to an audience of thousands.
This is not inherently manipulative. Many creators genuinely invest in their communities, and many subscribers feel that the exchange is fair and nourishing. Researchers have found that parasocial relationships can offer psychological benefits, such as reduced loneliness and a greater sense of belonging, though these effects vary by individual and context. The architecture of parasocial consumption, however, is optimized to keep you engaged and subscribed, which means it is also optimized to ensure you never fully feel the sense of closeness it promises.
Character.AI, which lets users build and converse with customizable AI personas, reported in 2023 that its users were spending an average of two hours per day on the platform. That number should sit with us for a moment. Two hours a day is more time than most people spend in direct conversation with friends or family. The intimacy economy is not supplementing human connection at that volume; it's competing with it.
What We Owe Ourselves in This Market
Recognizing the intimacy economy as an economy is actually useful, because it lets us apply consumer logic to something we often treat as purely emotional. We can ask whether a product is delivering what it promises, whether it's building capacity for connection or just renting it out temporarily, and whether the cost is worth the return. Therapy that builds real skills is different from a subscription service that keeps you coming back without resolution.
We are not wrong to want what these products are selling. The desire for closeness, for being known, for emotional safety, is not a weakness to be monetized away. The question worth sitting with is whether what we are buying is helping us build something real, or just making the absence of it feel a little more manageable.
