🧠 Are we all liquid?

I had a plan: move to New York City for 30 days! And I did. During my time in the city, I came to realize that things are meant to come to an end. Sooner or later. Nothing is eternal. Confusion, loneliness, happiness, sadness, relationships, careers. I created a new routine, new friends, new lovers, and made new plans, for all to end. Why did I want to experience something that had an expiration date? Don't we all want great things to be forever? Just the great, right?

As I was chatting with a friend about how easily things come and go, she asked, "Have you heard of liquid modernity?" As it turns out, there’s a deeper explanation behind why so many of our connections—romantic, friendly, professional, or social—feel fragile and transient.

Are we characterized by uncertainty and change?

The sociologist Zygmunt Bauman introduced the concept of liquid modernity, initiated after WWII, and explains that we live in an era where the solid structures that once gave our lives stability—commitments, traditions, lifelong bonds—have melted away. In this new, fluid state, everything is in flux. Relationships are no longer built to last, they shift and dissolve as easily as water. But is that necessarily a bad thing?

Before liquid modernity, we lived in what Bauman called solid modernity, an era marked by predictability, stability, and long-term commitments. Back then, life was defined by clear structures: people pursued lifelong careers, stayed in stable relationships, and followed traditions that gave meaning and direction.

• Relationships were built on a foundation of trust and permanence.

• Marriages were intended to last a lifetime.

• Friendships were deep and enduring.

• Communities were strong and closely knit.

• Social status and identity were tied to what people produced—their work, their skills, and their tangible contributions to society.

  
  

There was comfort in knowing where you stood and what was expected of you. But as society progressed and technology advanced, the solid structures that once anchored us began to dissolve, giving way to a more fluid world.

As we can see today, change and flexibility are the new norms, but this shift came with its own set of challenges. In liquid modernity, everything is in a state of constant change and instability. We are encouraged to be flexible, adaptable, and ready to pivot at any moment. While this sounds liberating, it also means that nothing is built to last. And this includes the great things.

And "what about Me"?

Our online personas are constantly evolving to keep up with the latest trends, aesthetics, and social expectations. The concept of the "virtual Me"—the identity we create and maintain on social media. The pressure to adapt and reinvent ourselves can be exhausting. We are expected to update our profiles, change our tastes, and align with the latest cultural movements. Today, identity is increasingly shaped by what we consume. It’s draining to always be reshaping who we are to fit the trend of the moment, leaving us with little time to truly understand who we are at our core. The pursuit of “likes” and validation becomes a game of constant adaptation, where the expectations are always moving. We are now "buying" affection and attention.

"I'm not ready to commit!" "It's me, not you."

In solid modernity, relationships were viewed as investments that grew stronger over time. But today, relationships have become disposable.

The rise of situationships perfectly illustrates this shift. Unlike traditional relationships that come with clear commitments and expectations, situationships are ambiguous and open-ended. They provide just enough connection to avoid loneliness but lack the stability and security of a committed partnership. If things get difficult or uncomfortable, it’s easier to walk away and move on to something new. In this context, relationships become transactional. If they no longer serve our immediate needs or bring us joy, they can be replaced with something—or someone—new. The idea of working through challenges or investing in a relationship’s growth feels out of place in a world where everything is meant to be easily discarded and replaced.

Real freedom?

On the surface, liquid modernity offers us freedom. The freedom to change jobs, partners, identities, and interests whenever we please. But this freedom comes at a cost: the loss of stability, the anxiety of constant change, and the loneliness that comes from superficial connections.

While the flexibility of liquid modernity allows us to explore new possibilities, it also leaves us constantly searching for something more. We are left wondering if we’ve made the right choices, second-guessing ourselves at every turn, and feeling unsatisfied with what we have, always believing that something better might be just around the corner.

When I first arrived in New York, a friend of mine shared the "common knowledge" about dating in the city: "Dating in NYC is like...you can always find better." It’s as if the possibility of a better option around the corner prevents people from fully committing to what’s in front of them.

"I hope it lasts forever!" Nothing does.

In the end, while liquid modernity gives us the freedom to constantly change, it also leaves us yearning for something solid to hold onto. I've had so many friends confess that sometimes they wish their lives were already mapped out by their parents. No agonizing over finding the “right” partner or figuring out the perfect career path. Arranged marriages are simpler, stress-free alternatives.

The thing is, that's what we have today. Liquids. Sometimes I'm so happy that I don't want to let the happiness go, but it does. Sometimes I'm so sad that I just pray that it's going to fade away, and it does. Nothing lasts forever. We can choose our solids. But it's an everyday decision. And we just need to make sure we are aware of the fact that "water can be a solid, liquid, or gas, and all three states occur naturally on Earth". The challenge is finding a balance between embracing the fluidity of modern life while still seeking deeper, more meaningful connections and experiences. Perhaps, in a world that feels so liquid, the most solid act we can commit is to stay rooted in what truly matters to us. Maybe the beauty of it is that nothing lasts forever. We need to embrace the uncertainty.

I am soon leaving New York, happy with my liquid experience and happy to have tried to live everything that I could fully. I yearned to stay, but the city taught me to let it go.

A Marketing Take ✍️

Eugene Healey, a Brand Strategy Consultant that I love to keep up with, recently shared a very alluring insight: "It’s become impossible for young people to have values—and it’s time to stop blaming them for it."

While it’s easy to label Gen Z as impatient or demanding, the reality is that they’ve been told their whole lives that they can have it all now. The pressure to consume—and to consume quickly—is immense. Apps and social platforms, addictive by design, accelerate trend cycles, leaving little room for genuine self-discovery. It's a cycle that drives consumption addiction, making it hard for young people to develop solid values.

Today’s marketing strategies thrive on loose identity formation. They sell aspirational lifestyles strong enough to drive sales but loose enough to dissolve post-purchase, just in time for the next trend. This cycle makes it nearly impossible for Gen Z to form stable values, constantly pushing them to chase the next big thing.

Healey brings up a thought-provoking contradiction: Gen Z is criticized for buying fast fashion like Shein, yet many do so because it’s the only way they can afford to keep up with the trends brands have pressured them into. It’s not that they don’t care about sustainability—they’ve just been conditioned to equate their worth with keeping up.

So, do we blame the supplier or the addict? Instead of blaming young people for their “shallow values,” brands need to recognize the pressures. The brands that will resonate with Gen Z are those that understand this paradox. Successful brands will show empathy, not judgment, acknowledging the pressures young people face and helping them find value beyond consumption.