Third space (noun) – a sociocultural term to designate communal space, as distinct from the home (first space) or work (second space)

In a recent episode of the Know Thyself podcast, guest Ammar Kandil had this to say when asked about his next venture:

“The serendipity of all these beautiful things happening without needing to schedule a lot…lends itself to, I think, a lot happier of a life. We need spaces that are not bars, are not clubs…that can be a really epic space for gathering, and socializing, and working.”

A filmmaker, entrepreneur, and co-founder of YouTube powerhouse Yes Theory, Ammar appears quite qualified to tackle this project. The way in which he’s able to paint a picture of what a modern-day third space looks like alludes to a strong, if not wholly unique, vision.

That’s because in a post-pandemic world, more and more builders are looking to solve a massive problem: that young people do not feel like they have a purposeful environment (physical or digital) necessary to form genuine connections and engage in authentic conversation.

Experiments to build the modern “library,” “cafe,” or – in Ammar’s words – “city” are currently ongoing across the globe, even becoming VC-backable. Nevertheless, to rebuild our social fabric, we need to rethink how and where we communicate. With great power comes great responsibility, and for creators with influential platforms, it’s necessary to look to the past in order to shape the third spaces of the future.

Part I – The Coffeehouse of Yesteryear

The term “coffeehouse” often leads one to conjure images of youngish professional types in a Starbucks, or a local indie spot, typing away on laptops while sipping an overpriced latte. These patrons might be meeting with a friend, or co-worker; there’s also a decent chance that they’re sitting in the corner, plugged into a device and trying to grind out that last slide of a presentation.

Can you picture this image? If you’ve been to a coffeehouse anytime recently, you probably can.

I mention this not to harp in an old man, get-off-my-lawn fashion – I’m typing this essay in a local cafe, after all. No, I bring it up to juxtapose the modern-day coffeehouse with their roots of yesteryear.

When coffeehouses first started popping up on the Arabian Peninsula in the 15th century, they weren’t known for their free WiFi or green mermaids. Coffeehouses were the place to meet, to not only purchase freshly-roasted drinks but also play board games, along with listening to music and oral stories.

These spaces spread across the Islamic world over the course of the following century. They became a breeding ground for thoughtful ideas, a place where free and authentic discourse was welcomed and challenged. Upon traveling across Persia, one French writer noted the liveliness of the coffeehouse scene:

“People engage in conversation, for it is there that news is communicated and where those interested in politics criticize the government in all freedom and without being fearful, since the government does not heed what the people say.”

Kafana “Tri šešira” and it’s guests in 1904 (Photo via Serbia.com)

With coffeehouses finding a strong footing in Constantinople, the Ottomans brought them to eastern Europe as the empire expanded its reach. Serbia claims that the first “kafanas” started to pop up in the region during the Turkish reign, an entire century before their debut in London, Marseilles, Vienna, or Leipzig. Not only did they continue to be a hub for conversation and politics, Serbian historians say, they also became a nexus point for relationships, business, and innovations to thrive:

“...deals were concluded, marriage agreements were made…these were the places where the audience saw the first film, the first theatre plays, and the first phone rang…”

The coffeehouses that subsequently emerged in western Europe in the 19th and 20th centuries became popular among artists and writers, a theme that carried over to U.S. spots heavily inspired by Italian espresso bars. One notable example came with the American folk revival of the 1960s, as musicians like Bob Dylan helped bring back the genre by performing in venues throughout New York City’s Greenwich Village neighborhood. With the activist nature of this music, it made sense to perform in these shops given they fostered such a strong history rooted in political action.

Of course, this history is not without its asterisks, particularly when looking at a spotty track record with inclusivity. For example, on the one hand, German women began to meet over coffee during the Industrial Revolution; as their husbands transitioned from farming into factory jobs, it allowed these women to head into town and speak more openly about pressing topics like gender roles. On the other hand, in England and France, some women had to cross-dress in order to gain access to these spaces, as only men were allowed in for years.

We’ll come back to this mixed bag of inclusivity later on. For now, though, the more we trace the evolution of the coffeehouse, the more we can see their influence in shaping our world. These communal spaces developed in step with thinkers and storytellers who wanted a more productive counterpart for boozy beer halls, pushing culture forward in the process. It’s therefore the reason we consider coffee an “adult” drink to this day.

But what other spaces evolved during the 20th century? And what does their rise – and decay – say about modern “social infrastructure?”

Part II – Defining Social Infrastructure

In an era before antitrust law, a crop of American industrialists known as the “robber barons” held unchecked influence across entire regional economies – and would do anything they could to keep it that way. Hoarding wealth through unethical, exploitative practices, the robber barons were the closest thing to American royalty, therefore making their respective legacies quite complicated.

Take Andrew Carnegie, for example. A Scottish immigrant, he rose through the ranks of the Pittsburgh elite in building the Carnegie Steel Company, which he ultimately sold to J. P. Morgan in 1901 for over $300 million. At that point, however, his hands were anything but clean, as the infamous Homestead Strike – a bloody dispute between steel union workers and management that left 10 men dead and hundreds of others injured – permanently stained his reputation.

Yet Carnegie also deeply believed in philanthropy, giving away the modern equivalent of $5.5 billion to various institutions and organizations while pushing his peers to do the same. And there was one investment he stood behind more than others, a public good that could truly serve anyone: libraries.

Carnegie’s libraries – of which there’s 3,000, spread out across the world but mainly centered in the U.S. – share similar architecture elements, such as high ceilings and big windows. This design was intentional, as the businessman wanted everyone (including immigrants, like he once was) to walk in and feel a sense of opportunity. It was intended to be an “exalted experience,” a rich melting pot of knowledge and ideas. Therefore, the libraries were – as he dubbed them – “palaces for the people.”

This phrase served as inspiration for a 2018 book of the same name, written by American sociologist Eric Klinenberg. In it, the author argues that in order to “fight inequality, polarization, and the decline of civil life,” there’s a lot we can learn from Carnegie’s libraries, as well as other instances of social infrastructure.

Klinenberg defines social infrastructure as the physical places and organizations that shape the way we interact. This is not to be confused with “social capital,” which measures people’s network and interpersonal relationships. And it’s not to be misconstrued as purely a theoretical concept or metaphor, either. It refers to a physical system in place, same as we have for telecommunications, water, or power. In his words, it’s “literal material structure that shapes our social lives.”

Through his research, Klinenberg found that when communities invest in social infrastructure like parks, bowling alleys, churches, and libraries, we are far more likely to repeatedly engage with other people around us, from friends and family to neighbors and strangers. These spaces serve many purposes, such as offering opportunities to learn as well as socialization through physical activity. Regarding the former, many American libraries offer ESL classes to non-native speakers, along with free wifi and related resources. Regarding the latter, it’s not uncommon to see hundreds of elderly people flock to “senior playgrounds” in major Chinese cities, a relatively low-cost effort the government has taken to address older generations’ susceptibility for loneliness and lack of exercise.

Interior of Carnegie Library in Pittsburgh (Photo via PBS)

When these spaces are made more accessible to everyone, they also help us broaden our horizons, sparking interactions and encounters across the socioeconomic spectrum. Disagreements may arise from these experiences, albeit with a catch: Klinenberg notes they’re more likely to occur in a more respectful manner than elsewhere.

Because when we ignore these physical spaces, the sociologist says, we’re statistically more likely to hunker down, stay home, and spend our days alone. To glean satisfaction, we turn to machines, which are often optimized to sink us further down our echo chambers.

It seems obvious, right? Epidemiologists have firmly established a relationship between social connections, health, and longevity of life. This, therefore, influences how we choose to invest our most valuable resource – time.

Look no further than creators. Most I talk to are introverts by nature; the impetus to upload is less about achieving fame or riches (as most narratives would lead you to believe) and more about finding other people like ourselves, others who share the same interests and values.

The reason so many young people are driven to find community through online means, however, is because our public spaces are not designed and updated enough to accommodate our modern-day needs. In fact, most institutions are slashing budgets for social infrastructure out of an overarching belief that it’s no longer a priority and could serve more “efficient” purposes. One Forbes columnist even absurdly proposed that we should shutter libraries and replace them with something like Amazon’s 4-Star department stores.

In a talk he gave in New York City, Klinenberg referenced this article – and the swift, critical rebukes it received on Twitter – while recounting a recent weekend. He had taken his daughter to the Amazon store in SoHo, where he watched the disappointment creep into her face when she realized they weren’t buying anything. They then walked 20 minutes east to the Seward Park Library, which was closed…not for religious reasons, but because the local government doesn’t allot enough money to keep it open on Sundays.

This stands in stark contrast to most of the 20th century, when families spent their Sundays bowling in leagues, or reading together at the library. Now, during the weekends, instead of going to shared places in the public realm, we go to places that are in the private sector. Or, as Klinenberg states, “we pay to be part of public life”:

“...when it’s organized around very commercial activities,…you go shopping, it’s so much fun at first, and then you realize they’re asking you to spend money. Often, you don’t have that money. And so there’s always this strange feeling of organizing public life around commercial things, which is it’s uplifting, and then a little bit hollow and frustrating, too.”

Klinenberg claims he’s not a Luddite – he uses his smartphone just like the rest of us. Still, he questions why in the Western world, we often look to technology and the free market as the only avenue for solutions to arise.

Because while social media platforms have proven their utility in some cases, there’s a substantial enough body of work to show that when unchecked, they’re not an adequate replacement for social infrastructure.

Part III – The Public Town Square

In April, a single Twitter user set off one of the most-followed stories of 2022, a story that’s been so ridiculously fast-paced that I’m certain a new batch of headlines will emerge by the time I finish writing this sentence.

Unbeknownst to the public, at that time, the richest person in the world had been purchasing shares of the company. So when Elon Musk asked his over 100 million followers whether “a new platform is needed” for “the de facto public town square,” the question wasn’t as seemingly innocent as he posed it to be.

You probably know what followed: Elon offered above-market rates to take Twitter private, which the company’s board accepted; the billionaire tried to back out, only to get sued; and rather than deal with expensive legal fees (and the public embarrassment), he went through with the purchase, subsequently firing the executive team and turning the verification process on its head.

I’m not here to rehash this timeline, or dish out takes on the much-maligned blue bird. What I do think is relevant, however, is the stance taken by the company’s former CEO.

Out of all of those frivolous texts that came to light, Jack Dorsey came to an insightful conclusion regarding the future of Twitter. “Yes, a new platform is needed,” he texted Elon shortly after the latter’s now-infamous tweet. “It can’t be a company. This is why I left … It can’t have an advertising model … It should be funded by a foundation.”

From a bird’s-eye view (pun intended), we’ve never been more interconnected as humans. Facebook — whose stated mission is “to bring the world closer together” — boasts 2.4 billion monthly active users, 31% of the world’s population. Nielsen reports that the average adult spends over 11 hours a day in front of screens; this metric is increasing as we become more acclimated at younger ages, too, with kids ages 2–5 now clocking in over 32 hours of screen time per week. And on average, Gen Zers (individuals born between 1996–2010) spend nearly three hours per day on social media alone.

So, what can we make of these trends?

Looking at social media, platforms like Twitter make breaking news — from emergency situations to events on Capitol Hill — free and easily accessible to the masses. It’s now easier to interact with friends and family; it’s also easier to interact with our favorite celebrities and brands, forcing marketing teams to build positive relationships and trust among their customers.

The online world gives people ample opportunity to make their voice heard through the democratization of communication, where previously, such channels were often limited to media outlets whose influence was wielded by a select few. It also sparked a whole new generation of small media businesses and creative entrepreneurship, as YouTube contributed the equivalent of 425,000 full-time jobs in 2021 alone (a topic we’ve covered extensively here at Creator Mag).

Twitter has been characterized by many as “the public town square” (Photo by David Odisho)

Plus, massive movements, such as J.J. Watt’s Hurricane Harvey Relief Fund (which raised a whopping $41.6 million to support victims in Texas) and the March for Our Lives movement (which inspired people all over the U.S. to protest against gun violence), spread organically through Twitter and Facebook, among other platforms. More recently, pundits have credited the midterm results to activists who reached younger voters through platforms like TikTok; additionally, the world wouldn’t know as much about the Iranian protests without the record-breaking amount of messages shared on Twitter that featured #Mahsa_Amini.

Could these movements have affected hundreds of thousands — even millions — of lives without our current forms of free communication? To the same degree, well, probably not.

However, as the artist Richard Serra once said in 1973, “If something is free, you’re the product.” He might have been talking about television, but his message has only become more prescient. The mission statement about connecting the world that supposedly drives all of Facebook’s actions sounds great in theory…until you realize that the company has built a lucrative business model (paid advertising) that centers around keeping its users on the platform as long as possible.

A friend recently told me about their college buddy who works at Meta as an “engagement specialist.” This is common, as social media and big tech companies hire psychologists and consumer behaviorists to “leverage the very same neural circuitry used by slot machines and cocaine to keep us using their products as much as possible.” These short-term dopamine feedback loops leave us physically addicted and can lead to social isolation and, eventually, depression. Experts often point to the effects of sleeping less, skipping out on exercise, and creating a constant desire for social validation as driving this trend.

Building off that, in 2017, data passed oil as the most valuable resource in the world. There’s an enormous amount of money at stake for big tech when it comes to collecting this data and deciding what to do with it. And when companies allow bad actors like Cambridge Analytica to weaponize our data and swing elections like they did in 2016, creating fake news and catering to foreign interests, it’s an immense problem that affects entire democracies.

We can see the slippery slope that’s already playing out with the Saudis backing Elon’s Twitter takeover, or the Chinese government’s close ties to TikTok. Regarding the latter, one expert had this to say when talking about the platform in a recent episode of 60 Minutes:

“It’s almost like [Chinese company Bytedance] recognize[s] that technology’s influencing kids’ development, and they make their domestic version a spinach TikTok, while they ship the opium version to the rest of the world.”

That’s right: in China, users under the age of 14 are served only educational videos, and they’re limited to 40 minutes of screen time per day.

Come back to Jack Dorsey’s stance that platforms should be restructured as nonprofits. Even as think pieces abound, proclaiming “Social Media Is Dead” (Vice recently published an article with this exact title), again, there’s simply too much money at stake for an entire industry – and social fabric – to dissolve overnight.

No, it will take time, investment, and intentionality to reimagine these spaces, online and physical. And in a counterintuitive fashion, I believe that the creators who mastered our modern lines of communication are extraordinarily well-positioned to do as such.

Part IV – Building New Cities

I first wrote a version of this essay in November 2019, one month before the first case of COVID was discovered and four months before lockdowns became a living reality for most Americans.

My thesis has changed a lot since the pandemic began, partly because I’ve lived in two major cities – working, reading in, and exploring various cafes and libraries across the country. The main reason it’s evolved, though, is because it feels like more people now believe in the necessity for effective third spaces, especially after extended bouts of social isolation. It’s not just you and I waking up to this fact, either. Some venture capitalists even see experiments in this vein as fertile ground for investment, evidenced by Andreesen Horowitz plunging $350 million into Adam Neumann’s next business, a “housing utopia for remote workers.”

In this vein, Klinenberg believes that while libraries might feel like antiquated institutions, they present the best place – and model – to start refurbishing social infrastructure. Investment in these spaces needs to go past pure dollar sums, the sociologist says; you can’t just build it and expect people to come a la Field of Dreams. Organizers need to aggressively do outreach, understanding local leaders and the organizations they represent, as well as the vulnerabilities they face when serving their communities.

The way I see it, the path forward isn’t as black-and-white as TikTok bad, bowling alleys good, too. It’s about understanding how real community is formed through showing up consistently for each other and creating shared values. Arguing that the effort to bring people together through digital and physical means is more similar than people (and businesses) realize, one of the godfathers of online community, Reddit co-founder Alexis Ohanian, told me this:

“If you were to bring a small group of people together that liked…jogging. You do it because you really like jogging, and you put up a flyer. And no one shows up for a while, then a couple of people show up…everyone’s having a good time, eventually they bring some more people. All of a sudden you’ve got a 100-person jogging club with a culture, a shared history, experience…you have a community.
Now, if I told you that same story, and said, ‘What you need to do is hire some 21-year-old who also really likes jogging, have them post the flyer, show up every Sunday, organize the runs, do that for six months…and then you show up.’ You’d have no connection to those people…we as organisms understand how community-building works, yet we haven’t made the leap yet to understand it’s the exact same thing online.”

One of the best ongoing case studies I’ve found that embodies Ohanian’s ethos – and expands upon Klinenberg’s thesis – is a startup called Verci. Founded by a group of Gen Z college dropouts, their mission is “to unite and nurture the next generation of DaVincis through building Libraries of the Future in every city.” Backed by investors, this vision recently started to come into focus with a 24/7, 20,000-square foot space in downtown New York. Highlights include members’ abilities to co-work, connect with VCs, play games, and host fireside chats, the latter which they recently held with a friend of Creator Mag, Cleo Abram.

From following their progress and reading their manifesto, it feels like Verci is headed in the right direction, a strong attempt to solve the problem as identified in this essay. To spread their message, the team has made inroads with influential creators and grown a platform for themselves – while also acknowledging the trappings of a digital-first world. If this generation’s Einstein is working on optimizing the For You page engagement, they write, we’re hopelessly and utterly, doomed.

My one observation from Verci’s various marketing channels: their target demographic appears to be young, affluent, and urban, with a focus on artists and founders who are looking to meet peers (and even mentors) with similar interests. It’s intriguing for someone like yours truly, but I can also recognize that its $780 (discounted) quarterly membership and Gen Z skew is a step past the institutions Verci is inspired by.

Because libraries, of course, are public resources accessible to everyone, of all ages. Klinenberg notes that in gentrifying neighborhoods like Manhattan's Lower East Side – whose transition bubbles with tension beneath the surface – these spaces need to act as one of the last middle grounds where people of all socioeconomic statuses can still come together. In this case, Verci is supported by their community (and they even offer scholarships for their “Season 0” membership) but again, it’s still an example of needing to pay in order to participate in public life. While I can’t wait to attend a Verci event and see what the team does next, in their current form, I’d liken them more to a Soho House-esque private club focused on the entrepreneurially-inclined than a true library inclusive to those who are less so.

Now, a critic of Klinenberg might counter his stance by stating the obvious: as with everything, for the sausage to get made, someone has to foot the bill. Therefore, to continue building the third spaces of the future, is the only option to court controversial billionaires – Carnegie’s contemporary counterparts – and their foundations to support our institutions? Can we pressure local governments to reallocate resources towards these spaces? Will either method properly solve the problem if they can’t reach young people? Or is there another way entirely?

With a comprehensive strategy, creators like Ammar offer an intriguing middle ground, which is why his version of a “city” captivates me so thoroughly. Since their inception in 2015, Ammar and Yes Theory have made a name for themselves, from uploading straightforward challenge videos to filming their adventures across the globe, including a documentary in Ukraine this year that helped raise over $800,000 in humanitarian aid. Across platforms (mainly YouTube), their message has resonated with more than ten million followers, who choose to live out values espoused by all members of the “Yes Fam.” Life’s most beautiful moments and meaningful connections, they say, exist outside our comfort zones.

Yes Theory’s Ammar Kandil (Photo via Instagram)

In the abstract, this might come off as a bit cheesy, but watch any of their videos and you’ll see that the genuine commitment by which the co-founders live has helped them gain the trust of a vast, diverse group of people. Yes Fam offshoots have popped up from Ireland to Egypt; local members have organized meetups, forged lifelong relationships, and – in some cases – even gotten married – all through a shared love for the namesake YouTube channel. The group’s successful merchandise brand, the aptly-named Seek Discomfort, has expanded past apparel with an ice-breaking card game called Spark that doubles down on their message to push past our boundaries. Finally, they just hosted eight international premieres for their first feature-length documentary, Project Iceman, which subsequently got picked up for a limited run of screenings across 158 Cinemark theaters this December.

Has Yes Theory developed a robust culture? Absolutely. Do they have a shared history of experiences with – and within – the Yes Fam? Undoubtedly. And are they crazy enough to pull off this spin on third spaces?

The answer to that last question will have to wait until 2023, once the creator has taken some time to rest after sprinting to the finish with Iceman. But I believe he’s the right person to tackle this thing on because he understands the might of Yes Theory’s digital footprint while also appreciating its limitations:

“Yes Theory, as a virtual space, came to address a lot of these things. And I think that the extension of that idea – whether it’s specific Yes Theory spaces, or spaces that represent what Yes Theory stands for – [is] can we build a decentralized ‘city’ that exists as a network of spaces across the world…that will represent different perspectives and needs. And the collective of that, when we look in 100 years, we’re gonna be like, ‘That’s a solid, consistent space for citizens around the world to be a part of, to have a sense of belonging for.’
I think it will both be my pursuit to build these spaces that represent the values of Yes Theory, but it’s also finding every person who shares that vision, and being able to support them. And giving them a platform so that their vision thrives, because if we all want the same thing, it shouldn’t succumb to capitalism and make it a competition.”

The challenge for Ammar will be to operate this new venture within the confines of the great online game that helped spur so much of his success. But Yes Theory is a once-in-a-generation movement turned thriving global community – the media company was simply a natural byproduct. They would have never gained exposure without YouTube, yes, but it’s the way in which they so carefully crafted their core Facebook group and interacted with their fans that makes them stand out. And if we look at these spaces as an investment into their established flywheel, the group can naturally integrate this new social infrastructure into the Seek Discomfort brand, strengthening their relationship with the Yes Fam along the way.

Plus, these spaces sound like they’ll combine the culture of cafes with the utility of libraries. Yes Theory grew out of an organic love for filmmaking and bringing people together; the group was never shy about spreading political messages through their work, either. And from Ammar’s description, they’ll also prioritize inclusivity and accessibility from the jump, designed in lockstep with local community leaders.

Towards the end of the podcast, the creator teased the opening of their first space in Amsterdam. Picture coffee and books, with Seek Discomfort tees on shelves and Spark playing cards spread across tables, all backed by the underlying media company.

Can you see it? I certainly can.

Conclusion

As Klinenberg wrote, the social changes that third spaces help introduce are not quickly noticeable or easily identifiable. A political priority to invest in proactive initiatives (like libraries and parks) often doesn’t slot into catchy campaign slogans the same way as reactive measures (like being “tough on crime”) do.

But when conceived well, the long-term, positive effects of social infrastructure are clear. To spur a renaissance with these goals at the forefront, it will take a constant exchange of ideas and allocation of resources, with no singular party or experiment holding all of the answers.

Nevertheless, when we look back at our history, from cafes and libraries to YouTube and social media, the leaders we need most hail from different places. Yet they share a knack for bringing people together, in physical spaces, for meaningful connection and conversation.

We have an opportunity to rebuke the notion that our attention spans have become too short to care about anything. And as Ammar alluded to, in 100 years, we might just look back at this time – a period rife with problems but ripe for innovation – as a truly special moment, a testament to the ingenuity of humans and their ability to create meaning through our true most valuable resource: each other.

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The Case For The Coffeehouse

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