Table for One: The Stigma Around Solo-Dining

Hayden Won, staff writer

In the corner of a small café, an older man sits alone nursing a cup of coffee. He isn’t scrolling through his phone or reading the paper. He simply sits there, quietly content. Still, there is undoubtedly one onlooker who feels a flicker of pity; it’s a reflex more than a thought, the assumption that he is there alone for another reason than by choice. Despite being a uniformly experienced feeling, it is a widely unspoken topic. Because beneath the empathy is something murkier: a projection of our own fear of public solitude. We’re not sad for them, but rather anxious about what their image reflects back onto us. 

The real discomfort of dining alone doesn’t come from isolation itself. It comes from being seen that way. Most people are perfectly fine spending time by themselves—until it becomes visible. Being alone is safe behind closed doors, but in public, it’s subject to judgment. For many, that anxiety starts young. The “cafeteria effect,” as it might be called, takes root in middle school lunchrooms, where your social worth is measured by the company you keep. That early conditioning doesn’t disappear with age. Even as adults, there’s a familiar thought of someone might think I got stood up. And as you age further, there's the assumption that you’re a widow. It’s irrational but deeply human, reflecting how intertwined identity and perception have become, and social media only intensifies this.  

“It’s always been my biggest fear to be seen being alone, rather than actually being alone,” admitted TikTok creator Madeline Argy, recognized for her relatable videos and podcast that frankly explore themes of adulting and insecurity. Although many of us will never experience the exact circumstances and rooms that she is, the feeling is still entirely relatable. This fear manifested far before her internet fame, citing a particular moment from childhood of her sitting on a coach bus with nobody next to her, and feeling embarrassment at her mother noticing her lack of company as she waved her off. She distinctly recalls feeling fine when the bus rode off, and that it was the piercing shame that arose from her mother watching that initiated her discomfort.  

After surveying 20 students at lunch whether it was more embarrassing to look alone than to be genuinely alone, an overwhelming majority of respondents said the former. “I feel fine when I am alone, but actually alone. If I’m alone in public, then it starts to feel sort of embarrassing,” admitted senior Reema Shankar, echoing the sentiments of many who have also felt the phenomenon of the “imaginary audience.” 

Culturally, we praise independence and self-sufficiency. “Do things for yourself,” “love your own company,” “you don’t need anyone else.” But when independence shows up in its simplest, most regular form — like sitting at a restaurant table alone — it suddenly looks vulnerable. There’s a contradiction in how people talk about solitude versus how they respond to it. We admire confidence, but only when it looks social and self-assured, never isolated. Elsewhere, the experience is viewed differently. In Japan, for example, solo dining is normalized and even designed for. Ramen shops offer cubicle-style booths where customers eat privately. It’s not a sign of loneliness but of mindfulness, efficiency or simply personal preference.  

To eat alone doesn’t have to signify loneliness. It can mean observation, introspection and stillness. There’s a kind of quiet empowerment in claiming your own company, especially in public, and reframing solitude starts with small acts of social reconditioning. The more people do it, the less it stands out. So, choosing to sit down for a meal alone shouldn’t feel like an ordeal, because after all, comfort with yourself is a skill, not a flaw. The man in the café doesn’t need company to validate his presence because the pity he receives isn’t his; it’s misplaced. For in a culture fanatically obsessed with togetherness, maybe the coolest thing you can do is order a table for one.