Paisley, a 23-year-old from Manchester, found himself in an unexpected dependency that would reshape his daily existence in profound ways. Working remotely after years of pandemic isolation, he discovered his most reliable conversational partner wasn't human—it was artificial intelligence. "I lost the ability to socialise," he admitted with striking candor, revealing a pattern that has become alarmingly common among his generation. His daily routine included reaching out to ChatGPT six to eight times, seeking solace in algorithmic responses when human connection felt out of reach.
This phenomenon forms the centerpiece of a new documentary, "Generation Lonely," produced by 22-year-old filmmaker Sam Tullen. The film exposes what many experts are calling a loneliness crisis among Generation Z, those born between 1997 and 2012. These digital natives, paradoxically, are experiencing unprecedented social isolation despite growing up hyperconnected online. The irony isn't lost on researchers: the most technologically connected generation in history may also be the most emotionally disconnected.
The statistics paint a stark picture that demands immediate attention. According to the Office for National Statistics, young adults aged 16 to 29 represent the loneliest demographic across Britain, with 33% reporting they feel lonely "often, always, or some of the time." This isn't merely a fleeting sense of solitude—it's a systemic issue reshaping how an entire generation relates to others and themselves. The data suggests we're witnessing not just individual struggles but a collective social failure that could define this era.
The COVID-19 pandemic served as an accelerant to an already smoldering problem. For Paisley, the transition from school to remote work meant zero buffer period for developing adult social skills. "I felt lost, I didn't know how to speak to people, and I couldn't figure out why," he explained. The lockdowns didn't just pause social development—they actively eroded it, leaving many young professionals unable to navigate basic workplace interactions or form meaningful friendships. The timing proved particularly cruel, hitting Gen Z during their formative transition years when social skills typically solidify.
Sam Tullen, thrust into adulthood during the global crisis, understands this struggle intimately. "As a 22-year-old myself, thrust into adulthood during a global pandemic, I can relate to Paisley's struggles and I'm sure many others in their early twenties will too," he shared. His documentary investigation revealed that Paisley's experience isn't an outlier but rather a symptom of broader societal failure to support youth mental health and social development. The film becomes both personal narrative and social commentary, giving voice to a generation's silent struggle.
The research supports this narrative with troubling clarity. Youth charity Onside commissioned a YouGov survey of over 5,000 young people aged 11 to 18 in England, uncovering that 39% now turn to chatbots for emotional support. In the North West region, the figure reaches 38%, with a striking 21% admitting they find it easier to confide in AI than in human beings. These numbers represent a seismic shift in how young people seek support and process emotions.
This preference for digital companionship over human interaction reveals a disturbing trend in social behavior. "We've built a world where it's easier to talk to a chatbot than a human," Sam observed. Young people are asking AI the same questions they'd pose to friends: "What do you think of my outfit?" or "What should I do today?" The boundary between tool and companion has blurred dangerously, creating a new form of relationship that exists entirely in code and lacks genuine reciprocity.
The appeal is understandable from a psychological standpoint. AI offers immediate, non-judgmental responses available 24/7. It doesn't have bad days, doesn't gossip, and never makes you feel like a burden. For someone like Paisley, who felt "trapped" in his isolation, ChatGPT provided a safe space to practice vulnerability without fear of rejection. "I was hoping that it would just be my friend, and the easiest point of contact was talking to a robot because it gave a response," he said. The algorithm became a security blanket, but one woven from data rather than warmth.
However, this digital safety net comes with significant drawbacks that can't be ignored. Sam's interviews revealed a common trajectory: initial relief followed by realization that AI cannot truly fill the void. "I think in Paisley's case he tried talking to AI to sort of fill that void. And he found it didn't work," Sam noted. "It isn't something that's sustainable." The temporary fix becomes a long-term problem, creating dependency without delivering true connection.
The unsustainability stems from AI's fundamental limitations. While it can simulate empathy through pattern recognition, it lacks genuine emotional understanding, shared experiences, and the reciprocal nature of human relationships. The dangerous slope Paisley described reflects how dependency on AI can further isolate individuals, making real-world interactions feel increasingly daunting. Each algorithmic conversation potentially deepens the social anxiety it aims to soothe, creating a vicious cycle of avoidance.
This crisis demands more than digital solutions or technological fixes. The article references youth groups across Greater Manchester providing safe spaces for thousands of young people—physical locations where genuine human connection can be rebuilt. These initiatives represent the antidote to algorithmic companionship: community, shared activities, and face-to-face support systems. They offer what no chatbot can: presence, genuine eye contact, and the unpredictable magic of human interaction.
The implications extend beyond individual mental health into societal stability. A generation unable to form strong social bonds may struggle with workplace collaboration, civic engagement, and building families. The economic and social costs could reverberate for decades, affecting everything from productivity to democratic participation. As Sam puts it, "Using an AI chatbot to replace friends is, yeah, one way that you could put it"—a understated acknowledgment of a profound shift in human behavior that should alarm us all.
Paisley's story serves as both warning and call to action. His recovery from AI dependency required recognizing that true connection involves risk, vulnerability, and sometimes discomfort—elements no chatbot can replicate. The documentary "Generation Lonely" doesn't just document a problem; it challenges viewers to reconsider what we've normalized in our post-pandemic world. It asks difficult questions about community and isolation that society must answer.
The path forward requires balancing technology's benefits with intentional community building. Schools, employers, and local organizations must prioritize social skill development and create opportunities for meaningful interaction. For Gen Z, the choice isn't between digital and analog, but between isolation and authentic connection. The solution isn't rejecting technology but relearning how to be human alongside it, using AI as a tool rather than a crutch.
As society grapples with this crisis, one truth emerges clearly: while AI can offer temporary comfort, it cannot replace the irreplaceable—the messy, complicated, beautiful reality of human relationships. The challenge lies not in rejecting technology, but in ensuring it supplements rather than substitutes for the social fabric that keeps us truly connected. Paisley's journey reminds us that the most advanced algorithm can't replicate a simple human hug, a shared laugh, or the quiet comfort of being truly seen and understood by another person. These fundamental human experiences remain our most powerful antidote to the loneliness epidemic threatening an entire generation.