‘Living for the weekend’ has become a nightmarish obligation for Gen Z

It’s 11am on a Saturday and I’m already three mimosas into bottomless brunch. Gaggles of girlies surround me as we slurp our way through our allotted booze and gorge on disgustingly undercooked pizza. I go to the loo for a private moment and quietly think to myself: can I really keep this up? I’m “living for the weekend” too hard. I’ve got rooftop drinks this evening. And a Beyoncé-themed spin class tomorrow. Followed by a so-called “ hot girl art night ” organised by my friend, which I’ll inevitably have to drag myself along to. But the truth is, I’m not enjoying any of this.

As adulthood has rapidly unfurled itself , and the nine-to-five takes up the biggest chunk of my waking hours, I’ve succumbed to the pressure of going excessively OTT on the weekends. Think of it as trying to compensate for the dreariness of my weekly routine, which consists of eating, sleeping, working and repeating.

I’d wager that I’m not alone. “Living for the weekend culture” is spiralling into something ugly as of late, and we’ve likely got social media to thank for it. My Instagram feed is swarmed with thousands of videos with titles like: “10 wholesome friend dates to try in London this weekend”, “Three ways to live your hot girl summer” and “Here’s your sign to go to a boozy pottery painting party”. In the past, I’d watch these videos and feel guilty if my weekends weren’t as memorable, even if I wasn’t enamoured by the prospect of painting ceramics while mildly drunk. The problem is, especially for social media-native Gen Zs and millennials , we’re told our weekends need to look a certain way. And I found it difficult to resist.

In an attempt to start taking control of my free time again, I recently started enforcing a day of nothingness on a Sunday. It’s when I do whatever I feel like. I know, it’s hardly revolutionary. But for hardcore weekend people, it’s tricky to accept seeing an empty day in your calendar.

Ishita Uppadhayay, a 23-year-old London-based poet and policy professional, tells me she finds it difficult to stay at home and do absolutely nothing on the weekends. “When I moved to London from India, where I’m from, I got this feeling that I needed to make the most out of the weekends in London,” she says. “There’s people that would kill to live here. Some people centre their whole personalities on moving to London – it’s got this mythical, cult status in the way that New York does. And there’s so much going on.” She worries that if she doesn’t make the most of it, or isn’t grateful enough for living in a city so rich in arts and culture, then it’s a waste somehow.

Uppadhayay tells me she’s constantly aware of her peers eventually settling down, and inevitably leaving London to put down roots in more affordable places. She thinks they’ve got limited time left together in the city. “Part of the pressure is that no one is going to be in London forever, and I want to take advantage of all of these things while I live here,” she sighs. “I’m often cramming in going to events with making time for my partner and my close friends. A lot of different things pile up.”

If we’re trying to fit everything into our weekends to fill our buckets so we can have an identity outside of work, we are not getting time for recovery

For other people, and even those who aren’t card-carrying members of Gen Z, there’s a particular pressure to share aesthetically pleasing snippets of their weekends online. Lucy Baker, who owns the blog Geriatric Mum , found that she was spending her weekends governed by the prospect of showing off her fun times with her three children on social media. On days out, she would put on extra makeup, readying herself for any photo opportunity. Eventually, this obligation started to wear her down. “I was fed up with saying ‘kids, stop, photo!’ or posting pictures of my dog, or doing my face just in case I wanted to post a selfie.” Now that she’s removed Instagram from her phone altogether, she’s started to feel more present throughout the week and weekends. “I’m not wasting hours looking at other people’s lives any more, which is quite dull when you think about it – they’re edited versions of life and not real at all.”

There’s a broader issue here, too. Most of us find it physically impossible to squeeze everything into a strict 48 hours that is both fulfilling and productive. And that’s because our ratio of work versus rest and play is “way off”, according to psychology researcher Dr Robyne Hanley-Dafoe. She says there might be harm in overdoing it on the weekends because we’re not leaving ourselves any time to relax. “Most of the population is overworked and under-rested,” she says, explaining that, on average, 70 per cent of our waking hours are often given to work. “If we’re trying to fit everything into our weekends to fill our buckets so we can have an identity outside of work, we are not getting time for recovery.” She tells me about “protesting behaviour”, which, in this context, is jam-packing your weekends to try and reclaim your time. “Protesting behaviour can also look like staying up way too late on a weeknight for ‘me’ time because many of us are giving too much of ourselves to our employers.”

There’s a risk of going into autopilot if we don’t have rest days. “Some people can become addicted to stress cycling, which is always feeling like they’re on the go, and they actually don’t know how to relax,” says Hanley-Dafoe. She points out that if we don’t carve out space in our calendars for self-reflection, we can become disconnected from checking in with our real emotions.

This might be why so many people are behind the four-day working week campaign. In a study released earlier this year, which trialled the working pattern across 61 companies, participants reported feeling less stressed and more positive about work. Unnecessary meetings were cut out of schedules and people found their productivity increased. But, more importantly, participants reported an improvement in their personal lives. “I am now able to spend a day a week with my daughter,” one anonymous worker said. “This made transitioning back to work from maternity leave much easier. It has also saved us childcare costs.” And then there’s the reduced burnout and more time to have... actual fun on your own terms.

While the four-day week doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon , I am starting to strike a healthier balance between work and play. It started by leaving blank days in my calendar, and not letting myself get dragged along to any event that falls within the category of “organised fun”. I now use my weeknights more wisely, dedicating them to meaningfully socialising and exercising, and leaving the weekends open for spontaneity. Now, every Saturday morning, I sigh in relief at my empty calendar. There’s not a bottomless brunch in sight.