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A review by rbruehlman
Platonic: How the Science of Attachment Can Help You Make and Keep Friends by Marisa G. Franco
4.0
Like most popular psychology books, Platonic, which explores what makes healthy friendships thrive, doesn't really cover completely uncharted ground. Yes, of course taking initiative is important in new friendships; yes, of course being generous with your time, without being taken advantage of, helps friendships grow, etc. There are no true surprises in this book, and the book won't give you a step-by-step on how to make friends, either (if that were even possible).
No, what the book excels at--or, at least, what makes the book a worthwhile read, should you be so inclined--is inspiring self-reflection. As Franco details what makes a friendship blossom and thrive, it prompted me to question myself: do I do (insert good thing)? Do I self-sabotage by doing (insert not-helpful thing)? What are qualities of friends I feel closest to? We all know when someone feels like a "good friend," or at least someone we feel comfortable around, but we aren't always consciously able to spell out exactly why on the spot. Same for our own deficiencies in developing friendships. It is a good thing to have it explicitly spelled out, not because we don't intuitively know, but because the explicit exploration of friendship can make us stop and think.
I think different people will take away different things, but the biggest takeaway for me, personally, was on vulnerability. I thought her analysis of effective vulnerability, the type that makes us feel closer, was very insightful. We've all known people who share nothing about themselves, making them feel cold and distant, or the person you barely know who overshares and makes everyone feel uncomfortable. Yet, friends who divulge something personal and secret makes us feel closer and fonder of them. Franco notes vulnerability is critical in deepening a friendship, but context is incredibly important.
It was interesting for me reading about vulnerability's role, because it occurred to me that I am actually really bad at showing vulnerability! I've long considered myself an open book, but I am actually not at all. I think this mistaken impression comes from my candor. If someone directly asked me, "Have you ever struggled with (insert deeply personal, difficult thing)?", I'd probably answer yes and be willing to answer whatever questions they had, but in a factual, highly intellectualized way, never emotional. However, I would not ever admit unasked, and especially in solicitation of support. I do not share or lean on others when I am struggling; if I do, I say something quickly and casually, and quickly hurry the conversation along, lest the person think less of me or I've somehow overshared... which is strange, since I so appreciate when people are vulnerable with me and never think less of them for it.
It's interesting food for thought, because relationships without vulnerability are ultimately shallow ones. Perhaps that's why many people say work relationships are shallow (not my experience)--it's not that people don't like their coworkers, but work puts up an artificial veneer and distance for the sake of "professionalism." It also made me think about how common being "vulnerable" with mental health is these days on social media is. If vulnerability is so critical for emotional intimacy, you would think that public disclosure would make us feel more connected to one another, yet, at least for me, it doesn't (and based on increased loneliness rates in the country, it doesn't for other people much either). Blasting your struggle with burnout on social media indiscriminately to all of your followers just lands differently than when you disclose it to a friend privately. It's like you have trusted them specifically with this information.
Overall, I thought the book was good food for thought, especially for people who struggle to make friends and/or wish existing friendships were deeper (guilty as charged twice!). It was breezy and easy-to-read, a good mix of engaging anecdotes and psychology studies that meant it avoided the usual two kisses of death for pop psychology books (too fluffy or too dry). I did feel like the book felt ... short, though? It's 260ish pages, so it's not technically, but it somehow felt was unfinished, somehow. Franco briefly touches on the increasing loneliness Americans have reported over the years, but I wish she had talked more about why. I have my own theories, but it would have been nice to see her explore it and connect it back to the topics and themes in the book.
No, what the book excels at--or, at least, what makes the book a worthwhile read, should you be so inclined--is inspiring self-reflection. As Franco details what makes a friendship blossom and thrive, it prompted me to question myself: do I do (insert good thing)? Do I self-sabotage by doing (insert not-helpful thing)? What are qualities of friends I feel closest to? We all know when someone feels like a "good friend," or at least someone we feel comfortable around, but we aren't always consciously able to spell out exactly why on the spot. Same for our own deficiencies in developing friendships. It is a good thing to have it explicitly spelled out, not because we don't intuitively know, but because the explicit exploration of friendship can make us stop and think.
I think different people will take away different things, but the biggest takeaway for me, personally, was on vulnerability. I thought her analysis of effective vulnerability, the type that makes us feel closer, was very insightful. We've all known people who share nothing about themselves, making them feel cold and distant, or the person you barely know who overshares and makes everyone feel uncomfortable. Yet, friends who divulge something personal and secret makes us feel closer and fonder of them. Franco notes vulnerability is critical in deepening a friendship, but context is incredibly important.
It was interesting for me reading about vulnerability's role, because it occurred to me that I am actually really bad at showing vulnerability! I've long considered myself an open book, but I am actually not at all. I think this mistaken impression comes from my candor. If someone directly asked me, "Have you ever struggled with (insert deeply personal, difficult thing)?", I'd probably answer yes and be willing to answer whatever questions they had, but in a factual, highly intellectualized way, never emotional. However, I would not ever admit unasked, and especially in solicitation of support. I do not share or lean on others when I am struggling; if I do, I say something quickly and casually, and quickly hurry the conversation along, lest the person think less of me or I've somehow overshared... which is strange, since I so appreciate when people are vulnerable with me and never think less of them for it.
It's interesting food for thought, because relationships without vulnerability are ultimately shallow ones. Perhaps that's why many people say work relationships are shallow (not my experience)--it's not that people don't like their coworkers, but work puts up an artificial veneer and distance for the sake of "professionalism." It also made me think about how common being "vulnerable" with mental health is these days on social media is. If vulnerability is so critical for emotional intimacy, you would think that public disclosure would make us feel more connected to one another, yet, at least for me, it doesn't (and based on increased loneliness rates in the country, it doesn't for other people much either). Blasting your struggle with burnout on social media indiscriminately to all of your followers just lands differently than when you disclose it to a friend privately. It's like you have trusted them specifically with this information.
Overall, I thought the book was good food for thought, especially for people who struggle to make friends and/or wish existing friendships were deeper (guilty as charged twice!). It was breezy and easy-to-read, a good mix of engaging anecdotes and psychology studies that meant it avoided the usual two kisses of death for pop psychology books (too fluffy or too dry). I did feel like the book felt ... short, though? It's 260ish pages, so it's not technically, but it somehow felt was unfinished, somehow. Franco briefly touches on the increasing loneliness Americans have reported over the years, but I wish she had talked more about why. I have my own theories, but it would have been nice to see her explore it and connect it back to the topics and themes in the book.