When I think of Seattle, I often refer to popular movies and TV shows that use the city as their setting and background, such as “10 Things I Hate About You” (1999), “Grey’s Anatomy” (2005) and “Fifty Shades of Grey” (2015). Apart from including shots of iconic landmarks, like the Space Needle or Kerry Park, there was always a common prop included: the rain.
The running joke that it’s “always raining in Seattle” has occupied my mind since I first moved to the city two years ago. Growing up in the Philippines where there were only two types of seasons, Monsoon and Dry, rain was not a dealbreaker. It was easy to buy all of the coats, puffer jackets, long sleeve shirts and fleece-lined leggings, because it was just a matter of keeping warm and dry, right?
That was until I came across a phenomenon called “The Seattle Freeze.” Although its origins are not exactly clear, it was first coined by Julia Sommerfeld in 2005 when she was writing for The Seattle Times as part of their Pacific Northwest Magazine. It was titled in an odd way, claiming that it was our “Social Dis-ease” followed by the tagline, “Beyond the smiles, the Seattle Freeze is on.”
Like me, Sommerfeld identified herself as a “transplant,” which referred to people who migrated to Seattle. The attempt to bond with anyone within the vicinity was as follows: A potential friend asked, in a potential tone, a potential offer to potentially grab a coffee or matcha or what other trending drink is circling the social sphere. She described the occurrence to be the infamous “Seattle Freeze,” an unspoken “Welcome to Seattle … Now please go away.” It was simple: a lack of genuine connections and relationships was becoming a notable characteristic of Seattle, a city deemed nice but not kind. It sounds harsh on text, but the subtlety of the interactions was unsettling. You would not realize that you were “ghosted” until you’re home and linger around your phone over the next few days, hoping for a message confirming the date.
It was even more difficult when I had about a month to pack my things into my only two luggage and move halfway across the world to pursue higher education; friends and family that I did not have enough time to say goodbye to, all the teen years of my life behind me. No one teaches you how to cope with that loss before having to face the new difficulty of getting used to a city that is colder than the weather.
This social isolation phenomenon was an immediate freeze to my ability to make adult friends. I was not prepared for that sense of desperation for social contact to pour into my life as though I was trying to fit into a place that I did not feel like I belonged in.
Especially during an age of transitions. Entering adulthood after struggling with adolescence, relationships have already been established, and I find myself sitting in a corner—for the most part—watching. I was a transplant, the new kid in town. It’s easier to say than to just get out there and talk, because for the most part, not everyone wants to talk.
So, why is it that even if we crave this human connection, there is still a lack of social stimulation?
In a 2019 Seattle Times article, author Christine Clarridge mentioned the term “Joy of Missing Out” a.k.a. JOMO. As obvious as it may be, it’s the exact opposite of FOMO or the “Fear of Missing Out.” Typically associated with events, hangouts and dates, it’s described as a person’s feeling of “There’s a party I’m not going to, and I’m glad I’m not going to it.”
This JOMO is almost a slap to the face. It feels as if there’s this superiority and judgment from people whom I reach out to as if I committed a federal offense by offering to go out; “We don’t need those people. We have our lives. It’s fine. We like it, and if they don’t, that’s not our problem.”
Since I moved and dealt with physical and emotional isolation for months on end, I can’t help but openly say that I wouldn’t mind befriending a stranger on the street who so happened to compliment my outfit or asked where my shoes are from, in hopes that a compliment turns into a conversation, which leads to potential friendships that I could cherish.
This Seattle Freeze has been a difficult battle. Over two years living here, I still struggle creating deeper connections beyond the occasional “How have you been?” question that’s awkwardly thrown into the beginning of a conversation that will just end up being a formality more than sociality.
