Nearly half of all households in the Nordic countries are single-occupant—a quiet milestone that carries outsized consequences for the planet. Each person living alone needs their own toaster, washing machine, and refrigerator, multiplying the appliances and resources required compared to shared homes. Sustainability researcher Tullia Jack set out to understand why people choose solitude, interviewing 23 solo dwellers across different ages, genders, and backgrounds, and discovered something surprising: many hadn't chosen it at all.
The Nordic pattern reflects a broader shift in how we live, but it also reveals a gap between preference and reality. Jack found that many of her interviewees would actually prefer to share a home—with a romantic partner, friends, or in a co-living arrangement. Living alone "was just something that had happened," Jack explains. The housing market conspires against alternative arrangements: new buildings are designed for nuclear families or single occupants, and securing shared leases or mortgages becomes complicated for people outside traditional relationships. For those newly arrived in a city, the willingness to share is high, but finding someone to live with is harder than finding an apartment of one's own, particularly without existing networks. The range of co-living spaces remains limited.
Jack organized her findings into four distinct groups. Recent arrivals to cities showed eagerness to share but faced practical barriers. Others felt they had "outgrown" co-living after university or financial necessity made it appealing; the dynamics eventually became too demanding, or they internalized the sense that shared housing was something only young people did. Empty nesters—whose children had left home—rarely reconsidered their housing arrangements, and options for older adults seeking co-living remain scarce. Then there were those who actively sought solitude, expressing genuine needs for privacy and undisturbed space.
A striking gender divide emerged. Men were far more dissatisfied with solo living and found it stigmatizing. Women, particularly older women who had previously lived with partners, were often adamant about remaining alone, citing unequal divisions of household labour. As one woman put it with quiet intensity: "I was free when we were together, but not free enough."
Loneliness threaded through the interviews. Half of those Jack spoke with spontaneously mentioned feeling lonely or isolated. The problem runs deeper than mere emotional discomfort. Solo dwellers often lack what Jack calls "passive social capital"—the safety net of someone to turn to during hardship or for practical help with daily life. They might have many acquaintances but few genuine anchors.
Yet this isn't a story of resigned isolation. Jack frames co-living as "low-hanging fruit" for reducing carbon emissions, and she sees the social benefits as equally compelling. Most people, she suggests, could thrive better with housemates—though not everyone. The path forward requires deliberate steps: designing flexible co-living models, creating financial incentives for shared homes, and developing matching systems that respect people's need for privacy. The goal is not to force solitary dwellers out of their homes, but to make sharing easier, more appealing, and genuinely accessible—for the sake of both climate and community.