I’m at the pub with my friend, catching up over drinks, when her friend walks in – let’s call her Clara.
Clara mentions the party she’s throwing next weekend. Our mutual friend is counting down the days, but it’s news to me.
I arrange my face into an expression of polite interest, imagining that they will soon move on. But they keep going – about Clara’s preparations, the drinks she’s ordered, the DJ.
It’s not that I expect an invitation – I don’t know her well – but their focused discussion is starting to feel pointed, especially in the small city we share. I can’t help feeling left out.
Finally, they turn to a new topic, but the interaction leaves me feeling uneasy and insecure, like I’d just been dragged back to high school.
Were they really excluding me, or should I have angled for an invite?
New research has shed light on the psychology of “self-invitation”, and why people hold back from asking to join others’ plans. Psychologists staged eight experiments, involving both hypothetical scenarios and participants’ real-life experiences, and found that anxieties associated with “self-inviting” were rooted in misunderstandings about the organiser’s mindset.
Namely, the study found that when we learn friends have made plans without us, we tend to overestimate the possibility that they had decided against inviting us, rather than just being preoccupied with other things.
We also overestimate how irritated they would be if we asked to join. In fact, researchers found that, more often than not, organisers would prefer we did, and that including us had probably “merely slipped their mind”.
When we jump to the conclusion that we’ve been deliberately excluded, we’re usually projecting our anxieties and insecurities, says Daniel M Grossman, an assistant professor of marketing at the University of Missouri-St Louis, who co-authored the paper. “We’re not very good at reading others’ minds and motivations – or even our own, sometimes.”
For example, we generally assume that we’ve been actively considered and discounted when, in reality, organisers are likely to have been busy with logistics such as finding a time that suits everyone or booking tickets.
“We have this natural, egocentric tendency to overestimate how much people are considering us or paying attention to us in general – not just with invitations but also the clothing we wear, our appearance and our behaviours,” Grossman says.
Sometimes, people are left out on purpose, he allows: “I don’t want to say that never happens.” But his study suggests it’s more likely that our names just didn’t come up, or the organisers didn’t think we’d be interested.
After all, Grossman points out, if friends had really meant to exclude us, they probably wouldn’t be so open about their plans. “Organisers really can’t think about including everyone, to everything they decide to do. I think that’s an exhausting expectation to put on anyone.”
Likewise, we hold back from asking to join in because we believe that would be irritating to organisers when Grossman found that – not always, but often – they would rather we did.
That said, Grossman says, it can be nerve-racking to put yourself out there, even with people you’re close to.
His research didn’t explore individual differences, but he suspects that traits like high self-confidence, low sensitivity to rejection and strong social belonging might make people feel more comfortable asking to be included.
Conversely, those high in social anxiety, or “especially concerned with impression management”, may be more hesitant.
Prior experiences may also play a part. “If you had one experience growing up when you said ‘Hey, can I join?’ and someone said no – these rejections really stick with us, especially when they occur at a younger age,” Grossman says.
Feeling left out is the core fear of the teenager – hence why my run-in with Clara felt so adolescent. But we don’t have to stick with those internal scripts.
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I became more comfortable taking social risks when I moved countries – first aged 23, then again at 26.
I learned to be quite shameless about asking to join colleagues and acquaintances in their plans because my social life depended on it. Most were more than accommodating, introducing me to friends and new circles. On the occasions when they politely brushed me off, I tried not to take it personally – I’d benefited from taking the chance and flexing my social muscle.
Grossman says people routinely overestimate the discomfort, awkwardness or pain of social rejection. Even asking to be included is likely not as difficult (or excruciating) as they may imagine.
Across their eight experiments, Grossman and his team tested two approaches to “self-inviting”: asking “That sounds like a great time – can I come with you?” versus stating, “I’ll join you”. The latter is less common and “a lot more assertive”, Grossman says – even “a little bit presumptuous”.
Yet the researchers found the outcome was no different “whether the self-inviter asked to join, or simply stated that they would”.
Grossman nevertheless recommends asking nicely – with an emphasis on the word “ask”. (I tend to drop obvious hints, like “I’ve always wanted to do that – and I’m free that day!”)
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Grossman’s findings don’t necessarily mean that “all self-invitations are going to be met with open arms”, he adds: context such as the nature of the plans, the closeness of the relationship and the personality of the self-inviter “all likely play a role in how the self-invitation is received”. Additionally, the study only looked at casual, everyday plans, like going to see a film or for a walk in the park, rather than formal events with curated guest lists, like weddings.
Still, Grossman believes the results should encourage us to take more social risks. “Overall, our findings suggest that many people are missing opportunities for connection out of this fear that oftentimes we find is overestimated,” he says.
Organisers can do their bit by making invitations explicit, instead of assuming that others will infer that they’re included or else feel comfortable asking to come. “Just a ‘You’re welcome to come’ dissipates all of that,” Grossman says.Z
After speaking with him, I stumble upon a template on Instagram that lists “Activities I like being invited to”; it has been shared over 136,000 times, personalised with each user’s preferences. Some people signal that they’re keen for camping and clubbing but not karaoke; others are open to going for a run, but not to a bar.
I am reminded of the different ways there are to spend time together, and feel inspired to take initiative, as Grossman suggested. Connection isn’t a zero-sum game, split between organisers and guests. Instead of waiting to be invited, or asking to be invited, we can also create more opportunities for socialising.
When my friend mentions she’s going to try a new pilates studio, I don’t hesitate to ask if I can tag along. I’d have survived a rejection, but she says yes – and when another friend asks me if she can come too, so do I.