I met my best friend about a decade ago, when we were both working in a dusty little antiques shop in London. I was instantly drawn to her dark, sarcastic humor—the kind that made long afternoons of tagging chipped teacups and reworking old band tees feel like a comedy set. After work, we’d head out for drinks, and that’s how our friendship began.
These days, we’re still glued to each other. We exchange ridiculous TikToks throughout the day, roast each other about whatever nonsense we got up to over the weekend, and keep up a running commentary on life’s messiest little dramas. But here’s the surprising part: despite knowing her for ten years, I barely know what she actually does for a living.
Sure, I know she’s climbed her way up at a big fashion brand, but that’s basically where my knowledge ends. She knows the broad strokes of my career too, but the details? Neither of us bothers to ask. Not because we’ve agreed to keep work off-limits—it just never feels important when there are juicier things to discuss. Who hooked up with whom. Which new series we’re binging. Or, by reading into Instagram captions, which couple definitely just broke up.
And honestly, I think that’s a gift. Work already eats up five days a week; why let it swallow the weekends too? Spending time with someone who has no mental image of you spiraling on Slack feels like pure relief. Even in Sex and the City, brunch was reserved for dissecting love lives, not office gossip.
Of course, I’ll admit there are advantages to having friends in the same industry. When you’re facing a career hurdle, insider advice can be gold. But for me, the bigger luxury is keeping work in its box. We’re all marching toward the same inevitable ending—why not fill our off-hours with joy instead of rehashing spreadsheets? Plus, let’s be honest: your work stories aren’t nearly as interesting to others as you think they are.
Blending work and friendship can even backfire. Suddenly you’re doing favors at parties, or falling out over professional disagreements that never should’ve left the office. Helping a friend at work is generous; brainstorming after hours is exhausting.
A few nights ago, my best friend and I went to see Charli XCX. We screamed along until our throats hurt, danced until 3 a.m., and talked about everything: music, films, our fears, our dreams, our haircuts, whether we want kids. Everything except work.
And that’s exactly how I like it. Our friendship thrives on joy, chaos, and real connection—not deadlines or job titles. Sometimes the greatest kindness we can give each other is to leave the office at the door, and just be people together.
