Staying in On A Friday Night
There’s a particular thrill in staying in on a Friday night. Not because you’re lazy, not because you didn’t get the invite, but because you made the choice. A conscious decision to skip the performance. To trade the noise for your couch. Sometimes the bang that kicks off the weekend isn’t a cocktail hitting the table, it’s the Netflix logo booming like an orchestra.
By Friday night, the body is in shambles. You’ve survived a week of emails, meetings, small talk about the weather, and pretending your commute is “not that bad.” The idea of squeezing into real pants feels violent. So you stay in, and what you lose in sequins and spritzes you make up for in peace. And let’s be honest: the Diet Coke in your fridge is colder, crisper, and more delicious than whatever $18 cocktail you would have sipped while craning your neck in a bar.
Self-care has a way of sneaking in here too. Maybe it’s the everything shower. Maybe it’s a face mask you forgot you owned. Maybe it’s lying under a blanket and remembering the sound of your own apartment without a single notification. A Friday night in is like an intervention staged by your nervous system.
And then there’s the movie. The one that’s been rotting in your queue like an unpaid parking ticket. You give it the attention it deserves, which is to say, half-attention. You pause to scroll, to snack, to pee. The movie doesn’t judge. It’s just happy you showed up.
Food? Always delivery. The person who brings it is essentially your plus-one. Sushi that hits harder than a chef’s tasting menu, or a greasy order that proves once and for all you were never going to cook the farmer’s market produce you bought on Sunday. The joy is in the arrival. The bag at your door. The fact that you’re horizontal before it even gets there.
What some people don’t understand is that staying in isn’t opting out. It’s opting in. Into rest, indulgence, quiet. Into the very chic act of not having to explain yourself. Into shoes that don’t pinch. Into the radical idea that your worth isn’t measured by how many places you appeared in before midnight.
This is why I love it. The ritual. The recharge. The tiny luxuries that add up to something resembling actual peace. Staying in on a Friday night isn’t plan B. It’s the plan. And the world will still be waiting tomorrow when you’re ready to join it.
7 Things You Can Do to Up Your Friday-Night-In
Put your phone on Do Not Disturb.
Make a snack plate. CC: this TikTok for inspo.
Light that candle you’ve been “saving.” What exactly are you saving it for?
Take the full “everything shower.” Shave, scrub, hair mask, the works.
Start that movie or show that your friend recommended to you 3 months ago.
Journal, doodle, or read ten pages of something that isn’t on a screen.
Order food you’ve never tried before, just to make the night feel like a tiny event.