cliques or camaraderie
a conversation on how social codes can shape or limit our ability to form connections (& whatnot)
Within every social circle, there exists an unspoken set of rules - it’s bound to happen, as it’s the fundamental way society functions. Sometimes, these are lighthearted boundaries that help people bond, a way to cement friendships without the formality of spoken expectations. But for others, these rules can feel more like a subtle but firm gatekeeping mechanism - a “bro code” of sorts - that defines not just who belongs but how one should act to secure that belonging. It’s not just “bro code” or bro culture that makes one question self-adjustment to fit in; any social clique can have its own tacit standards, creating a complex web of expectations that can feel binding and exclusive.
In navigating these spaces, especially those marked by frat bros turned finance/tech bros, I’m often struck by a quiet tension. It’s not just about being left out of conversations but about feeling an unspoken pressure to act in specific ways, to adopt certain beliefs or tones, in order to truly belong. This isn’t unique to one group or setting; whether in friend groups, professional spaces, or social cliques, there is often an unspoken “code” that dictates behavior and belonging. It raises a fundamental question: how much of myself should I be willing to adjust for the sake of fitting in, and is that even a worthwhile pursuit? Or perhaps, the real question is, at what point does bending to fit into a space become a loss of self, a quiet erosion of authenticity for the sake of acceptance?
At their best, group codes, like the “bro code”, may have roots in camaraderie - a structure that gives people a shorthand for connection, shared humor, and familiarity. A playful jab or a shared quirk can help form bonds, building a group’s unique culture. But as with many social codes, what begins as a way to foster unity can easily take on a more rigid form, unintentionally imposing conformity. In spaces dominated by productivity and status - whether they’re tech circles, business clubs, or fraternities - this code sometimes morphs into a subtle expectation to display certain behaviors or attitudes. A sort of unwritten checklist for fitting in, which, if unfulfilled, can quietly but effectively leave someone out.
This phenomenon isn’t just anecdotal; psychological research shows that humans naturally gravitate towards conformity as a way to secure social bonds and avoid rejection. However, when taken to an extreme, these group codes can act more as barriers than bridges, forcing people to mask parts of themselves to avoid feeling isolated. As I’ve experienced in some circles, the bro code operates almost like a social currency: a way of signaling who’s “in” and who’s “out”. For many, including myself, the question becomes whether the price of admittance is worth the cost of leaving pieces of oneself behind.
These experiences often provoke a complex mix of emotions, blending frustration with a subtler, more uncomfortable feeling. It’s easy to label it as an annoyance, a reaction to being sidelined in conversations or to feeling as though I’m being assessed based on criteria I never agreed to. But as I dig deeper, I find an inkling of jealousy too. Jealousy is a raw, primal reaction, one we don’t often like to acknowledge, yet it provides a window into our unmet needs and desires. Am I envious of the camaraderie and ease they seem to share? Or is this feeling tied to the implication that, by simply being myself, I’m somehow “less than” within this group?
The psychology of jealousy and belonging is nuanced; psychologists often describe jealousy as arising from a desire for something we feel denied, especially when that thing is tied to our self-worth. When I reflect on my feelings, I’m not sure if I want to fit seamlessly into these groups or if I’m more disturbed by the idea that who I am may not be “enough” to earn acceptance. It’s a duality that’s hard to untangle. Part of me wants that sense of belonging - the ease with which they interact, the fluidity of shared jokes, the reassurance that I’m a natural part of the group. Yet another part of me is wary of what belonging under these terms would require, wondering if I’d lose pieces of myself along the way.
This ambivalence speaks to a deeper issue: the way group codes can subtly define what “acceptable” identity looks like. My frustration, then, may not stem purely from exclusion; it may come from a quiet rejection of the expectation that I should have to change myself to fit in. By identifying this dynamic, I can better understand what I want from my social circles and where I may need to draw my own lines.
The Complexity of Belonging
In reflecting on these experiences, I’ve come to see how group codes like the bro code are often tied to a preference for simplicity in social dynamics. In many spaces where bro code culture thrives, there’s a strong emphasis on keeping things “drama-free” or “easygoing.” This simplicity is appealing; it suggests an effortless camaraderie and an avoidance of complicated or challenging emotions. But this surface-level harmony often comes at a cost. In prioritizing ease, these groups may inadvertently create an environment where emotional honesty is undervalued, where vulnerability is brushed aside in favor of maintaining an image of unshakeable confidence and cool detachment.
The bro code can become, in essence, a set of unspoken rules that promote emotional distance. If everyone must conform to the standard of “chill” or “low-key,” there’s little room for real vulnerability, for showing up with all the messiness and complexity that comes with being human. And without this openness, relationships risk becoming shallow, lacking the foundation of true understanding that allows for deeper, more meaningful bonds.
In my experience, these spaces feel like rooms where everyone’s present but no one is fully seen - where people are physically close yet emotionally distant, bonding over shared surface traits rather than shared inner truths.
What’s perhaps most ironic is that the very codes meant to foster closeness can end up creating distance. Without the room to express frustration, sadness, or vulnerability, friendships risk becoming transactional - a set of interactions rather than a connection that holds under the weight of life’s challenges. This realization has forced me to re-evaluate the kind of social spaces I want to cultivate in my own life, spaces where emotional honesty and mutual acceptance aren’t seen as “drama” but as essential to genuine connection.
Ultimately, this reflection has led me to a liberating realization: true belonging doesn’t require a code. It doesn’t ask us to erase the rough edges, tone down our quirks, or mold ourselves into someone more palatable. Instead, authentic belonging thrives in spaces that accept the full spectrum of who we are, where we can bring our unfiltered selves without fear of being sidelined. It’s about finding circles where our presence feels welcomed and our uniqueness valued - not as quirks to be tolerated but as essential parts of the whole.
While the long-standing history of certain groups, like those shaped by “bro culture,” may suggest that a shift is improbable, I believe there is a balance that can be found. For many, it may feel impossible to imagine spaces like these truly changing. After all, these codes have been embedded in social dynamics for generations, and their roots in competition, camaraderie, and exclusivity make them hard to shift. But there’s room for nuance; there’s a way forward where these walls of “bro culture” can be lowered, and the stigma of exclusivity can start to fade. It’s about redefining what belonging means within these circles - not by dismantling tradition entirely but by expanding it to make room for diversity in thought, personality, and background.
Perhaps the antidote to “bro code” isn’t to erase it altogether but to invite a broader understanding of what it means to belong. It’s about moving from narrow rules of behavior to an ethos of respect and acceptance, where people are encouraged to show up as they are. There’s power in creating spaces that don’t hinge on codes or unspoken requirements, where belonging comes from mutual respect, openness, and a shared commitment to authenticity rather than conformity. Real friendships, the kind that withstand the pressures of expectation and exclusion, don’t need a code; they need a shared commitment to acceptance, a willingness to be honest, and a recognition of each other’s humanity.
This balance isn’t just liberating for those who feel sidelined by rigid social codes - it enriches everyone involved. In cultivating environments where people are valued for their authentic selves, we open the door to a more genuine connection, one that’s not bound by conformity but rather by an appreciation of each person’s unique contribution. We move beyond the limiting effects of social codes and toward connections that are meaningful, resilient, and inclusive - where authenticity is not just tolerated but celebrated as the foundation of belonging.
💕💗💞💘💝🩷,
Sadhvika