I moved to the suburbs in the spring of 2021, a classic post-lockdown move. My husband and I had been hot-desking between the bedroom and the kitchen table and we were all far too emotionally involved with the rat that frequented our bird feeder. I had wanted to move before Covid: the bed shook when buses went past, and the frequent drunken meltdowns on our conveniently located doorstep left me awkwardly squeezing past sobbing strangers to take the dog for his late-night pee, muttering: “Sorry, could I just …” I had the noise abatement team on speed dial and a throbbing vein in my eyelid.
Arriving here, where semis with gardens meet the green belt, and cows graze by the big Sainsbury’, was like the switch to colour in The Wizard of Oz, combined with the moment my noise-cancelling headphones kick in: relief and wonder. We slept with the window open and every morning I listened to the birds and smelled the roses, unable to believe my luck. Two years on, I still feel that. I’m incredulous that I get to live here, surrounded by green and birds, in peace so enveloping that I can finally hear myself think (though, wow, it’s boring: “Is that the one-eyed cat?” “Should I have a biscuit?”).
Why am I telling you this? Because a newly published study suggests the “sprawling suburbs” carry a higher risk of depression than city-centre living. Some caveats. First, the study took place in Denmark (where cities are probably better-designed than ours; not 7,000 Prets per square mile and anti-rough-sleeping spikes). Second, high-density city dwellers with the lowest risk of depression had open areas (parks, shorelines) nearby. Third, the data on depression diagnoses runs to 2018, so any impacts from the pandemic reshaping of home, work and cities are not captured.
The authors theorise long commutes and the lack of social hubs – shops, cafes, restaurants – may be factors, noting: “Dense city centres can provide relatively more opportunities of social networking and interaction – which may benefit mental health.” The results, they say, offer: “no support for the continued expansion of car-dependent, suburban single-family housing areas if planners want to mitigate mental health issues and climate change”.
It is another blow for suburbia, coming on top of what I call the Fleishman factor, the idea that the suburbs erode your sense of self, rehashed earlier this year when the television series based on the bestselling novel Fleishman Is in Trouble appeared. In it, Libby, who has left New York for family-friendly living, feels stultified and self-loathing for capitulating to suburban comfort (the author, Taffy Brodesser-Akner, returned to New York after “seven unhappy years in New Jersey”).
I don’t get that, perhaps because I didn’t grow up here. I’m discovering the suburbs fresh and they seem … great? My leafy street has neighbours who look after each other’s pets and bins and kids who play outside like something from a Facebook “remember when” nostalgia post. It is a 20-minute bike ride to town, but now that a cafe-wine bar has opened nearby, I may never leave again. I’ll try, because when I don’t, I can feel stale and out of touch. I do miss people-watching and eavesdropping now that most of my weak ties are with magpies. But the upside is that even a trip to the dump feels thrilling and I’m happy, more at peace than I thought was possible.
Anecdotes aren’t data points; I’m not suggesting the suburbs are “better” than town centres. My takeaway is the same as the study authors’: that both places can and should be better. For people who value “privacy, silence and having their own garden” (hi), suburbs shouldn’t be car dependent; they need better public transport and safer cycle routes so connection doesn’t come at an environmental cost. And our Amazon-gutted, Covid-confused town centres could be far better too. People are happy in cities – we are social animals; cities are incredible – but they can be happier when they have places to breathe. We should push for that, push back at multimillion developments with “play bans” and inaccessible gardens and parks being cordoned off by cash-strapped councils to turn a profit.
Most people don’t get to live in the place of their dreams, but we should be able to dream, wherever we end up living.
Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
