According to my late uncle, we should each have 50 real friends in our life. Fifty. When I heard this at first, that number felt arbitrary—maybe even a little underwhelming. With the sheer volume of people we interact with, especially online, it seemed like too modest a measure of social capital. But most are best describe as acquaintanceships. Connections that are performative, shown gestures, not presence. Politeness, not closeness. Friendship is a word we’ve worn thin. What passes for it is often just the gloss of hollow familiarity.
With people I’ve met but a handful of times, I might say, “Yeah, that’s my boy, Zhecksz—he’s a good guy,” or “Hey, it’s my girl, Beaugueiue.” But not for nothing, I wouldn’t trust either of them with a bargepole. They are not friends in the way that my uncle meant, and definitely not what Seneca meant.
Friendship is a moral commitment, not a social label. It is built through character, not circumstance. The test is trust. If you can’t hand over your whole self—mess and all—they’re not your friend or boss. Take your time and use careful judgement on who to let in, but once you do, give them your full faith. By this measure, making 50 genuine friends would be amassing a fortune.