When I walk into Amsterdam’s Cafe Brecht, I immediately want to take a picture. The old-fashioned bar – with its plush sofas, vintage art and warm lighting – is what the Dutch would call “gezellig”, a word with many meanings but perhaps best summed up as “cosy” or “pleasant”. My instinct is to whip out my phone and take a photo. For friends? Future reference? Who knows? But I’ll have to rely on my memory, as I’ve checked it at the door.
I’m at the cafe for a Sunday morning “digital detox hangout”, organised by the burgeoning Offline Club. I’ve dropped my phone off in slot seven of a fancy-looking lockbox, committing to spend the next few hours unplugged. There’s a set schedule: we have some time to chat at the beginning, then 45 minutes to ourselves, another 30 minutes to connect, followed by another 30 minutes of quiet time. During the quiet time, we are invited to do any sort of activity – I brought a book – provided we don’t interrupt others.
The crowd spans all ages and nationalities. Ada Popowicz, a 25-year-old master’s student from Poland, came to the event because she wanted to work on her thesis and meet like-minded individuals. “You think better because you’re not interrupted,” she says.
Nathalie Tura, from Italy, is here for a different reason. A 52-year-old divorced single mother, she wants to use her one free weekend, when her daughter is off with her father, to do something unrelated to motherhood. “Last time I did something like this was a long time ago,” she says.
It isn’t just Amsterdam residents attending. Americans Shelley and Matt Nowak are spending a week in the Netherlands. Recent smartphone converts, having bought them for the first time two years ago, they found themselves going down the same rabbit hole as everyone else. “We wanted to remember what it was like,” Shelley says. They have come prepared with all sorts of activities: a Los Angeles Times crossword, a journal, a printed-out floor plan, and books.
It may seem crazy that this is something that people are willing to pay for. The price of the experience is €7.50 (about £6.50/$8), plus whatever you order at the cafe.
“Why would I pay to sit down and be quiet when I can do that at home,” one person jokes. “I can’t imagine telling my grandparents about this,” another laments. “I’m happy it exists, but the need for it is ridiculous,” says Popowicz.
Digital detoxing is nothing new, and the Offline Club isn’t the only group in the Netherlands leading the way. Organisations like Power Haus offer digital detox retreats for any number of days. Off the Radar organises phone-free music events in Tilburg, encouraging attenders to “connect by disconnecting”. The Dutch government is also making moves to restrict online access. As of 1 January, students aged 12 to 18 are no longer allowed to use mobile phones, tablets, and smartwatches during school hours.
Too much time online can be detrimental for many reasons, says Vassia Sarantopoulou, a psychologist based in the Netherlands. When we use our phones, we release a small bit of the feelgood hormone dopamine. The phone “gives this instant relief,” she says, and excessive use can result in addiction.
“Not only we are addicted, but also we are not creating, forming and building healthy coping mechanisms,” she continues. Relying too heavily on technology and investing in social media relationships can also inhibit social-emotional development. “We solve our problems, or we think we solve our problems, by logging into all these devices and all these accounts and all these social media platforms.”
Even just scrolling through an app like TikTok can be exhausting for your mind, she says: “Even though you’re watching videos with kittens and puppies or whatever, your brain is working and processing data. The brain doesn’t understand whether it’s good or bad.”
Time offline can reverse some of the damages, says Sarantopoulou. “It can have psychological, social and emotional effects and benefits when we learn to switch off. And it can be a really liberating experience”
It was time offline, in fact, that inspired the Offline Club. Starting in 2022, co-founders Ilya Kneppelhout, Valentijn Klok and Jordy van Bennekom began organising “het leest” (reading) weekends, where attenders would be offline for a full two days.
“We really feel that whenever we go offline, we create mental space for new ideas. And we have bursts of creativity,” says Kneppelhout.
During one of these events, they came up with the idea of bringing the concept back to the city. “It’s a financial investment and a time investment going away for a weekend,” says van Bennekom. “So we thought, let’s make this accessible to the broader public and really make it possible for them to incorporate it in their daily lives.”
Since launching officially at the beginning of February, the Offline Club has become immensely popular, offering events in cities across the Netherlands and often selling out early. They’ve enlisted others to help host events in order to scale up operations. While I was at the Offline Club in Amsterdam, there were others happening at around the same time in Utrecht and Nijmegen. The founders even quit their jobs to adapt to the increased demand.
Ironically, the group has gained a lot of traction from social media. The Offline Club has posted a number of reels that went viral, and garnered nearly 200,000 followers on Instagram in two months. “It’s a bit overwhelming,” says Kneppelhout. “But we knew this was something people were aching for. We live in an era of burnout culture, where everyone talks about the negative effects of screen time and says that they are spending more time on their phones than they want to.”
Off the Radar also felt that people were yearning for phone-free spaces, especially for music. Many live performances are blocked by people holding up their phones to record, says co-founder Jori van der Jagt. “A lot of young people want to party without a phone, or do something without a phone,” adds co-founder Daan Biemans. And while some places, such as the Berlin club Berghain, have had longstanding “no phones” policies, they usually consist of putting a sticker over the camera or just asking people to keep their phones in their pockets. Off the Radar decided to take a different approach. Like the Offline Club, attenders must hand in their phones before entering the venue.
So far the group has hosted three events, and it has another coming up in September. Like the Offline Club, the founders acknowledge that offline time is important in our technology-ridden society. But to them, phone-free events also allow for more meaningful and freeing experiences. “It’s all about creating a safe environment for the people there, where you can be whoever you want to be without being scared that you might be on social media the next day,” says Biemans.
One potential criticism is that the offline movement should be self-motivated. Do we need an external influence to drag us away from our phones?
“Some people say, ‘But it’s your own responsibility! Why would you go to an event – you can just do it yourself?’” says van Bennekom. “But they forget the fact that these devices and these apps were developed by the best psychologists and neuroscientists, who know exactly how to hook you. These devices make you addicted. You almost don’t have any power over that.”
Back at Cafe Brecht, many visitors find the Offline Club’s unique structure – of equal alone and together time – enticing, myself included. There’s something special about being in the company of others longing to find ways to distance themselves from their phones, albeit for a few hours. “It’s that human connection of having people around you,” the person next to me says. Another calls it a good “third space” – a place in between home and work or school, in which people can connect and take a break. It’s clearly working. Some people at Sunday’s event are returning for their third or fourth time.
At the end of the session, host Catrien de Vries leads us in a debrief of sorts. She became involved with the Offline Club at one of their weekend getaways, an experience she deemed “life-changing”. Working a corporate job in a big city, she felt she never had time to herself. Through the Offline Club, she’s been able to connect with other like-minded people.
“How was it to be without a phone?” she asks us. In all honesty, it wasn’t easy. Many, including me, had felt its absence. “I had the urge to grab my phone, like an addict,” says Popowicz. But to her, time offline is a way to learn delayed gratification.
“I feel more connected with humanity,” another person says.
Three hours isn’t enough to solve all the problems associated with being chronically online, of course. Sarantopoulou sees it as a skill that must be developed. “We need to create some internal motivation so that we can keep that going on without the need of somebody patronising or reminding us,” she says. “It’s going to be difficult in the beginning but you need to learn: how to be mindful, how to stay in the moment, stay with the discomfort. It’s a journey.”
At the end of the day, that’s also what the Offline Club is about. The founders aren’t complete Luddites. Rather, they encourage individuals to become more conscious about their relationship with technology. “We are about inspiring people to implement the offline lifestyle more often into their lives, and to have a relationship with their digital devices that they are happy about, that doesn’t negatively impact them,” says Kneppelhout. “We hope to show people that life can be lived differently, which will help them become happier and more fulfilled.”
The desire to disconnect from technology isn’t uniquely Dutch, but Sarantopoulou points out that it does align with some core values. “For the Dutch culture, it’s important to have this work-life balance,” she says. “They’re also very proactive in regards to a sense of community. They like hanging out together, they like doing things together, having fun organising barbecues and borrels [informal drinks gatherings]. I can see how this would be very much a good fit within that culture.”
This is also reflected in the Offline Club’s events. It selects venues and supports local businesses that are authentic and unique. Right now, most sessions occur at “gezellig” cafes that can seat about 30 people (though it has dabbled in some other venues such as yoga studios, and even a co-working space). The group is hosting its first ever 300-person event at Westerkerk – a Protestant church in Amsterdam – on 22 May. Also on the docket: a weekend getaway in the countryside at the end of June for 10 to 12 people. Prices start at €425.
“We really want to build a community around this,” says Klok.
“How we see it is that, for example, you move to Berlin, and the Offline Club there is a way to get introduced to new cool local places, meet new people easily, and have something to bond through immediately,” says van Bennekom.
The founders say they are already fielding requests from people across the globe, hoping to bring a similar concept to their city. “The world is screaming for less screen time and more connection,” says Kneppelhout.
Back at Cafe Brecht, I’m one of the last to leave. As I’m heading out the door, I run into another attender who’s coming back in. Enlightened by the experience, she had managed to leave her phone behind.
