I don’t make phone calls, even in an emergency. Why you should never ring someone under 40

There is nothing worse you could do to me than call my mobile. When my phone rings, I feel irritation mingled with fear. Nothing good ever comes from a phone call, and importantly, a phone call does not achieve anything that a text can’t do faster and with less impost.

I’m not alone in my generation in having an aversion to the phone. It’s ironic, as we were the first to have access to mobile phones from a young age. I was 16 when I got my first Nokia, and 21 when I got my first smartphone. Since then, I’ve had a phone within arm’s reach at almost all times, yet I hate answering it.

We have been labelled as antisocial, having “phone anxiety” or just lazy and inefficient. But given surveys have found nearly 60 per cent of Australians aged between 18 and 26 dread making or accepting a phone call, it’s time for older generations to get up to speed with the circumstances in which a phone call is acceptable. (Spoiler alert – there aren’t many.)

In my view, whether it’s at work or at home, there is almost never a need to call me, and that includes emergencies. In 2023, I was 33 weeks pregnant and down at the beach, a solid 2½ hours from a hospital with a maternity ward, when I suddenly started bleeding heavily at 3am on Christmas Day. My husband rushed me to the local hospital before I was ferried by ambulance back to Canberra. Two days later, my son was born six weeks premature and admitted to the special care nursery.

Guess how many phone calls I made? NONE. I kept everyone informed via WhatsApp, including my mother, who was overseas, the rest of my family, my close friends, and even my partner, who had to drive separately to the ambulance. Texting was efficient, helped me manage everyone’s reactions, and put a very useful buffer zone between me and their anxiety.

I have a very dangerous hobby – I ride horses, and specifically eventing, which is one of the riskier sports, even at the lower levels. When I’ve fallen off and badly hurt myself, I am more likely to text than ring my partner to let him know he needs to come take me to the hospital. Texting means I can lead with the important info and give clear instructions, instead of stressing him out and complicating the process.

In fact, in the 15 years my partner and I have been together, we have probably spoken on the phone just a handful of times. We’re more likely to text continuously when we’re apart, including during six months of long distance.

My one area of flexibility is the voice note. I hate a phone call, but I love a voice note from a friend – and the longer the better. One of my closest friends lives in Scotland, where I met her while living there for a year. I met her towards the end of my time there, but in the decade since, she has become my almost daily confidant via voice notes. We send each other a recording of 10 mins or more, and reply according to the time difference, each waking up the other’s missives. I can’t think of anything worse than actually calling her to talk, but I LOVE listening to her chat while I go about my morning tasks, and replying thoughtfully when I have a minute to myself.

It might seem counterintuitive, but the reason for all this is efficiency. Texts force the sender to be specific in their communication, and voice memos allow the receiver time to reflect before responding. Phone calls are almost always a waste of time and mean more time going back and forth.

If we’re going to speak, I’d much rather it be in person when there is a social benefit. Phone calls are generally made with a specific purpose, which would be more efficiently communicated in text, whereas catching up in person is about human connection. I love a good gab, but chatting is most meaningful when it’s socially focused and not task or outcome oriented. We all know the feeling of exiting a meeting and thinking, “That could have been an email,” but I never leave a brunch thinking, “I wish I had got Uber Eats and stayed at home.”

My only exception is FaceTiming my toddler when we’re apart, and that’s purely because he can’t type. When I video call him, the look of disinterest he gets after the initial excitement at seeing my face gives me an insight into what it will be like trying to get him to talk on the phone when he’s a teenager. I can tell you right now, I won’t even be bothering to call him. I’ll just log my contact with his robot assistant and call it a day.

Zoya Patel is an author and freelance writer from Canberra.

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