How We Lost ‘Gym Culture’ (and How You Can Reclaim It)
At my local Blink Fitness, which is now a PureGym, I recently worked out with another woman on the assisted pull-up machine. For me, the atmosphere was one of total relief. No one was rude about sharing equipment, it didn’t seem competitive at all, and there was a safety and togetherness in being the only two women in that quadrant of the gym at that time. For a brief period, the gym felt like a space of both catharsis and camaraderie. Unfortunately, that moment only made me realize how rare this type of shared gym culture has become.
Truth be told, I don’t know if gym culture was ever meant for me. The stereotype is that they’re all brothers, right? I’m not Joey Swoll, the self-described “CEO of Gym Positivity,” one of those types of influencers with a manic positivity that’s either repellent or inspiring, depending on who you ask. As a casual gym-goer and as a woman, I’ve always felt the need to find the perfect balance between exuding confidence and remaining somewhat invisible. That’s not exactly a recipe for community.
So I could say a lot about what this piece is not about. It’s not about “being a woman” and avoiding sexual harassment. Nor are these class studios, which have their own world and their own Pilates-based politics.
Today, I’m focusing on something simpler and broader: the quiet demise of gym culture and what’s been lost as solo workouts at home become more high-tech and accessible. My work has deepened this strange distance. I spend my days testing the latest smart rowers, adjustable dumbbells and stair steppers, equipment so sophisticated and practical that it’s not a question of whether you can replicate a gym experience at home, but why would you bother leaving. I’ve used enough equipment to outfit a small fitness studio, with each piece promising to deliver professional results without the travel, membership fees, or potential for uncomfortable interactions. And it works. The technology is legitimately impressive.
But something has been lost in this seamless transition to convenience. I write this now with a somewhat naive and romanticized outlook, wondering what life might have been like for me if I were a tall, friendly man in the idealized gym culture of yesteryear. From this point of view, what is this ideal gym culture that I imagine? And is it worth mourning something that perhaps never really existed for everyone?
The quiet disappearance of shared gym culture
As smart home fitness technology grows, we trade community for convenience, and we might not get it back. Echo Wang, certified yoga teacher and founder of Yoga Kawa, says, “The gym used to be a social anchor. People went there not only to train, but also to get their place.” Now that home fitness equipment has made working out at home simpler, the gym atmosphere is fading. Wang says watching someone push themselves alongside you provided extra motivation – it was contagious. These conversations between sets have kept people engaged, while exercising alone at home makes it easier to skip workouts and lose momentum.
Even those who still frequent gyms live in isolated worlds, noise-cancelling headphones blocking out the sounds of weights and ambient energy that once made gyms feel alive. Eye contact is gone, chatter is gone: all that remains are rehearsals and personal playlists. “Convenience keeps you going,” Wang says, “but being part of something keeps you coming back.”
Dr. Jesse Shaw, associate professor of sports medicine at Western States University, says he built his training philosophy around competitive energy. From his military years to his current job in collegiate athletics, he sought to become the biggest and fastest person in the gym — and when he wasn’t, it pushed him to train harder. He sees how home technology can fill this gap, highlighting how Peloton has created a community and culture around its equipment that mimics this motivational aspect.
But Shaw has also witnessed troubling changes. He observed an unfortunate shift for gym-goers who want to focus on serious training without being filmed or waiting for someone to finish their “workout” content creation. As I recently explained, posting workouts online is less about documenting personal progress and more about performing fitness for an audience — a shift that fundamentally changes the gym environment itself. The era of classic “meatheads” – big, burly people who move a lot of weight – is largely gone. Shaw also notes the changing group dynamic: During his military service, he was comfortable training alone and would simply ask someone nearby to provide a place for him when needed. Today, he finds that most people arrive in groups and tend to avoid lifting heavy weights effectively.
Shaw believes the convenience of working out at home, born out of social and medical necessity, remains a valuable exercise option. However, it has witnessed many gym closures due to low attendance and poor recovery of membership numbers. Technology has changed both the pace and focus of today’s gym-goers, creating a need to document and share workouts online to feel a sense of accomplishment. Some home technologies, like Peloton, rely heavily on social features, creating a culture and a shared drive to improve and compete on the leaderboards.
The type of gym you go to matters
Cost and type play an important role in gym dynamics. My colleague Lindsey Ellefson shared how, when she taught spin at NYU’s Community Gym, free for students, she found the environment chatty, friendly, and extremely collegial. But where she works now, a “luxury gym,” it seems much more insular and everyone is sort of closed off. In a similar vein, I spoke with a friend who has a gym in his apartment building, who told me how interacting with people you know are your neighbors can be safer and easier than meeting complete strangers in a larger establishment.
For Kris Herbert, founder and owner of The Gym Venice, the cultural deterioration goes deeper. He is particularly concerned about low-cost, high-value gyms, where minimal financial and personal investment leads to the disappearance of individual responsibility. This lack of ownership creates spaces that are often dirty, disorganized and dangerous. These gyms are places that people use rather than belong to.
Herbert observed a clear cultural transformation: people used to practice together, spot each other and converse between sets. Today, most members train in isolation, headphones in, eyes averted. There was a time when walking into the gym was like walking into “Cheers,” where everyone knew your name. This sense of community has largely been replaced by convenience.
Part of this change comes from accessibility: today, you can find answers to virtually any training question online without human interaction. Although access to credible information can accelerate progress, it cannot replicate the accountability, camaraderie and shared energy of training with others.
Herbert highlights that the social dimension of training is one of the most undervalued performance improvement tools. When you train alongside others who notice your efforts, encourage your development, and hold you accountable, you naturally push harder, maintain better consistency, and enjoy the experience more. This sense of belonging not only fuels better results in the gym, but also better mood, better self-confidence, and better mental health in general.
How we can rebuild gym culture
To rebuild that culture, Herbert suggests starting small. Introduce yourself to the regulars, offer to spot someone, ask a question, recognize someone’s consistency. These simple interactions remind us that fitness encompasses social, emotional, and deeply human elements beyond the physical. The gym should be a place where people not only get stronger, but belong.
Smart fitness technology has made working out more accessible: you can follow programs, track metrics, and receive feedback from your living room. But while this convenience eliminates friction, it also eliminates connection. The human elements of training – the cues, the corrections and the shared energy – are truly the engine of long-term progress and fulfillment. Smart technology may make working out easier, but it will never replace the power of human connection.
I always test equipment at home. I still enjoy the convenience of getting out of bed and onto a rowing machine without navigating complicated social dynamics or waiting for equipment. But I started going back to the gym twice a week, trying to understand what this whole gym culture might mean for someone like me.
Maybe this ideal gym culture I imagine—the one where people belonged, where community thrived—was always more accessible to some than others. Maybe it was never perfect. But hey, even imperfect community beats isolation. And maybe, if we do it intentionally, we can build something better than what came before: one shared set at a time on the power-assisted traction machine.
