’Rawdogging’ and other ways in which ‘Seinfeld’ is influencing Gen Z behaviour

It’s less dirty than it sounds.

“Rawdogging” is a ‘new’ concept of doing things without digital buffers — which means a generation that hasn’t stood in line without Instagram in their hands has now decided to board airplane flights without screens, books or any distractions. Originally slang for unprotected sex, the term has been repurposed — by TikTok influencers and culture blogs — to mean experiencing things without the crutches of modern tech. In essence, rawdogging is being considered a minimalist manifesto for a screen-weary generation. Mostly by young men.

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This revolution began in an unlikely place. In Season 9, Episode 12 of Seinfeld (Netflix), Elaine Benes (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) sits in a cramped airplane seat, surrounded by the in-flight symphony of engines, co-passengers, the clinking of drink carts. She’s boarded a long haul flight with an arsenal of distractions—a book, a magazine, perhaps even a crossword. She glances at her boyfriend David Puddy (Patrick Warburton) only to see that he’s content to watch the back of the seat in front of him as if it were a painting in a gallery. “I’m just sitting here,” he says, calmly. No book, no magazine, no headphones—nothing but the blank void of his untroubled mind.

Elaine is aghast. The very thought of being tethered to someone who could choose to “just sit”, devoid of curiosity or the need for stimulation, gnaws at her core. Her eyes widen in disbelief, scanning Puddy to find a crack in his placid exterior. This creature of mindless Zen is too far removed from her own tightly-wound spring of neuroses. It’s a dealbreaker of cosmic proportions. She breaks up with him instantly, despite many hours of flying ahead.

The rawdogging trend would mortify Elaine. No books, no movies, no music—just blank, unadorned sitting. The essence of her horror, captured in that airplane seat, is manifesting on flights everywhere: Gen Z men opting to “just sit,” as if the idea of occupying their minds is an affront. This isn’t mere boredom; it’s a declaration of non-participation.

The Atlantic has taken notice, examining what this says about the modern man. It’s been called a form of passive defiance, a middle finger to the hyper-connectivity of today’s world. The New York Times argues that it’s a manifestation of stoicism—a way for men to reclaim a sense of quiet, detached from the noise of social media and streaming platforms. Others see it as a troubling retreat into self-imposed solitude, a shrugging off of the very things that make us curious, engaged, and connected.

Is this the modern man, one who finds solace in staring ahead, unburdened by the need for input? With Puddy as a patron saint, he strives toward an oasis of apathy, a minimalist retreating from the barrage of content.

Meanwhile, studies have shown that speaking about oneself in the third person, a form of “distanced self-talk,” can actually reduce stress and increase empathy. Research from Michigan State University found that this form of self-reflection creates a psychological distance that helps people manage their emotions more effectively, making them less reactive and more composed in challenging situations. Another study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology revealed that when individuals used their own name or third-person pronouns while thinking about their feelings, they experienced less anxiety and made decisions that were less impulsive and more empathetic. It’s like coaching oneself from the sidelines—offering a cooler, calmer perspective.

This would remind Seinfeld viewers of the character George Costanza, who occasionally stumbles into the third-person. His exclamations of “George is getting upset!” or “George likes his chicken spicy!”, however, are less about self-soothing and more about self-aggrandisement, a comic spectacle of narcissism. If studies suggest third-person self-talk can foster empathy, George’s usage demonstrates the opposite — a loudspeaker for his neuroses and petty grievances. It’s not introspection; it’s a Costanza-style proclamation, a clumsy attempt at self-validation that often leaves him more isolated and exasperated than before.

Why are we turning into the characters we laughed at on Seinfeld?

The philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre said “Hell is other people.” Seinfeld, created 35 years ago, trained an absurdist lens on the peculiarities of human behaviour, capturing its neuroses, trivialities, and contradictions. Today, this seems astonishingly prescient. In a world where “rawdogging” flights is becoming a cultural movement and where third-person self-talk is touted as a psychological balm, Seinfeld seems not only to have depicted these quirks but anticipated them.

Elaine’s horror at Puddy’s vacant stare becomes a commentary on the desperate need for disengagement. While George’s third-person outbursts—his “George is getting upset!”—reflect a desperate struggle for identity and relevance, akin to the self-validation sought through social media likes and retweets.

Yet this isn’t the same thing as The Simpsons, like a yellow cartoon Nostradamus, uncannily predicting specific happenings over the years, including Donald Trump’s presidency and Disney’s acquisition of 20th Century Fox. 

I believe Seinfeld, through its own celebration of selfish protagonists, is shaping the self-loving culture ahead of it. The show made it okay to mock and label people (“low-talker,” “sidler,” “spongeworthy”) but we are coming to an age where people, finding their tribes and subreddits, are willingly choosing those labels as identifiers. This may also be cultural rebellion: be applauding behaviour that the Seinfeld gang mocked, Gen Z and Gen Alpha might be turning the joke around — on those of us who laughed at whoever felt weird to them.

We must choose our own oasis — which, for me, is at least two novels, several classic rock playlists and half a dozen episodes of TV, for every flight. Younger co-passengers are welcome to their aisle-seat microdosing of Vipassana. Serenity now.

Streaming tip of the week:

Gen Z behaviour is satirised very sharply in the Australian comedy Why Are You Like This (Netflix) where a group of young friends weaponise their woke-ness purely to win arguments. Hilarious and well-observed, it shows that kids will stay just as messy — albeit in different ways.

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