How to Socialise & Make Friends

The production on this track has a slightly more developed density — bass and drums fill out the sound in a way that gives it momentum, even urgency. Yet the emotional temperature is cold in the best sense: precise, controlled, observational. Maq writes and sings about social performance with the exhausted clarity of someone who has spent years watching other people navigate rooms she couldn't quite decode. The vocal phrasing has a dry, almost sardonic quality at points, a wryness that comes from recognition rather than detachment. The song dissects the scripts people use to perform normalcy in social spaces — the rituals of small talk, the gap between what people present and what they carry. It's deeply Australian in its discomfort with emotional display, and deeply punk in its refusal to pretend that discomfort is fine. Camp Cope built their reputation partly on Georgia Maq's ability to say the thing people had been feeling but hadn't found language for, and this song is an example of that working at full capacity. You listen to it when you've just left a party where you smiled for three hours and came home feeling more alone than before you went. It makes you feel understood by someone who also couldn't figure it out.