The 'WE SHOULD GO!' Assassin: An Investigation Into the Friend Who Books Nothing and Bails Always

Somewhere in America right now, a group chat is on fire. Someone suggested a cabin trip, three people responded with the raised-hands emoji, and one individual — the individual — typed the fatal words: "WE SHOULD GO!!!" Twelve exclamation points. A sparkle emoji. Possibly a GIF of a golden retriever in sunglasses.

And then, eleven days later, when someone finally replies "okay, I found an Airbnb, it's $240 a person, who's in?" — silence. Cricket silence. The friend has left the building. The friend may have never been in the building.

This is a field guide to that friend. You know who they are. You may, in fact, be that friend, in which case: welcome, coward, we've been expecting you.

The Anatomy of a Flake

Here's the pattern, documented with the rigor of a true crime podcast:

Phase 1: The Ignition. Your flaky friend suggests something big. A concert. A wine tasting. A weekend in Austin. Their enthusiasm is genuine — in the moment. They are, briefly, the most alive person in the chat.

Phase 2: The Escalation. They start sending links. They tag people. They say "okay but seriously we NEED this." Other friends begin to believe. This is the moment the flake has already mentally checked out, and nobody knows it yet.

Phase 3: The Logistics Wall. The moment real planning begins — dates, deposits, calendar invites — the flake's replies slow from instant to glacial. "Let me check my schedule" is their "I need to consult with my attorney."

Phase 4: The Vanishing. A vague excuse. "Work is crazy right now." "Money's a little tight." "My cousin's thing." They will not attend the cousin's thing. There is no cousin's thing. There is only the void.

A Taxonomy of the Cancellation-Adjacent

Not all flakes are built the same. After years of field research (getting stood up), we've identified the major subspecies:

The Big Idea Guy. Generates vision, executes nothing. Will describe a trip to Portugal in cinematic detail, then claim amnesia when someone mentions flights. Related species: the podcast guy who's been "about to start" a podcast since 2019.

The Social Battery Conservationist. Genuinely enthusiastic when the plan is hypothetical, genuinely depleted when the plan is real. Their battery is at 4% at all times and hypothetical plans are a screensaver, not a charge.

The Calendar Optimist. Says yes to everything in the future because the future is not real to them. They will double-book a birthday brunch against a flight to their own college reunion and act shocked that time is linear.

The Slow Fader. Doesn't cancel so much as quietly become less responsive with each message, like a phone dying in your hand. By the time the trip happens, they've been replaced in the group photo by someone's boyfriend.

The Apologetic Repeat Offender. Cancels, sends a heartfelt paragraph, promises next time. There is never a next time. The paragraph is the product. You are being paid in words.

But Wait — Are They Evil? (A Light Psychology Corner)

Here's the mildly generous take: most of these people aren't malicious, they're just running on a system where suggesting an activity delivers the social reward of having plans, while actually attending delivers the social cost of having plans. The dopamine hits at "WE SHOULD GO!!!" and never comes back around.

Some of it is good old-fashioned commitment-phobia — a plan on the calendar is a small hostage situation and they want to keep their negotiating options open. Some of it is anxiety doing an impression of laziness. Some of it is simply that saying no upfront feels mean, so they say a slow no over three weeks instead, which is somehow meaner.

None of this excuses Phase 4. There is no excuse for Phase 4.

Horror Stories From the Trenches

Ask around and everyone has one. The friend who suggested the Beyoncé-level concert, hyped it for a month, then texted "actually I think I'm just going to watch the livestream" from their couch. The one who organized a Friendsgiving, sent the sign-up sheet, then announced they were going to their boyfriend's family's thing instead — leaving four people with sixteen deviled eggs' worth of ingredients.

The most diabolical version: the flake who cancels after the nonrefundable deposit, then Venmo-requests the group for "their share of the cabin vibes." Vibes are not a billable service. Yet.

The Official Diagnosis Card

If you suspect someone in your life is a WE SHOULD GO Assassin, check for the following symptoms:

• Uses "!!!" at a rate of 12 per suggestion, 0 per confirmation
• Says "let me look at my calendar" and then does not, under any circumstances, look at their calendar
• Has attended roughly 40% of events they've proposed
• Believes "I'll let you know" is a complete sentence and a binding excuse
• Owns a hiking backpack that has never encountered a trail

If your friend checks three or more boxes, congratulations: you have a flake. Treatment options include booking with nonrefundable deposits, assigning them the least fun logistics task, or simply planning two versions of every event — one with them, one that will actually happen.

And if the flake is you? Buddy. We see you. Here's the hard truth: the group chat doesn't need your enthusiasm. It needs your attendance. Book the thing. Show up to the thing. The golden retriever GIF can wait.

Your friends miss you. Well — they miss the version of you that exists in the first twelve hours of every plan.