Introduction:
When I first arrived at the London School of Business (LSB), everyone seemed to have a plan for building their social circle: Join the Finance Society! Run for Student Council! Network at career mixers! But as someone who’d rather eat a spreadsheet than attend another formal event, I panicked. Clubs felt like job interviews disguised as socializing.

Then I discovered the secret: Friendship doesn’t require a membership fee. Here’s how I built my crew at LSB without ever signing up for a club—just free snacks, awkward encounters, and a WhatsApp group that still gives me trust issues.

Step 1: Embrace the Power of “Free Food Espionage”

Let’s be real: Hungry students are vulnerable students. My first win came during Freshers’ Week when I spotted a crowd forming near a suspiciously unmarked table. Turns out, a fintech startup was handing out free pizza to promote their app. I grabbed a slice, lingered awkwardly, and accidentally made eye contact with another loner clutching pepperoni like a lifeline.

Pro Tip:

  • Follow the scent of free coffee like a bloodhound.

  • Bond over shared confusion: “Wait, is this pizza vegan? Does it matter?”

By week’s end, I’d collected three future flatmates, a study buddy, and a guy who later taught me how to fix a printer at 2 AM.

Step 2: Hijack Accidental WhatsApp Groups

LSB students love creating WhatsApp groups for everything—group projects, module complaints, even “Who’s Going to Pret at 11 PM?”. I stumbled into my core squad through a chain reaction:

  1. Joined a “Microeconomics Textbook Swap” chat.

  2. Discovered a subgroup for “People Who Hate Microeconomics”.

  3. Accidentally started a meme war about the professor’s tie collection.

  4. Ended up with 15 strangers planning a spontaneous karaoke night.

Key Takeaway:

  • Chaotic group chats > LinkedIn connections.

  • Memes are the universal language of friendship.

Step 3: Turn Shared Misery into Shared Memories

Nothing bonds humans faster than collective suffering. My closest LSB friendships were forged in:

  • The Great Library Blackout of 2023 (we huddled under phone flashlights and trauma-bonded over deadlines).

  • The “Why Is the Coffee Machine Always Broken?” Support Group (meets daily at 8 AM).

  • The “I Forgot My Umbrella” Club (membership: anyone caught in London rain without a coat).

Pro Move:

  • When disaster strikes, yell “Who’s with me?!” and become the group’s emotional leader.

Step 4: Leverage London’s “Third Spaces”

Clubs require schedules. Real life happens in limbo spaces:

  • Pret-a-Manger Booths: Befriend the barista, claim “your” table, and adopt strays who ask, “Is this seat taken?”

  • Lecture Hall Back Rows: The unofficial zone for eye-rollers and snack smugglers.

  • Night Tube Rides: Bond with classmates over existential debates at 1 AM (“Are we interns or clowns?”).

Step 5: Master the Art of Strategic Vulnerability

At LSB, everyone’s trying to look like they’ve got their life together. Break the ice by owning your chaos:

  • Confess a fail: “I just emailed my CV to the wrong ‘Michael’… twice.”

  • Ask for help: “Can you explain blockchain? I Googled it and now I’m scared.”

  • Share a weird hobby: “I’m teaching my plants Excel. Wanna meet them?”

The Friends I Never Meant to Make

Today, my LSB squad includes:

  • The Flatmate Who Bakes Stress Brownies (uses our oven as therapy).

  • The Human Google Calendar (reminds us when assignments are due… at 11:59 PM).

  • The “I’ll Venmo You for Coffee” Gang (a rotating cast of caffeine addicts).

Why This Works at LSB:
Business students are secretly craving authenticity. Clubs focus on what you do; real friendships thrive on who you are when you’re too tired to pretend.

Final Tips for the Club-Averse:

  1. Say “Yes” to Weird Invites (yes, even the 7 AM jogging group).

  2. Host “Nothing Nights” (movie marathons > networking mixers).

  3. Remember: Everyone’s Lonely—they’re just hiding it behind PowerPoint decks.

TL;DR:
Friendship at LSB isn’t about polished LinkedIn bios—it’s about shared pizza, chaotic group chats, and owning the fact that you cried over a broken printer. Put down the club sign-up sheet and embrace the beautiful mess of real connection.

Now, who’s up for kebabs?