The surprising new way to find friends and true love? Your Costco card - USA Today

With their busy schedules, Los Angeles besties and social media influencers Analyse Talavera and Carmen Rene Smith don’t always spend as much time together as they’d like. Their solution? Tag-teaming their Costco errands. 

The outings double as catch-up sessions while they load their carts with everything from tins of spicy albacore and protein bowls to Neutrogena makeup wipes and paper towels.

"Especially in this economy, instead of going out and dropping $200 on dinner – which Analyse and I are good for – we go to Costco and stock up on meal prep for the week and then top it off with a $3 fro yo," Smith said. "You really can't beat that."

Arizona couple Lisa Bayless and Jeff Stitt share the aisles of Costco, too. For their 18 years of marriage, they rarely shop alone.

Stitt pushes and unloads the heavy cart while Bayless guides the way with their list, checking off household staples like bottled water, sugar and toilet paper.

"It's sort of like date night, but it’s an afternoon date with a purpose," Bayless said.

On the surface, Costco is a popular spot for Americans to stretch their grocery dollar, but it also feeds a deeply human need. As physical community spaces disappear and social bonds fray, the warehouse giant has emerged as an unexpected anchor for connection.

Take San Jose, California, mother of four Alyssa Munoz, who swaps the local park for a different kind of playground on Sunday mornings. She meets up with other parents at Costco to push side-by-side carts − one for the kids, one for the groceries − before wrapping up the playdate at the food court. 

"They get samples, lunch and ice cream and we get our groceries done," Munoz said. 

Neil Saunders, managing director of GlobalData Retail, says socializing is a "very overlooked, but also very important" reason why people shop at Costco.

"While Costco’s primary purpose is as a place to stock up on products, it has also become something of a social destination," Saunders said.

Sociologists call it a "third place" – Ray Oldenburg's term for the parks, barbershops and libraries where people build community outside home and work. Increasingly, that gathering spot is Costco.

But these communal destinations are slowly vanishing from American life. Sprawling suburbs leave little room for walkable hubs while endless screen time – from TikTok scrolling to Netflix binges – has replaced real-world connection. As attendance at churches and civic clubs declines, Americans are left feeling isolated.

The fallout is a national loneliness crisis. Federal data shows face-to-face socializing has plummeted since tracking began in 2003, with Americans spending just 35 minutes a day connecting in person, down 15% from a decade ago.

So Americans are searching for new places to reclaim that sense of belonging. 

For decades, the cultural ideal was "Cheers" – the neighborhood bar where "everybody knows your name." Today, that coveted "third place" is just as likely to be a climbing gym or yoga studio, an independent bookstore, a pickleball court, or, yes, Costco warehouses. 

"They're typically physically accessible, relatively low-cost, low-pressure hub/hangouts, socially welcoming to a diversity of folks, and multigenerational – all key 'third place' attributes,' said Jessica Finlay, an assistant professor of geography at the University of Colorado Boulder. 

Take Wil Cid, a card-carrying member since 1988 – back when Costco was Price Club. For Cid, Costco isn't just a wholesale warehouse; it's his happy place. 

Visiting three to four times a week, he is such a fixture at local stores that Costco employees know him by name. Once, upon returning from a vacation, staffers stopped him every few feet, asking where he had been. Friends routinely text his wife, Vivian, to report sightings.

"I tell them I’m not surprised," Vivian said. "He’s there all the time."

That devotion led Vivian to organize a surprise party at the food court for Wil’s 68th birthday, leaning into an obsession that she doesn’t really share or entirely understand.

"I like Costco in an average, normal, healthy way," she said. 

Of course, Costco is not the first commercial space to function as a town square. According to Richard Kyte, a professor of ethics at Viterbo University and author of "Finding Your Third Place," corporate America has a long history of engineering social hubs. 

In the 1950s and 1960s, suburban malls were explicitly designed as community cornerstones, complete with bustling food courts, movie theaters, arcades, and a smorgasbord of shops. 

Fast-food staples like McDonald’s became a low-cost refuge where seniors lingered over morning coffee, students gathered after school and young kids frolicked in play areas.

Eventually, Starbucks revolutionized the concept, pairing comfy seating with free Wi-Fi to market itself as the definitive destination between home and work. 

After an aggressive, pandemic-era pivot to drive-thrus, mobile pickups, and delivery app orders, the coffee giant is trying to recapture its roots under its "Back to Starbucks" strategy, actively renovating cafes with inviting couches and extra power outlets and even returning to ceramic mugs, softer lighting, and wood paneling to convince Americans to sit down and stay a while.

With its fluorescent lighting, concrete floors, and industrial shelving, Costco might seem like an unlikely setting for leisurely socializing. But the retail powerhouse is uniquely positioned to serve as a third place, according to Kyte. 

For one thing, it is woven into the very fabric of American life. As a ubiquitous fixture across the country, the chain provides a familiar, predictable environment that makes millions of members feel instantly at home.

According to consumer analytics firm Numerator, roughly 72.3 million households shopped at Costco over the past year. Even more striking, over a quarter of all U.S. households are dedicated regulars, visiting at least 12 times a year. 

On average, a Costco shopper makes 31 trips annually, spending $99 per visit for a total annual outlay of $3,043 – figures that comfortably eclipse competitors like Sam’s Club and BJ’s, Numerator said. 

Once inside the warehouse, shoppers tend to linger, enticed by a potent cocktail of comforting routine, retail adrenaline and cheap eats. 

Numerator estimates that members made 144 million trips for food-court fare last year, effectively putting Costco on the same scale as major regional fast-food chains like In-N-Out and Zaxbys.

And, according to foot traffic analytics firm Placer.ai, the average Costco visit lasts 15 minutes longer than a trip to a traditional grocery store and outpaces other big-box superstores by roughly seven minutes. 

"For many shoppers, a trip to Costco is an experience to savor and enjoy," Elizabeth Lafontaine, director of research at Placer.ai, said. 

Once or twice a quarter, University of California, Davis students Sharon Hwang, Katrina Le and Steven Zhang pile dozens of classmates into a caravan of cars and head to the nearest Costco about 15 minutes away.

Their college club, which unites students over a shared childhood love for all things Costco, has become an unexpected antidote to campus isolation. By organizing these massive shopping adventures and food court lunches, the group has fostered tight-knit friendships on a campus of tens of thousands. 

"If something small like a Costco trip can help someone meet new friends or feel a little bit connected, then I feel like we accomplished something," Hwang said. 

What began as a casual weekly lunch for Jaxon Smith and his friends quickly evolved into a lifeline for local men. 

Gathering at the food court once or twice a week, Smith’s group frequently crossed paths with other acquaintances. But it was the sight of so many men eating alone that sparked an idea: What if a trip to Costco could be an intentional way to combat male isolation? 

Last November, Smith posted a video on Instagram, officially launching the Men’s Mental Health Costco Club. The weekly meetup became an instant success, drawing crowds so large it has since expanded well beyond the warehouse walls. 

"Mental health is often portrayed in a negative light,” said Smith, who grew up going to Costco with his father and siblings. Through the club, he aims to flip that script and "just help men feel less lonely."

The ultimate testament to Costco's power to bring people together began more than a quarter-century ago in Brentwood, Tennessee. Two friends – a World War II B-24 pilot and an Army veteran from the Cold War era – started meeting every Friday in the food court over hot dogs. Before long, veterans from the Korean, Vietnam and Gulf Wars joined their ranks at "Camp Costco."  

Officially known as the Middle Tennessee Veterans Support Group, the weekly assembly provides local service members with the vital camaraderie they first forged in uniform.

Paul Napoli, who served in the Marines before the Vietnam War, says he started going in 2010 when the group had just 10 regulars. Today, the roster has expanded to a couple hundred members, with 40 to 60 veterans gathering each week.

"Nobody cares what rank you were or what service you were in. Everybody mixes together," he said. "It’s just a wonderful group of people."

That makes Costco something exceedingly unusual: a gathering place where Americans of all backgrounds feel at home in a deeply polarized country.

Costco has a vested interest in preserving that sense of belonging. With membership fees driving nearly two-thirds of Costco’s profits in 2025, belonging fuels its business model. Tellingly, its in-house magazine is called "Costco Connection."

Going to Costco has become one of America's collective rituals, according to sociologist Randall Collins. For many, this shared time roaming the aisles is deeply personal. Collins’s wife regularly catches up with friends over food-court hot dogs, and he knows couples who first met in the wine aisle.

In fact, Costco has emerged as an unlikely romantic spot. Couples call it "clubbing for married folks." They graze on free samples, browse jewelry or big-screen TVs and top it off with chicken bakes or pizza slices. The "Kirkland Signature date night" is so popular that some couples now spend engagements, anniversaries, and Valentine's Day at the warehouse.

The allure crosses over to celebrities, too. Meta cofounder Mark Zuckerberg and his wife, Priscilla Chan, have been spotted browsing electronics in Mountain View, California, while Michelin-starred chef José Andrés routinely tags along on his wife’s Costco trips to scout their impressive French Bordeaux selection. Country star Russell Dickerson and his wife, Kailey, even leave their boys with grandma for warehouse dates, with Kailey joking that any kid-free excursion – especially a Costco run – feels romantic.

Perhaps no couple can claim more miles logged in the name of warehouse devotion than New York residents David and Susan Schwartz. 

Bonded by a mutual obsession with the brand, the pair traveled over 220,000 miles to visit more than 200 warehouses across 46 states and 13 countries – even enduring a 19-hour flight to New Zealand – to write their book, "The Joy of Costco: A Treasure Hunt from A to Z." Today, they still relish dates at their local store.

When it comes to romance, "Love Island" has nothing on Costco.  

Margot Schein, a self-described "Costco nerd," was browsing a dating app when she spotted the profile of Jules Parris, who listed Costco as a favorite. 

Intrigued, Schein reached out, and the two met at a San Diego warehouse. They spent hours strolling the aisles, grazing on free samples and dining in the food court. Parris admits she forgot almost everything on her grocery list that day because she couldn’t take her eyes off Schein. 

After a cross-country move for graduate school, the couple returned to that exact San Diego store on the third anniversary of their meet-cute to get hitched. With the warehouse manager's blessing, they exchanged vows under an archway by the checkout stands. 

Today, they still preserve their Sunday morning shopping ritual. "Costco literally brought us together," Schein said. "People are like, 'You must really love capitalism,' and I’m like, 'That’s not it. I love this one store.'"

Robert Bonilla’s Costco love story began with a similar twist of fate.

Days before Christmas in 2013, Bonilla was navigating a crowded frozen food aisle when he locked eyes with a woman wearing cowboy boots. 

Years later, he proposed in that very same aisle, attaching a marriage proposal note to a package of frozen shrimp. The couple eventually wed after-hours inside the store, saying "I do" as employees drove forklifts and restocked shelves in the background. 

Though the marriage didn’t last, Bonilla’s relationship with Costco did.

Now single and a still familiar regular at his local Santa Maria, California, warehouse, he hasn't ruled out a sequel. 

"You never know," Bonilla laughed. "I shop there all the time. In fact, I’m going there today."

USA TODAY covers the culture of Costco, from the way it gets shoppers to splurge to why the $1.50 hot dog is the kind of deal they relish. Have a Costco story to share? Email Jessica Guynn.