These Gen Z friends gained online fame – and haters – for their hours-long Toronto walks

Like the Beatles or the Wiggles, the five friends from Oakville, Ont., go by a single-name moniker: the Walkers. And, depending on whom you ask – most notably the age of the person you’re asking and how they’re inclined to feel, generally, about Gen Zs and young people these days – the Walkers are either brilliant, or brilliant at wasting time.

The group consists of Sebastian Karall, Michaela Purcell, Sophia Franc, Katie Wang and Hayden Chan. They’re all in their early 20s and have been friends for the better part of the past decade, since attending high school together at Garth Webb Secondary School.

Together, they’ve walked from Oakville to Toronto, a 46-kilometre trek that took them 12 hours. They walked over the entirety of Toronto’s 26-kilometre Bloor-Danforth subway line. They’ve documented each of these walks and others on Instagram and TikTok, performing goofy skits and parody songs along the way. One day, they hope to walk across all of Canada.

View this post on Instagram A post shared by The Walkers (@meet_thewalkers)

The walks aren’t for anything. They’re not walking to raise awareness around any specific issue. They’re not, typically, raising funds for charity (though they did hold a walk in support of Fort York Food Bank in late October).

They post the walks on social media, but they’re not influencers, and not earning income off of it.

Instead, they walk for the sake of walking.

The response the Walkers receive is in itself illuminating. They have many, many online supporters – who write to say “I love whatever that’s wrong with y’all” and compliment their “chill vibes.”

But there are also critics – those who roll their eyes at Gen Zs for “discovering” walking, and frittering away their time.

The discussion, said 23-year-old Michaela, is kind of the point. “I guess walking, the way we do it, is performance art.”

“It inspires thought. It inspires debate. If people think it’s stupid, well, why is it stupid?”

I met the Walkers at Toronto’s Union Station on a Sunday morning. It was just before 9 a.m. and the station, usually packed on weekdays with harried commuters, was all but empty. So it was impossible to miss the five Walkers as they approached in their extremely impractical – extremely Gen Z – walking clothes: flippy skirts and tank tops, baggy T-shirts and even baggier pants.

My plan was to tag along on this day’s walk. They were tackling the route above the 38-kilometre Yonge subway line in Toronto. I wanted to see if, by the end of it, I might learn something – yes, about walking, but also about how this group of friends had become a kind of Rorschach test on today’s young people.

All around us, Gen Zs (those born between 1996 and 2010) have become the new punching bag – the next set of budding adults to sneer at. Across popular culture, they’re derided as entitled and difficult to work with, as anxious and antisocial – this, despite the fact that we know so little about them. Unlike their millennial predecessors, they seem, at least for now, less interested in broadcasting their me-ness to the world.

What we do know about Gen Z is that they face a mountain of challenges. Just look at the headlines. The youth employment rate is at its lowest in decades. Affordability is on a long-term decline. Gen Zs can’t get a job or buy a home. They’re more likely to suffer from anxiety and depression. And it’s these same young people who, as adults, will be expected to shoulder the burden for the rest of us in the coming years.

But that’s only if they ever do become full-fledged adults. Because of the struggling economy, because of the pandemic, because of a long list of reasons that the Walkers would spend the next many hours telling me about, they, like many other young people today, are facing a delayed start to adulthood.

And that ties back to the walks, too. “I definitely feel more kid-like than adult-like,” said 22-year-old Sebastian. “These walks, I guess, embody the values of kids. We’re discovering. Exploring.”

If you had to label the Walkers back in high school, you might have called them the theatre kids. The five friends spent most of their time hanging out in Hayden’s basement, dreaming up skits and scripts for films they might one day make together.

“I don’t know which clique you’d call us,” said Hayden. “Glee?”

They started walking together in senior year. It was in March of 2020, during the COVID-19 lockdowns, so there wasn’t much else to do. They’d build fires at Bronte Creek park and go for long, meandering walks designed around spending time together, experiencing new places together.

“It was like one last hurrah of childhood,” said Sebastian.

Today, all of them have completed undergraduate degrees. Still, all but one continue on as full-time students.

There’s Sebastian, who’s in grad school at the University of Toronto, and Michaela, studying musical production at Seneca College. (They’re the group mom and dad, and have been dating since they were 16.) Hayden is in teacher’s college, as is Sophia, who shoots and edits all of their videos. And Katie is spending the year travelling, a gap year before pursuing a PhD.

We set off from Union Station just a few minutes after 9 a.m. It was early October, but felt like late summer. The sun was already beating down on us.

The five friends had completed the first half of their walk the day before – 43 kilometres and 49,374 steps from Vaughan to Union Station. It had taken them 8½ hours. I was joining them for the second half of their trip, from Union to Finch. I’d prepared my 42-year-old self meticulously. I’d gone to bed early and calculated the grams of protein in my breakfast to give myself maximum energy. Slathered on sunscreen and worn New Balance sneakers with soles so wide and thick they looked like bumper cars.

By comparison, the Walkers had spent the night before watching AI slop together until 2 a.m. They’d ordered in discount sushi, then crashed on each other’s couches. On this day, Michaela had brought her phone and nothing else – not even a water bottle – with her.

View this post on Instagram A post shared by The Walkers (@meet_thewalkers)

As we carved a path between the grey-and-glass towers of the Financial District, I asked the group what made their videos so popular. This past summer, as they began planning their walk from Oakville to the CN Tower, they started an Instagram account called “Meet The Walkers.” They’ve since gained over 13,000 followers. They were interviewed for their local Oakville newspaper. Max Kerman from the band Arkells called them “his favourite celebrities on the internet.”

Part of it, said Katie, might be nostalgia. To their older followers, she theorized, the Walkers are a reminder of a different time, and of what it was like to be young and discovering the city for themselves.

“I think our content does well with middle-aged moms,” she told me. (A comment that was received, I hope, with a very straight face).

“They think we’re cute and wholesome,” said Sophia.

Another reason, Katie added, might simply be their optimism. Times are tough. Everything feels bad. And yet, with their goofy, punny sing-alongs and wide, gummy smiles, the Walkers respond to the world with unfailing cheer.

And it’s not just an act, she said. She studied ecology as an undergrad, looking at the effects of climate change on our planet. So she understands that there’s a lot to be pessimistic about. And yet, that doesn’t keep her and the other Walkers down.

“I think even though we have had our share of doom, we do still have hope,” she said. “Even though we’re screwed, we’re still gonna try.”

At about 10 a.m., after passing the screaming billboards and double-decker buses around Eaton Centre, Hayden said he had another theory to explain their online popularity. He was about to launch into it when something caught his eye at the intersection of Yonge and College. He stopped.

“Guys, there’s a Bulk Barn!” he shouted. It had become a regular stop on their walks. Mostly just to buy snacks for cheap.

Hayden made a beeline toward the yellow storefront. But as he neared it, he froze. “OH NO!!” he shouted.

The others caught up. A chorus of the same: “OH NOOOOOOOOOO.”

The store was closed and wouldn’t open for 15 minutes.

Hayden looked genuinely crestfallen. “Aw, I wanted dried mango,” he said. “That’s so tough.”

He let himself brood for just a moment before carrying on. There would be other Bulk Barns.

He remembered his train of thought from earlier, about their popularity.

Over and over again, he said, they get the same question in the comments: Can I come?

“We’re extremely lucky to have friends like this,” he said. “People want to come walk with us. But really, I think what they want is friends like us.”

It’s a good theory. Gen Zs are, statistically, the loneliest generation. A survey from 2023 found that more than half of young people in Canada – 51.7 per cent – reported feelings of social isolation.

After the pandemic, he said, many of their peers continue to live in largely the same way they did in lockdown: alone, and trapped in their own digital bubbles. So, to many of these young followers, the Walkers might feel aspirational.

“What they want is friends to go for walks with,” he said. “Friends to waste time with.”

At about noon, we were making our way through midtown. It was a stretch where the city felt especially unrelenting. The concrete towers, spaced far apart, offered little shade from the sun, and the noise of road construction was incessant, interrupted only by the occasional honk or blare of a car alarm.

My feet were starting to slow down, even as the Walkers continued on at a swift pace. If this were an ordinary leisurely walk, this was the point where I’d have turned back.

Instead, to distract myself, I asked them a question to which I thought I already knew the answer. I asked which historical event they felt had shaped Gen Z the most. Most of them responded, as I’d suspected, with the pandemic.

The morning after Michaela’s 18th birthday, she said, the world shut down. All of her classes moved online. There was no prom, and their graduation ceremony consisted of a YouTube video, with teachers sending in self-recorded messages of congratulations.

“Every single teacher’s video ended with ‘carpe diem,’” she said, shaking her head and giving a sad laugh. “It was a hard time for everyone.”

Still, she considers them lucky. The lockdowns happened late enough that they were able to have a mostly normal high-school experience.

But Hayden had an answer that surprised all of us. He argued that the election of Donald Trump as U.S. president has been just as impactful on their young lives.

He said Mr. Trump’s first election in 2016 – which took place when they were 14 – made for a confusing backdrop to adolescence.

“Suddenly, you felt pressure to have opinions on everything,” he said. “We were in Grade 9, and suddenly we were supposed to have a view on trans rights.”

He said it became “cool” for young men among them to espouse alt-right views – to follow online “manosphere” figures such as Andrew Tate and Joe Rogan.

“It was ‘cool’ to make fun of ‘SJWs,’” he said, the online shorthand for “Social Justice Warriors.”

“It was like, you are a loser because you care about social justice.”

Sebastian nodded and added that many of their male friends spend much of their time interacting only with other young men. And the online algorithms only exacerbate this.

This is one reason the Walkers prefer to keep their walks phone-free. Aside from shooting their videos or using their phones to navigate, the walks are, for the most part, screen-free time, a rare opportunity to unplug and focus on the environment – and on each other.

“We’ll shame each other,” said Katie. “Like, ‘Stop, you’re being a screenager!’”

Instead, they talk about pop culture. School. The city around them. They try to enjoy one another’s company. The irony that they’re now making online videos isn’t lost on them. They’re still figuring out how to reconcile it.

“Now we’re contributing to the scroll,” said Hayden. “We’re on the scroll.”

They saw recently that one of their most popular videos has been viewed for the equivalent of two full years of time.

“We took two years out of people’s lives,” said Katie, shaking her head. “Like, is this moral?”

By around 2 p.m., we’d reached the northernmost edge of the old city of Toronto.

The sidewalk led into a tunnel – an underpass beneath Highway 401 – where the street widened to six lanes of traffic. Aside from the lip of the sidewalk, there was no barrier, no concrete block, nothing to separate us from the speeding cars.

“This is crazy. This is so stupid,” said Sebastian.

They’d come across similarly dangerous stretches before, including places where the sidewalk or road would just suddenly end and then they’d have to walk across a highway.

These were the moments where Sebastian put on his urban explorer hat. He’s taking a course at U of T on psychogeography – the study of the effect that urban environments have on our psychology – and likes to share his learnings with the group.

“These walks have really exposed to us that huge parts of the city are not really built for walking,” he said. He hopes their online platform will help spread this message.

“We’re getting to the part that’s not for us anymore,” said Hayden. “We’re reclaiming spaces for the people!”

At the other end of the tunnel, Sophia turned and pointed behind us. We’d made it so far that we could see the downtown skyline off in the distance. The CN Tower was so small she could pinch it between her thumb and index fingers.

It was the home stretch. Just another hour or so to go. We’d walked, by this point, about 15 kilometres. I was tired, but doing my best not to show it. Each time the Walkers huddled for a photo or paused to strategize, I’d find a wall or concrete planter to lean against.

The conversation drifted to a familiar subject, one that comes up on just about every walk they go on. They talked about what they want their lives to look like when they’re adults.

But, I asked, aren’t you adults now? For generations past, the early 20s marked the beginning of adulthood. Twentysomethings had careers and houses. Often, they were married, with kids.

“We’re not there yet,” said Hayden, flatly.

“We’re young adults,” said Katie.

They do have jobs and bills. But the old markers of adulthood – like full-time salaries, homes, families – are milestones they don’t expect to reach anytime soon. In her case, Katie said, she didn’t expect to finish her doctorate studies until well into her 30s.

So how will they know when they’re adults?

“No roommates would be a sign of adulthood,” said Sebastian. (He, along with the rest of the group, said he doesn’t expect ever to be able to buy a home.)

“I just want a salary,” said Hayden. He’s never had one before, never really felt comfortable spending.

Take coffee, for instance – which he doesn’t drink, largely because it costs at least $3 a day.

“Maybe once I have a salary that kind of money won’t mean anything to me anymore,” he said. “Maybe once I have a salary, I’ll drink coffee.”

What they’re still reckoning with is whether they even want those things, given what they view as the trade-off. They’re not sure those traditional markers of adulthood – like a stable income, or a mortgage – are worth giving up this moment of freedom and exploration for. They’re still young enough to think it has to be one or the other.

“I want people to know that we’re hard workers. We’re not just goofing off,” said Sebastian.

“But we think about our parents and their lives, and see that taking the safe route doesn’t always mean being fulfilled.”

“We want to be productive, but we don’t want to be miserable in order to be successful,” added Katie.

View this post on Instagram A post shared by The Walkers (@meet_thewalkers)

Ultimately, this difference in values is what makes the Walkers divisive. It’s the sentiment behind the commenters who say they’re wasting their time. Who criticize them for devoting all of this energy to a project as pointless, as unproductive, as walking. For spending all this time walking when instead they could be studying or working.

“But it is productive,” said Sebastian. “We’re performing bonds with each other.”

A few minutes after 3 p.m., Katie pointed to the next intersection. We had been walking by then for more than six hours.

There, at long last, was the sign for Finch Station. It was about 20 yards away, next to a Persian restaurant and a Korean hair salon.

“We’re so close!” she shouted.

We made our final, weary steps. We were there. Finch Station. 24,374 steps. We’d made it.

The afternoon sun was reflecting off a nearby glass building, casting a sepia glow around them. Sophia pointed. “Look at that!” she shouted. “It’s so beautiful.”

It was a group of birds – I can’t say for sure how many, let’s just say five – about to take flight. They watched together as the birds lifted off. On their faces was something like contentment, or awe, or both.

And then they put their arms around each other.

Sebastian was the first to break off. “We’re having so much fun,” he said. “Let’s just walk all the way back.”

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