Introverts, it turns out there's a perfect time to leave a party.

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It's time for me to come clean: despite what everyone thinks, I am a secret introvert. 

I am loud, bubbly and — according to several sources, which shall remain anonymous — hilarious. But my social battery burns brightly… and then dies in spectacular fashion. I walk into a room fully charged, cracking jokes, refilling wine glasses and making small talk like it's my Olympic sport… and then, without warning, poof.

Energy gone. Battery dead. 

When that happens, I need to be away. From people, from noise, from anyone who could potentially ask me what I'm up to on the weekend. I want to go home, get into bed, potentially stare at a wall, maybe read a book and definitely have absolutely zero communication with other humans until morning. 

Watch: Not quite an introvert, but not an extrovert either? Turns out, there's a word for that. Post continues below.

Apparently, I am not alone. 

According to new research from Hinge (yes, the dating app that has apparently decided to now dabble in anthropology), there is an exact window of time in a social situation before even the most socially capable among us will start to unravel. They've coined it the "social sweet spot".

Hinge surveyed people about their "social energy", or how long they can be around others before they become emotionally checked out. The result? Thirty-eight per cent said they start feeling drained after just two or three hours of socialising. 

That's literally two cocktails, a main course and half a story about someone's coworker's baby. And after that? Our brains hit what researchers call the "fatigue threshold".

It's the moment when you're smiling and nodding but secretly planning an escape route in your head. It's the minute your jokes stop landing and you have somehow found yourself trapped in a conversation with a man who is explaining the concept of sourdough to you as though you didn't live through lockdown.

Stay beyond that sweet spot and you'll cross over into the danger zone where you become either weirdly quiet or start oversharing your entire childhood trauma to someone you literally just met. 

Suddenly, my entire personality makes sense. It explains why I am magnetic at 7pm but mysteriously gone by 9:30. It's why I can host a dinner party with peak enthusiasm, but once dessert hits the table, I start fantasising about my pyjamas like they're the guy I currently have a crush on. It explains why I dance for exactly four songs at weddings and then disappear into the bathroom for 25 minutes of deep breathing and doom-scrolling.

Listen: Em V, Jessie, and Holly unpack the chaos that is modern social etiquette on Mamamia Out Loud. Post continues below.

So, what do we do with this information? We respect the two-hour rule. If you're still thriving after hour three? Congrats, you are clearly built different. But the rest of us are going to normalise leaving while the vibes are still high. 

Staying longer does not make me a better friend; it makes me tired. And no one needs another zombie at the party pretending to care about someone's renovation updates (even though I do really like the tiles you picked out, Emily, I swear). 

Here is my official declaration: I am going to leave a social gathering somewhere between the two-hour mark and the moment I start wondering if my smile still looks convincing. I will leave while I am still glowing, before the dreaded social energy crash hits. 

That way, my friends will remember me as fun and not feral. 

And best of all? I'll get home early enough to stare at my wall in blissful silence.

Feature image: Getty.