Even in the friendliest of situations, offices are charged, politicized spaces where you feel like everyone is watching you, and the ambient noise level is never high enough that you feel like the person one desk over can't hear you, even if they were interested.
In a well-designed bar, you don't feel like anyone is watching you unless you are trying to attract attention, and the noise level is high enough that you feel like only the person you're talking to can hear you, because it's noisy enough that you can't listen without really focusing.
Library reading rooms also tend to be panoptic, but there's an expectation of visual privacy because it's a population of strangers, and because there's oftentimes just more space between people, so that you have to walk to see what the next person is doing (if you were so uncivil as to pry). There's aural privacy precisely because there is no expectation of aural privacy.
Most people want control over when they monotask and when they open themselves to random encounters, outside influences, and surveillance. The classic cubicle layout achieves this, but has a lot of cultural baggage attached to it, and is more space intensive than the open-plan row of desks, since the only ways of physically generating aural privacy being walls, distance, and interference. I sort of like the idea of rehabilitating the cubicle office.
But as we know from libraries and bars, we can also create an expectation of aural privacy through strong cultural norms. Designated quiet spaces with minimal visual barriers. Common spaces designated as "free conversation zones" in which any occupant is assumed to be open to starting a conversation. Interruptible / non-interruptible signs. Maybe this is less about actual privacy, and more about the expectation that no one is going to interrupt you, whether directly or accidentally; by starting a conversation next to you.
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