Julian Reyes writes about the recent and past closures of social VR spaces, and their impact on the communities that called them home.

It is easy for some to frame these closures as the disappearance of a product, a platform, or a failed business model. But those of us who have spent time inside virtual worlds know better. When a world goes dark, we do not simply lose connectivity. We lose places. We lose rituals, relationships, events, art, architecture, memory, and the transcendent sense of belonging that only emerges when a community spends enough time together to turn a platform into a home.

Virtual worlds can hold years of social, creative, and cultural life, yet too often they are still treated as temporary products rather than places worthy of stewardship. For the people who gather inside them, these are not disposable apps. They are lived environments.

Back when Altspace was initially shutting down, I was part of an unofficial envoy of sorts that went over to reach out as a representative of the VRChat community. Some of my long-time VRChat friends are Altspace refugees. I even made a small, private, Altspace “memorial” world at the time.

I hope those displaced by the recent closures can find or build a new space for themselves in VRChat. But I know that sometimes making the leap isn’t possible. Platforms often foster unique cultures and communities. And VRChat isn’t always a perfect fit for everyone. This can be due to technical reasons, but also due to cultural differences. In the end, though, VRChat having a wide spectrum of cultures and dispositions is good for the health of the platform.