7. Juni 2025

The Inter­net That Pro­ved Her Wrong

Von tomate
Lese­dau­er 5 Minu­ten

A fri­end who is 20 years youn­ger than me recent­ly asked me what my inter­net was like back then. The ques­ti­on made me pau­se, not becau­se I could­n’t remem­ber, but becau­se I nee­ded a moment to think about how to explain it. After a moment, I knew exact­ly which sto­ry to tell — one from about 20 years ago about an IRC chan­nel, a lonely teen­ager, and how a com­mu­ni­ty of stran­gers beca­me fami­ly. Becau­se this is what my inter­net was like back then, and not ever­y­thing was shit.

When Digi­tal Spaces Felt Like Home

This was the inter­net of the late 1990s and ear­ly 2000s, when IRC chan­nels were our gathe­ring places and screen names were as real as any given name. I was 25, part of a tight-knit online com­mu­ni­ty whe­re most of us ran­ged from our ear­ly twen­ties to thir­ties. We were the usu­al mix you’d find in tho­se spaces — metal heads, goths, punks, and mis­fits who had found each other in the digi­tal ether. This is whe­re I got my nick­na­me „toma­te“ which I still have and use today.

Then one day, someone new found their way to our channel.

A Teen­ager in Grief

Her sto­ry unfold­ed gra­du­al­ly, the way per­so­nal his­to­ries do in online spaces — shared pie­ce by pie­ce, trust buil­ding with each con­ver­sa­ti­on. We did­n’t know she was 14 at first. Her mother had died. Her father was drow­ning in his own grief. She had a twin sis­ter, but somehow felt com­ple­te­ly alo­ne in the world. When we even­tual­ly lear­ned her age, we rea­li­zed she was car­ry­ing a weight that would chall­enge adults twice her age.

Loo­king back, I’m acu­te­ly awa­re that a minor fin­ding her way into an adult online space could have gone very dif­fer­ent­ly. Even then, we unders­tood this was poten­ti­al­ly pro­ble­ma­tic. She was lucky — incre­di­bly lucky — that she stumb­led into our par­ti­cu­lar cor­ner of the inter­net and not into a chan­nel with peo­p­le who might have had dif­fe­rent intentions.

I still don’t know exact­ly what made us coll­ec­tively deci­de to take care of her. The­re was no for­mal dis­cus­sion, no vote taken. We sim­ply reco­gni­zed someone who nee­ded what we could offer: pre­sence, lis­tening ears, and the pati­ent under­stan­ding that only comes from peo­p­le who’­ve felt like out­si­ders them­sel­ves. When she tal­ked about her grief and pain, we were the­re. When she felt alo­ne, we remin­ded her she wasn’t.

An Impos­si­ble Request

As her 16th bir­th­day approa­ched, she shared news that fil­led her with dread. Her father, in an attempt to crea­te nor­mal­cy, had deci­ded she and her twin sis­ter would have a bir­th­day par­ty. „All the peo­p­le from my school will come,“ she told us. „For her. I don’t have fri­ends at school. You are my friends.“

In a moment that sur­pri­sed even me, I said, „Well, we could come.“ The rest of the chan­nel quick­ly agreed — of cour­se we could come. It see­med like the natu­ral thing to say, though I did­n’t expect it to go anywhere.

„But what should I say to my dad?“ she asked.

„Tell him you have some peo­p­le you want to invi­te,“ I sug­gested. „Your fri­ends from the internet.“

I thought it was just a com­fort­ing ges­tu­re, some­thing to make her feel less alo­ne about the par­ty. I never ima­gi­ned she was despe­ra­te enough to actual­ly ask her father if her inter­net fri­ends could attend. But she did. And incre­di­bly, he said yes.

Loo­king back, I’m honest­ly baf­f­led by this. If I had a 14-year-old daugh­ter who wan­ted to invi­te her adult fri­ends from the inter­net to her bir­th­day par­ty, I would abso­lut­e­ly not allow it. Any reasonable parent would have serious con­cerns about a group of adults wan­ting to attend a teenager’s par­ty. Her father’s decis­i­on remains a mys­tery to me — per­haps his own grief clou­ded his judgment, or may­be he was just despe­ra­te to see his daugh­ter hap­py. Wha­te­ver his reaso­ning, it ope­ned the door to some­thing extraordinary.

Fif­teen Adults and One Bir­th­day Party

What hap­pen­ed next was pure magic of the old inter­net. Fif­teen adults coor­di­na­ted in a secret chan­nel she did­n’t know about. We plan­ned pres­ents, orga­ni­zed who would bring cake, and even plot­ted a cake fight. Our coor­di­na­ti­on was chao­tic at best — like a mili­ta­ry ope­ra­ti­on run by enthu­si­a­stic ama­teurs. We had so much joy in the plan­ning, part­ly becau­se we sen­sed how important this would be for her, but most­ly becau­se we were genui­ne­ly exci­ted about get­ting to meet our friend.

The Per­fect Party

Seve­ral cars pul­led up to the sub­ur­ban house. Fif­teen adults step­ped out, wea­ring band t‑shirts and dark clot­hing — exact­ly the kind of peo­p­le who make neigh­bors peek through their curta­ins. Here we were: the inter­net fri­ends, now in the pants world for a teenager’s bir­th­day party.

We had the time of our lives. More important­ly, she did too. While her twin sis­ter enter­tai­ned her „cool“ school fri­ends, our group play­ed games, told sto­ries, and laug­hed until our sides hurt. Later, she would tell us it was the first time she had genui­ne­ly laug­hed in months.

We were our­sel­ves, but we were also the best ver­si­ons of our­sel­ves. We did­n’t drink or take drugs. We toned down our usu­al colorful lan­guage. Her father was the­re, along with other fami­ly mem­bers — I think an aunt, though I don’t remem­ber exact­ly. We unders­tood that we nee­ded to pro­ve we were the good peo­p­le, even if we did­n’t look like what they might expect good peo­p­le to look like. We had to show that despi­te our band t‑shirts, despi­te being the kind of adults who hung out in IRC chan­nels, we were trust­wor­t­hy. We were the­re for the right reasons.

For us, it was­n’t cha­ri­ty or a good deed. It was sim­ply mee­ting a fri­end face to face. I still don’t know her legal name becau­se her IRC nick­na­me is her real name. In our digi­tal com­mu­ni­ty, she was exact­ly who she cho­se to be, and that was more authen­tic than any name on a birth certificate.

Twen­ty Years Later

That was rough­ly twen­ty years ago, and we still talk. She remains part of our exten­ded digi­tal fami­ly, and we remain part of hers. The inter­net may have chan­ged, but some con­nec­tions tran­s­cend plat­forms and time.

Six years ago, she was living in Paris with a boy­fri­end in Ber­lin. She flew to Ber­lin for her bir­th­day, only to have him break up with her at the air­port when she lan­ded. In that moment of heart­break and humi­lia­ti­on, thou­sands of miles from home in a for­eign city, she cal­led me.

She spent that weekend on my couch. I orde­red food, we wat­ched ter­ri­ble TV shows, and she play­ed with my dog Bar­ba­ra. It was­n’t the bir­th­day she had plan­ned, but it was­n’t the dis­as­ter it could have been eit­her. By the time she flew home, she had a few decent days under her belt and was­n’t drow­ning in des­pair. Later, she would tweet: „The nicest per­son on this weekend was a dog.“

The Inter­net That Was

Loo­king back, what we had was some­thing pre­cious. The social spaces we built and shaped our­sel­ves on the inter­net, whe­re a 14-year-old girl could stumb­le into a chan­nel full of adults and find safe­ty ins­tead of dan­ger. Whe­re geo­gra­phy meant not­hing and con­nec­tion meant ever­y­thing. Whe­re you could meet peo­p­le you never would have encoun­te­red in the pants world — peo­p­le from dif­fe­rent cities, dif­fe­rent back­grounds, dif­fe­rent walks of life, all drawn tog­e­ther by some­thing more meaningful than proximity.

It was an inter­net whe­re stran­gers beca­me fami­ly not through blood or shared ZIP codes, but through con­sis­tent pre­sence and genui­ne care. Whe­re show­ing up for someone was­n’t a hash­tag or a per­for­mance, but sim­ply what you did for peo­p­le who mat­te­red to you. Whe­re the weir­dos and mis­fits and out­casts found each other across vast distances and crea­ted some­thing beau­tiful together.

That con­nec­tion we for­ged twen­ty-five years ago remains unbre­aka­ble. She knows she can call at 3 in the mor­ning, and I’ll reach out to our old IRC net­work. They’ll ral­ly, just as they did twen­ty years ago, becau­se that’s what we do for each other. And she would do the same for any of us.

And that is the inter­net I hold dear. The inter­net I love and miss. The inter­net that made the day for a 16-year-old girl who thought she had no one in the world. The inter­net that pro­ved her wrong.