What an interesting article. To me, it illuminates two things: the desire for that child-like sense of depth and mystery that many of us still look for in our everyday lives, and the tendency for Silicon Valley money to turn everything it touches into a slide-deck-laden commercial enterprise.
Sadly, as much as I love the idea, I see the same thing happening with venture-funded cooperative living arrangements.
When I was studying in Berkeley, I lived in a student-run co-op house. We were the wardens of our creaky 1920s manor: we did all the cleaning, made repairs, painted (and mural-ed) the walls, did some remodeling, picked out the furniture. Even membership was decided collectively. As a result, the community we had was an emergent property of our environment, and it created friendships that have lasted for the past decade. Sitting in the overgrown backyard garden or watching the glimmering city lights from the roof, I felt immersed in a world of beauty and mystery for the first time in many years.
Lately, I've been seeing a lot of co-living/"nomad house" startups being posted to HN. You see photos of beautiful houses all around the world; fancy toys in full-size entertainment dungeons; attractive young people all working on their latest business venture. But I can't escape the feeling that all of this exists in that same corporate Neverland described in the article. Venture capital runs through the blood of these communities. They exist to make money. They don't own the houses. They don't get to decide their own fate. It's all a petri dish carefully designed from an office building somewhere in the Financial District.
As a result, when a true community does manage to take hold in this sort of artificial ether, it becomes all the more agonizing when corporate decides to pull the plug on you. If only the incentives were aligned; if only corporate didn't "really needed to monetize" the venture...
Maybe these sorts of spiritually-significant projects (and I do include the Latitude Society in this) simply don't work when run as a conventional business. And yet, there's clearly a deep desire for them to exist.
That seems kind of cynical. I would certainly consider paying to be in a corporate created social apartment if the reviews were high and there was some guarantee of the managers dealing with problem people.
Collectives (and meetups etc) happen because someone volunteers. When that volunteer disappears whatever they were organizing often disappears with it. Turning it into a business means someone can be hired to do the organizing when no one has the time / motivation to do it themselves. Volunteerism is great but most people have other things they need to do as well. Paying so someone can do those things full time seems like a win/win.
Of course the details matter. I've been to a few "Spin" events and they needed more organization but at least at the time my impression was they were just starting and still finding out what worked and what was required.
I guess I don't see how making it a commercial enterprise is bad by default.
Don't fool yourself, the student run co-ops are no different from the venture capital that runs any other co-living/"nomad house" you speak of.
Because, in a way, the student is the "start-up" and the money paid for tuition is "venture capital," put up in hopes to see an ROI, in terms of money or societal contribution, from the student.
Speaking as a former UC Berkeley Cloyne co-oper, I've seen a handful of former co-opers try to transition the "magic" of the USCA into normal life. They failed because the reality is that American society doesn't it lend itself well to collectivism and the lack of capital needed build a functioning co-op.
Sure the student co-ops ran great when everyone is unattached, uninhibited, young dumb, full of cum, and fueled by venture capital (e.g. student loans, scholarships, etc). But once you pull all that out, the wheels fall off the cart pretty quick.
I'm not holding up the co-ops as some sort of paragon, but I think they're clearly a stepping stone in the right direction. At the very least, the cooperative business model has allowed them to (more or less) self-govern and adapt to a rapidly changing populace over the course of many decades. In my experience, they also have a much more diverse population on campus than the dorms or greek houses. While it's true that the largely student constituency is what's currently funding the co-ops, the BSC has always been a separate institution from the university; were Cal to suddenly shut down, I have no doubt the BSC would still find plenty of people to fill their seats, if for no other reason than the alluring economic prospect. The institution itself, as it's currently structured, does not require an outside source of funding to prop it up: the business is a closed loop, and the incentives are aligned. (Correct me if I'm wrong... I don't know how much the BSC relies on donations, etc. to survive.)
> Speaking as a former UC Berkeley Cloyne co-oper, I've seen a handful of former co-opers try to transition the "magic" of the USCA into normal life. They failed because the reality is that American society doesn't it lend itself well to collectivism and the lack of capital needed build a functioning co-op.
True, but many others have succeeded. I know for a fact that there are a ton of graduate and post-graduate independent cooperatives in Berkeley. They're not exactly common in the US, but you can find them if you look around. (And it's not like the concept is new: the Rochdale Principles are almost 200 years old.) To be fair, it probably takes a dedicated and idealistic group of people to make it work; I'm sure many BSC co-opers never really held a deep-seated belief in cooperative living.
> The institution itself, as it's currently structured, does not require an outside source of funding to prop it up: the business is a closed loop, and the incentives are aligned.
This is categorically untrue. The BSC receives large subsidies from Cal in different forms. To my knowledge the main form is through Cloyne Court, which is owned by the university and leased back to the BSC for a dollar a year (seriously). Meanwhile, the university still pays things like property tax, insurance, and some other expenses on the building.
Because of this sweetheart deal, Cloyne is a huge profit center for the BSC and the funds are used subsidize unprofitable houses (mostly all the smaller ones). CZ runs a small profit, but no where near as big as Cloyne. If the BSC lost Cloyne, the entire BSC would either fold, or have to raise prices so dramatically it would eventually fold. They would definitely close all smaller houses like Davis, et al. Also the land for Rochdale village was a subsidized deal as well, which helps those stay profitable.
But my point is that the success of the BSC is due to "venture capital" in the form of students "investing" in their education. And the fact that undergrad and grads at Cal for the most part are very like minded and in similar "stages" in their life which makes co-habitation relatively easy. Which is why I say that when you look a few levels deeper, the BSC not a replicable model outside of academia.
However, I agree with you that the BSC is fucking awesome for all the reasons that you stated.
Speaking as a former Cloyne resident and former employee of the BSC, I would say the BSC works in spite of the fact that it is (mostly) run by students. Nearly all of the houses have a transitory nature to them - some of them rarely have students stay for more than a year at a time.
The BSC is more similar to the corporate co-living/nomad house than archagon realizes. Even though the BSC is a non-profit, it treats students like they are expendable. [1] The students don't own the house, they don't get to decide their own fate. It is not actually a true cooperative, employees of the BSC will be the first ones to admit that.
Sadly, as much as I love the idea, I see the same thing happening with venture-funded cooperative living arrangements.
When I was studying in Berkeley, I lived in a student-run co-op house. We were the wardens of our creaky 1920s manor: we did all the cleaning, made repairs, painted (and mural-ed) the walls, did some remodeling, picked out the furniture. Even membership was decided collectively. As a result, the community we had was an emergent property of our environment, and it created friendships that have lasted for the past decade. Sitting in the overgrown backyard garden or watching the glimmering city lights from the roof, I felt immersed in a world of beauty and mystery for the first time in many years.
Lately, I've been seeing a lot of co-living/"nomad house" startups being posted to HN. You see photos of beautiful houses all around the world; fancy toys in full-size entertainment dungeons; attractive young people all working on their latest business venture. But I can't escape the feeling that all of this exists in that same corporate Neverland described in the article. Venture capital runs through the blood of these communities. They exist to make money. They don't own the houses. They don't get to decide their own fate. It's all a petri dish carefully designed from an office building somewhere in the Financial District.
As a result, when a true community does manage to take hold in this sort of artificial ether, it becomes all the more agonizing when corporate decides to pull the plug on you. If only the incentives were aligned; if only corporate didn't "really needed to monetize" the venture...
Maybe these sorts of spiritually-significant projects (and I do include the Latitude Society in this) simply don't work when run as a conventional business. And yet, there's clearly a deep desire for them to exist.