Why the news of WeWork collapse felt like “a kick in the guts”

It’s no secret that WeWork had its problems, but this week’s news of its looming bankruptcy felt like a kick in the guts.

That may seem like an odd thing to write because businesses fail every day. I don’t own a single WeWork share and I don’t know founder Adam Neumann from a bar of soap.

Still, the news gives me a little pang of sadness – and I bet I’m not the only one.

It’s not often you have a shared work experience with probably millions of people, most of them strangers, across 39 countries despite different cultures, languages, market nuances, and more.

WeWork understood culture and was able to scale an atmosphere that I thought only existed in Silicon Valley – apparently to 777 spaces globally.

Whether you’re a well-established scale-up, or an early idea trying to find some traction, it’s safe to assume we’ve all stepped into a WeWork at some stage over the past decade and we’ve all felt that familiar electricity.

Maybe it was your home base, perhaps you snuck in for Friday drinks or to finally meet IRL with that new LinkedIn connection. You probably listened in to the countless community events that lit up every WeWork space after hours or swapped your (probably Moo) business cards with other aspiring founders.

WeWork was all of those things for me and many others. In fact, WeWork is part of why LaunchLink Communications, our PR agency for tech fast-movers, exists today.

Starting a business in San Francisco was rough and I could barely afford rent, let alone an office. WeWork was the only place I could get a few free co-working passes and eventually transition to a hotdesk membership.

Source: Supplied

At the time, 23-year-old me found herself solo and way out of her depth in San Francisco. I didn’t fit in from the second I landed. I couldn’t code, I didn’t wear hoodies and if my hair and makeup wasn’t a dead giveaway that I wasn’t a local, my Aussie accent was.

I went to San Francisco to build a business but all I made was a shit sandwich stuffed with a half-cooked business plan, no friends, no cash, no job, and no idea what I had gotten myself into. This was not the Silicon Valley I had binged from The Pirate Bay.

That was, until I stepped foot into my first WeWork. From my first trial day, I was welcomed like an old friend and I was greeted with that same energy every time I checked in to snag an empty chair at spaces in New York, Melbourne, Sydney and beyond.

WeWork’s earlier spaces were nowhere near as lush as the ones we have in Melbourne or Sydney. Those who visited Melbourne’s iconic Inspire9 will know the familiar worn-in hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, and dimly lit industrial decor I’m talking about.

If you’ve never been goblin-hunched over a recycled timber table top with your hand in a bag of chips to match the bags under your eyes, you’ve probably never worked in startup land.

It’s not very sexy, but I can promise if you spend enough time in these spaces, you’re bound to meet a potential business partner, future staff member, advisor, mentor, investor — or at minimum, a friendly smile.

The communities inside those spaces were tall-poppy-syndrome free. Through introductions, blind coffee meets and the willingness to take a chance, that community helped build the early foundations of LaunchLink, and gifted me with lifelong friends.

May Samali, CEO of Human Leadership Lab (pictured below at a San Francisco WeWork) is an example of those who thrived in these communities, gathered a wealth of knowledge working in Silicon Valley VC circles, and is now bringing those valuable learnings back home to strengthen our own ecosystem of tech leaders.

May Samali. Source: Supplied

I know countless Aussie founders came through those doors and were able to find a home away from home, especially if they were meeting anyone providing support services to Aussie startups. This includes the Australian Landing Pad (which was also based in WeWork), or supporters who floated across these spaces like the Australian Founders Network and the Australian American Chamber of Commerce.

I spent hours upon hours in those co-working spaces, and even when business was bad and everything felt like it was crumbling around me, I could go to 2nd Street or Mission Street, grab a cup of joe, and remember why I was 8,000 miles away from home.

Maybe I’m romanticising, but it felt like everyone grinding at WeWork was trying to build their dream. It’s energy that you can’t manufacture, but WeWork helped foster that mindset, with even the smallest details that reminded you to do what you love.

Co-working spaces are part of the DNA of startup communities, but the past few years have crushed them and when everything is a numbers game, the question is whether they can recover.

Covo, another space known to house budding Aussie entrepreneurs in San Francisco, has shut its doors. Meanwhile, Google listings for spaces like WorkShop Cafe are brandished with a ‘Permanently Closed’ label.  If they can’t survive in the startup capital of the world, do they have any hope back home?

If reading this news has you feeling as nostalgic as me, then you’ll know that the value of spaces like WeWork far exceeds the numbers on a Bloomberg terminal. Shares may be down over 50%, and maybe this really does signal the end of WeWork, but the contribution the company made to the growth of startups around the world outweighs the losses on the P&L – though I doubt investors care about that today.

I’m not the only one who made lifelong friends, and game-changing connections and saw many cool startups born in these spaces. None of that matters to the balance sheet, but it’s an important reminder that business is about so much more than money.

Felicia Coco is the founder of LaunchLink Communications and Yaarn.ai.