Community has become one of those words that gets used so often it loses meaning. We talk about "online communities" the way we talk about "content".  I've heard both terms thrown around like they are these abstract substances that can be extracted, packaged, and sold.

A community isn't a collection of usernames.  I believe it's the experience of people choosing to share a piece of themselves. It could be anything. It could be their humor, their beliefs, their creations, and receiving something genuine in return.

When I think about the internet that shaped me, I think of a time when presence felt real. You’d spend hours on a message board or a blog ring, trading ideas, stories, or art with people you’d never met. Then, if you were lucky, eventually, you’d find yourself sitting across from one of them in a coffee shop, realizing you already knew each other better than most of the people in your everyday life. The web was porous like that. The borders between online and offline weren’t walls; they were doorways.

There were these communities in New York I read about. They grew out of those early online spaces. These were small forums that became meetups, meetups that became collectives, and those collectives eventually built entire creative movements and cultures. People weren’t trying to be famous; they were trying to be seen. There’s a difference. Back then, identity wasn’t about the algorithmic performance of self.  It was about connection.

To bring that spirit back into the real world, we created IRL. IRL is a way for people in the community to come together through curated gatherings. These aren’t just events for the sake of being social, although some will be. They're experiences built around curiosity and connection. The hope is that these are spaces where you can meet people who care about the same strange or beautiful things you do. These can be places where your ideas are challenged and you're able to grow. Places where you find community. 

IRL is about restoring what the internet once promised that online presence could lead to something tangible. That you could follow a thread of shared interest and end up somewhere unexpected, maybe learning something, maybe creating something, maybe just feeling a little less alone.

Our mission is that every event feels safe. Every event feels human. Sometimes that means a workshop or a small class. Sometimes its going to be a casual night out or a local collaboration. These events won't be perfect, but that's the beautiful thing about being human. Nothing is perfect, but there is soul in it.  No matter what, the goal is always the same: to bridge what we build online with the life we live offline.

I truly believe you can have a community behind a screen. I’ve seen it with my brother, who couldn’t leave his bed while he fought cancer. I’ve heard countless stories of people finding connection when they needed it most.

LavishMade exists to hold space for both kinds of community, both the ones that live online and the ones that grow into real life. A place where people can create together, connect together, and maybe most importantly, just feel seen, no matter their circumstances.