It was one of O’Rourke’s first times doing drugs, but he didn’t hold back. Armed with cannabis edibles, cocaine, ketamine, and booze he partied for nearly 12 nights consecutively last August, during which time he claims to have raved for 60 hours straight—all without ever leaving his apartment. (He did take bathroom breaks and managed to eat a steak.) In the last 18 months, the 38-year-old IT worker from Dublin, who did not want his first name used due to privacy reasons, has partied on virtual reality platform VRChat every weekend, often staying up until 8 am, suited up in VR goggles and a full set of motion trackers.
“There’s a lot of weird shit going on and it can be hard to adjust, but if you do it’s magical,” he tells WIRED. “ If you’re not able to self-moderate and police yourself, it’s endless. You’re not going to win, you’re not going to see the end of the party.” O’Rourke is one of many who may struggle with the fantastical, escapist allure of having access to a nearly non-stop wild metaverse party from the comfort of their own homes. Especially when he normally doesn’t have plans with friends in the real world.
Before Covid-19 lockdowns, there had barely ever been more than 20,000 concurrent users on VRChat—but its popularity has since exploded. More than 130,000 people locked into VRChat on New Year’s Day this year, according to a VR culture blog, and there are dozens of weekly VR parties thanks to organizers across the US, Europe and Asia. Once inside the VRChat metaverse, users—who describe it to WIRED as an immersive, futuristic utopia—can choose which “maps,” or parties, they wish to explore in the form of their avatars.
And traditional clubs in the US and the UK are closing at an alarming rate— casualties of rising costs, lower profits, and, in places, onerous regulations around noise levels, security requirements and closing times. The infinite amount of space available on VR, plus the lack of regulation, allows creators to blissfully ignore the economic pressures that limit nightlife in many places today. VR venues don’t charge cover, so the main cost is VR hardware, which can exceed $5,000 with a high quality gaming PC and full body tracking devices, although a simpler set-up only with a Meta Quest headset can be procured for as little as $350. There are, however, often long lines to get into the most popular virtual club nights, since they are all capped to 80 people each due to the limits of the software on the VRChat platform, which is available through host Steam.
WIRED spoke to 12 people who are engrossed in the scene, from trans people who feel safer partying in VR to introverts and seniors who find it more welcoming. It’s even spawning underground VR sex and drug subcultures, with erotic club nights and venues meant to mimic the effect of psychedelics; O’Rourke and other enthusiasts say they’ve clocked up drug-fueled marathon dance sessions all without many of the stressors of traditional club nights.
O’Rourke, an introvert who is self-conscious about his 5-foot-4 height, co-runs a party called Euro-Corp, which resembles a traditional club space, with a narrow, wooden-looking dancefloor and a DJ booth overlooking it all. He says he is putting in so many hours—almost 1,800 at the time of writing—because he feels now is the “high water mark moment” for the scene. “When people look back in 10 or 20 years, they’ll say now was its peak. That’s why I’m partying so hard.”
But he admits he overdoes it sometimes. “I accidentally did a heroic dose [of mushrooms] and it was a bit of a mess,” he says of the March 2024 trip during which he could not distinguish between his hallucinations and the VR world. “I haven’t taken shrooms since because it was a bit heavy.” Since then, he’s decided ketamine “synergizes most with VR” because it enhance the levels of immersion to render the virtual reality more real.
Others, like Heelix, a 61-year-old VR DJ from Berlin who has spent nearly 5,000 hours—the equivalent of 200 days— in VR, struggle to control their drinking. “I think it’s a little bit dangerous,” he says. “I’ve seen people going overboard and [their avatars] suddenly disappearing.” Another VR party promoter says: “Because of the headset, you don’t realize how drunk you are till you take it off.” One partier says he’s has had friends who have needed their stomachs to be pumped after marathon drinking sessions on VRChat.
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