What happened to the future we were promised? The vision that grew out of the 1990s techno-utopianism, when the internet was still a place of freedom and experimentation. Where are the infinite possibilities the early years of the millennium afforded, when social media meant AOL Instant Messenger and GeoCities, when our cellphones were not yet smart, and when personal tech evoked whimsy and excitement rather than anxiety and dread?
On a recent night in L.A., that digital optimism still existed. Here, at a clothing store on La Brea Avenue in the Fairfax District, something that felt lost was rediscovered. People were huddling around to play 1999’s “Crazy Taxi” on a Sega Dreamcast, or 2005’s “Tekken 5” on a PlayStation 2. They were surfing a perfectly re-created Y2K-era internet, and navigating an early version of Apple’s Photo Booth to snap selfies with a first-generation iSight webcam.
Yes, almost everyone was staring at screens, but almost no one was looking at their phone. Instead, the room felt alive and buzzing with energy. Technology was creating human connection rather than isolation.
Welcome to Dead Internet Theory, an event hosted by game designer Paizley Lee that’s both a celebration of vintage tech and a place to build community. The name is a tongue-in-cheek reference to the theory that the internet today is mostly bots, AI slop and corporate algorithms, while the human element is quickly disappearing from the web.
Lee started the event earlier this year after seeing how her friends reveled in hacking old hardware but had nowhere to show off their reimagined contraptions. She said Dead Internet Theory is a space to highlight “artists who don’t see the light of day,” a cyberpunk show-and-tell of sorts. “There’s a world of knowledge that comes from that person that can share and collaborate with another artist, and that’s really the future that we were promised, right then and there,” Lee said. “It’s the ‘Hey, look at what I made, look at what I’m interested in, and let’s share that.’ ”
One of those artists sharing his work was Dan Ruth. Atop a low credenza, he displayed a black, leather suitcase that housed inside of it an old laptop attached to an external zip drive. On the laptop’s screen was a menu of various banned books — the Unabomber’s manifesto and “The Anarchist Cookbook” among them. Ruth had recently bought the trademark rights to the digital storage systems iOmega, Zip and Jaz. “They were what we all used in the ‘90s to transfer larger files,” he explained of the era before online storage and transfer infrastructure like Google Drive.
With his setup at the event, participants could choose whatever banned book they wanted and write it to a physical Zip disk (about the size of a saltine cracker) to keep forever. If Ruth’s installation is a bit provocative, his message is less controversial. At a time when servers are being shut down, physical media is being digitized out of existence, and the subscription model is supplanting personal ownership, Ruth believes this is a way to have data autonomy.
Lee’s own contribution to the evening is the full rainbow of Apple’s iMac G3 computers — those bubbly, teardrop-shaped desktops that debuted in 1998 to the famous “iCandy” ads displaying their colorful shells, and TV commercials scored to the Rolling Stones’ “She’s Like a Rainbow.” Over several months and multiple trips, Lee drove across the country collecting the G3s in their core five colors. And it wasn’t easy. She recalled sleeping in her car in the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel for a few nights because she had spent all her money on acquiring the computers.
It was the people Lee met in the months of gathering the G3s, however, that made it worth it: a single dad who collected vintage iMacs to bond with his son, an elementary school teacher who held onto the old computers because the school was going to destroy them.
“I met these really witchy, cool, queer programmers from MIT in Medford, Massachusetts, who invited me back for MIT Swap Fest, where I found Indigo,” said Lee, referring to another G3 color not part of the core five. “I met a guy who used to work in broadcast, and his wife just died of cancer. His mom moved in, and she has been trying to support him in getting rid of old things and not holding on to them too much.” Human moments made possible almost by the accident of holding onto a computer longer than most.
Lee’s pursuit of old tech hardware has always been, at its root, a means to meeting new people, hearing their stories and creating a relationship with them. “I care about people a lot,” she said. “I think every single person that touches any of my projects knows that I really care about people feeling good.”
When Lee finally acquired all five original colors (blueberry, strawberry, lime, tangerine and grape), plus all the additional colors (ruby, indigo, snow, graphite, sage and three limited edition colors), she began booting up the G3s computers to make sure they still worked. In the process, she discovered the forgotten digital detritus left on their hard drives: old resumes, photo albums, Word documents.
“It’s somebody’s life,” she said. “It feels weird to do anything with it, but it also feels weird to alter it.” In the end, she kept the old files and built a replica of the early ‘00s internet to live beside them on the computers. At Dead Internet Theory events, participants are given free reign to the G3s and slowly find clues Lee has left on their desktops that lead into a mystery game she created.
Back at the event, people flocked to the bank of iMac G3 computers. They clicked around, laughing, their eyes lighted up. “It’s really a trip seeing the old MacBooks,” said Shannon Stack after navigating one of the relics. “I remember having those in my elementary school classroom. Now, these are archival pieces. It’s freaky!”
Lee herself hovered around the computer bank, watching people interact with them and discovering the random documents left behind or playing one of Apple’s preset games. She asked a couple who had been tinkering around for over half-an-hour if they wanted a hint to her mystery. “No!” they respond excitedly.
While Dead Internet Theory has only been held in Los Angeles, Lee’s dream is to take it on the road. “I’ve got kids in Seattle, in Nashville, in Dallas that are emailing me and going, please bring it here,” she explained. The only thing stopping her was money, but that changed recently. A few weeks after the event on La Brea, she was approached by a sponsor. Now she’s making a tour happen, first with a pop-up event in New York City on Wednesday.
Recently, as Lee began driving across the country to set up, she stopped at a bed and breakfast near Red Lodge, Mont. When she learned the innkeeper had an old blueberry iMac G3 in her basement, she asked to take a look.
“I spent an hour getting her back on,” Lee said of rebooting the machine to give the innkeeper access. “And the face she made when it came back to life — literally priceless.”
The woman browsed through old photos of her daughters, their old school projects and other files forgotten over time. Afterward, the innkeeper gave Lee the computer, telling her it deserves a second life.
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