"iPhone storage full."
I shuffle through pages of apps to find my next victim for dismissal. I’m a reluctant chief justice, judging each app for its value to my daily procedures. I soon come across a familiar cobalt icon: Patio, a now defunct college networking app that I have no practical reason to keep.
But I cannot muster up the courage to delete it – the memories are too strong.
Founded in 2019 from a Palo Alto headquarters, the Patio app set out to form online communities exclusive to new students at participating universities. Freshmen at New York University, Stanford University, the University of Texas at Austin and UCLA hopped onto Patio as soon as unofficial class of 2025 Instagram pages began promoting the platform. Nationwide lockdowns and desolate virtual schooling environments enhanced new students’ fascination with Patio. For some, myself included, Patio engendered a new feeling of community after high school friendships splintered.
Upon opening the app, users encountered a Tinder-esque interface paired with the functionality of Bumble For Friends. Patio then prompted students to choose from a cluster of interest labels to build their profiles and connect with other users. Labels spanned from hobby-focused identities such as "Musicians" to vaguer terms such as "LGBTQIA+ inclusion," allowing new students to build personalized yet ambiguous digital identities.
Our Patio profiles prompted a desire to learn more about each other in a personable, real-time environment. As UCLA’s classwide Patio group chat surged to nearly 2,000 members at its peak in the summer of 2021, we increasingly sought out synchronous activities to get a feel for our fellow Bruins.
The world may never know who initially scheduled the first video call on Zoom. Whoever that person was, they inadvertently created a hybrid community – a shuttle between the digital and the physical worlds of UCLA – just weeks after the class of 2025 received our March 19 acceptance letters.
We dedicated users soon found ourselves habitually summoned by the fervid force of the Patio chat to the Saturday Zoom calls, which sometimes lasted from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. PST. The allure of a good story brought our group back week after week. But nothing would ever truly match the excitement of the first evening.
Twelfth grade was one of the toughest years of my life. I was coming to terms with some toxic friendships and dealing with academic burnout – all in the middle of a pandemic. As the year progressed, I had developed a fondness for taking my Zoom meetings in the dark. No one would see my tear-stained cheeks or bloodshot eyes.
Despite being a very active member of Patio, I was debating whether or not to join that first Zoom call. I worried when interacting live with these strangers, I would come across differently from the online persona I had curated in the group chats.
Five minutes before the call officially started, I decided to hop on.
As the clock crept to 9:00 p.m. EST, students started rolling in. I recognized many of them from their Patio profiles – Matthew Beymer from California, Ellie Cohen from Texas and Oliver Strachan from Washington, to name a few. Before I knew it, almost 50 first-year Bruins were staring back at me.
Silence lingered, until one brave soul finally broke the ice by saying we should all reintroduce ourselves. One by one, we slowly stated our names and hometowns. The process took a while; however, it was the first time I had paid attention in a Zoom meeting since … last year?
Before long, our cookie cutter greetings devolved into casual conversations. We discussed everything from our missed proms and graduations to whether or not we would stick with our admitted majors. We also talked about why we joined the call. Strachan, now a third-year theater student, said he appreciated the warm energy of the people on Patio. Current third-year music education student Kobe Sanders said he was captivated by the idea of meeting more people within our year.
I am not sure how it became 2 a.m. or when everyone peeled off the call, leaving only eight or nine of us stragglers. But I blinked and realized I’d spent all night on Patio.
In the more private setting of the witching hour, our conversation shifted to vulnerable musings on mental health. Beymer and others were especially critical of their high schools’ competitive cultures. That year, I had been struggling with my hometown friends’ reluctance to open up about this exact topic. Hearing other students, most of whom were thousands of miles away, talk about feeling burnt out was refreshing. I felt more connected to these virtual friends I had known for 10 days than my real-life classmates I had known for 10 years.
Reflecting on that night, Strachan also noted how the conversation satiated a desire for connection that we lacked during the pandemic.
"I think we were just craving … any shot we had to connect, especially with people who we don’t have any stakes with," he said. "It was just a very open forum that I think was elevated by the fact that we were all seeking connection and maybe letting out some vulnerable parts of the crappiness of COVID."
When I finally logged off for the night, I was already wondering when I would talk to my Patio friends again.
The horde on that first Patio Zoom call soon shrank to the same core of usual suspects. Students peeled off the app as they committed to NYU or Northwestern over UCLA, and others simply grew bored of the app’s gimmicks.
The dwindling numbers on Zoom increased the group’s vulnerability. Conversations drifted from venting about the pressure of making final college decisions to intensely debating religious beliefs in minute detail. I fondly remember slouching in my rolling chair and watching two of my soon-to-be fellow Bruins argue for nearly an hour over the presence of a higher deity. In that moment I truly realized the number of different viewpoints I would encounter at UCLA.
The Patio posse also grew closer through developing a shared humor and style of grandiose storytelling. A 2 a.m. rant about working at a boba shop and a 4 a.m. chat about the deep lore of fanfiction built on one another to create a web of inside jokes and intricate backstories for our Patio friends. The hopes of one day meeting in person became increasingly tantalizing as social distancing protocols waned.
Every Saturday, I would say goodnight to my parents, hop on Zoom at 9:00 p.m. and stay well into the morning hours.
Cohen, one of the most active Patio members and now a third-year public health student, said she felt that the late-night setting brought forth a special kind of bonding. I completely agreed. Despite living in a later time zone out in the suburbs of Philadelphia, I was drawn to the Zoom because of the myriad personalities who joined each night and the antics we got up to.
No two calls were alike. One night, we trolled the prowling sugar daddies who messaged us college admits on Instagram, and the next we burned acceptance packages from UC Berkeley. Hina Malik, a current third-year labor studies and political science student who became active on Patio that summer, said her favorite memory was going on Omegle, a randomized video calling site, well into the night.
I personally loved playing party games such as "Quiplash" and "Trivia Murder Party" with my new friends. Everyone’s answers to the games’ prompts were so unhinged that I had to muffle my laughter to avoid waking my parents.
I also found that some of the most beautiful moments from Patio came from our shared camaraderie as UCLA students. Cohen recalled how during one of our first calls we watched the 2021 Final Four basketball game where the Bruins faced Gonzaga and lost. Even though most of us hadn’t even committed yet, the collective school pride we had is something she’ll never forget.
"Everyone on the call was like, ‘If they win, we're gonna commit," Cohen said. "I hadn't even committed to UCLA – the bulk of college decisions hadn't even come out yet. But in that moment, I was like, ‘These are my people.’"
In addition to supporting our sports teams, we also supported one another. Sanders said one of his fondest memories from the Zoom calls was listening to everyone inharmoniously sing "Happy Birthday" when a student turned 18 at midnight. People who’ve known each other for years often forget birthdays, yet we punctually gathered with our virtual congratulations without fail.
I had found a friend group at Patio. I was at ease knowing that I wouldn’t have to look for one upon moving in. At least, that was my hope. Who knew what would happen once the school year started?
When our first quarter began in fall 2021, the calls abruptly ended. Who would join a 12 hour Zoom call in the dorms when your virtual friends had materialized right there in person?
Slouching back in the same chair this past summer, I recognized the Patio crew’s unique trajectory. Instead of us meeting as friends in the analog world and growing apart in the digital world, as it usually goes, we met in the digital world and grew apart in the analog world. Our online connections would gradually dissipate once we stepped onto campus.
Yet, the Patio app persisted. New members joined every few days, looking for football game tickets, carpools to and from Los Angeles International Airport, GE course support or even new roommates. But nobody dared to spam the class group chat with unceasing conversations anymore – no more mental health deep dives or religious theorizing.
As my sophomore year began, I gradually realized my estrangement from the original Patio people and the app itself. My notifications buzzed with the news of the class of 2026 joining, but nobody welcomed them with the same warmth of the Patio crew I once knew.
It was no surprise when the Patio app shut down April 6, 2023, after what became months of near radio silence.
After the app’s closure, some students stayed more in touch with their Patio peers than others. Cohen befriended her freshman year roommate on the app and still lives with her two years later. Malik also met her roommate and her current boyfriend on those late-night Patio calls. Sanders is still close friends with six other students from Patio. Strachan and Beymer see each other almost every day as musical theater students.
I found a new group of friends in an organization I joined freshman year and lost touch with the Patio community. That’s not to say I have completely forgotten about them. We still say "hi" whenever we run into each other on campus and engage in the usual small talk about impending midterms, but we do not socialize as we once did.
After drifting apart, Beymer and I wound up in the same professional writing class sophomore year. While collaborating on projects together well into the night, the midnight atmosphere evoked our memories on Patio. I began wondering if I would rekindle similar friendships. Even if I didn’t, I took comfort in the fact that I had my cherished memories. Cohen expressed a similar sentiment.
"It’s like summer camp," Cohen said. "I have this group of friends who went through this whole experience, and even though our lives have diverged so drastically, I’m always going to root for these people."
Identifying as a member of the Patio community is like a little secret I carry. I occasionally run into someone and we do a double take, realizing we were both once allured by the same fleeting digital force.
Patio was an integral part of my journey out of a disjointed virtual high school experience. Without Patio, I probably would not have met my amazing freshman year roommates, with whom I am still friends to this day. That’s why the app still remains accessible on my phone in 2023, even though I can only view my own frozen profile.
The next time I go on a mission to free up my phone storage, I am sure Patio will stay. I guess I’m not ready to give up on what’s technically already lost.