The offices of Accelerate Capital are on the grounds of a “think park,” a little cluster of buildings with similar ambitions. We pull up to a four-story building with a curved glass facade. The doors slide open, and stepping into the air-conditioning is like diving into a very large glass of cold milk. They’re expecting us; our name tags are already printed out. I try to find somewhere to clip mine on the dress I’ve bought specifically to be here.
In the elevator I redistribute my lipstick while Jules and Cyrus do things to their hair. When the doors open, we are greeted by a tall woman in a yellow jumpsuit who asks us what we’d like to drink, and when I say, “Oh, anything,” she takes a bottle out of the cooler and hands me an activated-charcoal lemonade.
The boardroom is empty, so Jules and Cyrus get on the network and plug in their laptops. I follow suit. On one side are two extremely large screens built in to a recessed wall. The table is made of white marble and looks like a very wide kitchen island. I’m about to say this out loud when the double doors open and three men in identical navy polo shirts and khaki slacks shake our hands.
“Hi,” they say.
“I’m Larry.”
“I’m Gerard.”
“I’m Hans.” Their hands are soft, their handshakes firm.
Larry, Gerard, and Hans sit at one side of the table, and Jules, Cyrus, and I sit on the other.
Larry, dark hair, long face, speaks first. “We met last time, and I was impressed with what I saw, so I thought I’d bring my partners in so we could dig a little deeper.”
“Dig away!” I say. Nobody laughs, and I realize too late that this is one of those speak-when-you’re-spoken-to moments.
Jules clears his throat. “This is our CTO, Asha Ray.”
“I don’t get out much.” I laugh.
“Why don’t I go through the deck again, for Gerard and Hans, and if you have any questions, please feel free to interrupt.”
They nod. Cyrus begins. An image of our logo appears on one of the giant screens. “We created WAI to introduce a new kind of interaction with social media. Instead of being built around what people like, it’s built around the things that mean something to them.”
I see an image of the platform—my platform.
“Instead of user-generated content, the platform features rituals created by Asha’s algorithm based on a short questionnaire.”
Our questions pop up on the screen.
What are you looking for? Ritual? Daily practice? Just exploring?
List three things that you care about most in the world.
List your three most powerful memories.
Do you subscribe to any form of organized religion?
“The algorithm produces a ritual or a set of rituals for the user. It then asks the user if they’d like to match with others who share similar interests or have similar meaningful events coming up in their lives—weddings, funerals, the birth of children.” Cyrus projects an image of the community message boards.
I’m suddenly overcome with feeling. I glance up at the ceiling to distract myself, but the tears are still gathering. I reach up and dab the corner of my eye in the most top secret way I can muster.
“What we’ve found is that, using the rituals as a starting point, people build small and meaningful communities. They share ideas, photos, messages. They return to the platform—even after the service is delivered—because they have now connected with a group of people with whom they shared a meaningful experience.”
“It’s beyond friendship,” I find myself saying. “It’s like discovering a new family.” At this point, my nose begins to tingle, so I excuse myself. The woman in the yellow jumpsuit, who seems to be positioned just outside the doors, points to the bathroom.
I close the stall and cry hard. “Why?” I ask myself. This makes me cry harder and also makes me laugh. “Why? WAI!” I announce. I’m so busy cracking myself up, I don’t notice there’s a person in the stall next to mine. She’s got some kind of machine in there with her, something that wheezes and sighs.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Are you?” she replies between wheezes.
“I’m fine. I was just crying on account of my own awesomeness. Is that a nebulizer? Do you have asthma?”
“No, I’m pumping.”
She comes out of her stall and I come out of mine. She looks like a half human, half cyborg, with her dress pulled down around her waist and two cups attached to her breasts. The cups are each half full of milk.