I know what you’re thinking.
“Bro, it’s too late. SnapChat already got Rec Room’s assets first, and there’s no way to cancel the shutdown,”
Yes, I know, but I was thinking what if Steam could be the new owner of Rec Room. Compare using RR’s assets for Snaps, than having a big VR game store keeping the game up and running, and besides, the Steam Frame is coming to stores soon, so it could be a good chance for Steam to capture the VR players’ attention.
I wish so too, but it’s unrealistic that they would. I don’t think they would want too, to be honest even though recroom is a big VR game I don’t know if it affects steam enough to buy it. As people will still buy there VR headset for other games like VRChat, etc.
They wouldn’t want a game that drains their money with no profit
Steams default servers are ok at best. For a game even of rec rooms size, it wouldn’t be too fun or playable.
I think the discussion around Rec Room shutting down / going offline is often reduced to one very simple explanation: “It just was not financially worth it anymore.” And yes, on the surface, that may be true. If a product costs more than it brings in, then it is not sustainable. But I think that explanation is far too simple, because it makes it sound as if the core concept of Rec Room itself was the problem.
In my opinion, that is not really the case.
Rec Room had something genuinely special. It was one of the few games that managed to combine VR, flat-screen players, cross-platform play, user-generated content, social spaces, and official game modes into one ecosystem. Whether you liked the game or not, there was not really anything else exactly like it. You had official modes like Paintball, Rec Royale, quests, social rooms, creative tools, custom rooms, and a community that could build and share its own content. The idea itself was strong. The foundation was strong. The potential was absolutely there.
That is why I do not believe the failure can simply be explained by saying, “This type of game cannot work.” Other social VR or social platform games have shown that there is a market for this kind of experience. From the numbers I compared, Rec Room often seemed to sit somewhere in the mid-five-digit range for concurrent players when it was doing well, while comparable social platforms could reach much higher numbers, sometimes several times as many. Of course, those numbers are not always perfectly comparable, but they do show one thing: the basic concept of a social cross-platform world is not dead. There is demand for it.
So to me, Rec Room’s problem was not mainly an income problem. It was an expense problem, a management problem, a product-direction problem, and a marketing problem.
I want to be clear: I am not saying the developers did nothing. Quite the opposite. As a developer myself, I know how much work goes into a project like this. Cross-platform multiplayer, VR support, user-generated rooms, moderation systems, networking, avatar systems, creator tools, backend infrastructure — none of that is easy. A lot of talented people clearly worked hard on Rec Room, and the game did achieve something impressive. I do not want to disrespect the people who actually built and maintained it.
But at the same time, it often felt like the company behind Rec Room made many wrong decisions in the wrong areas.
One major issue was development speed and prioritization. There were so many moments where small, useful features took months to arrive, even when they seemed like things that would have had a big benefit for the community. Of course, outsiders never see the full internal complexity. Sometimes a “small” feature is not actually small. But over the years, the pattern became difficult to ignore. Some basic things took far too long, while other experimental or monetizable features appeared instead. That made it feel like the priorities were not always aligned with what the community actually needed.
At the same time, the company seemed to invest heavily in ideas that either arrived too late, were not polished enough, or did not solve the real problems. RR Sudio, for example, was a cool idea and clearly had a lot of work behind it. I am not saying it was bad. But projects like that are expensive, and if the foundation of the game is already struggling, then you have to ask whether that was really the best use of resources.
The same applies to features like Maker Pen AI. I understand that AI tools, especially custom-trained or game-integrated systems, are not easy to build. There is a lot of work behind them. But if a feature is still clearly in a test stage and does not work reliably, then charging users for it feels wrong. Asking people to pay daily for something that feels unfinished is not a good look. Experimental tools should first prove their usefulness before they become another monetized feature.
Roomie had a similar problem. The idea of an AI assistant inside Rec Room could have been interesting. But what was the actual practical use? From what I saw and heard, it did not have enough real functionality. It could not meaningfully help with simple in-game actions, creator tools, moderation, room management, or useful player commands. Imagine if you could say things like, “Roomie, mute my microphone,” “Roomie, help me configure this setting,” “Roomie, explain this circuit,” or “Roomie, only let this person hear me.” That would have been useful. But if the AI cannot really interact with the world in meaningful ways and has no real access to useful information, then it becomes more of a gimmick than a feature.
There was also a noticeable shift in identity. Rec Room used to feel like it had its own principles and visual style. For example, the old avatar identity was simple and recognizable. At one point, Rec Room clearly seemed to avoid certain things, like fully covered faces or full-body avatars, because the style was part of what made the game unique. Then later, full-body avatars and other changes arrived, and it felt like Rec Room was trying more and more to become like VRChat instead of focusing on what made Rec Room different.
That is not automatically bad. Games evolve. But when a game throws away too much of its own identity, it can lose the thing that made people care in the first place. I honestly think some limitations were part of Rec Room’s charm. Not everything needed to become more realistic, more customizable, or more like other platforms.
Monetization was another huge issue. Over time, Rec Room became more and more expensive. Some cosmetic bundles or full outfits could cost far too much, sometimes in the range of 20, 30, or even more dollars depending on the items. A special premium collaboration or rare bundle is one thing. But when normal-looking cosmetics start feeling overpriced, people notice. And Rec Room was largely played by younger users. That makes aggressive pricing feel even worse.
I do not think monetization itself was the problem. Rec Room needed money. Servers cost money. Developers cost money. Support, moderation, infrastructure, platform maintenance, and content all cost money. Rec Room Plus also made sense as a subscription idea. But the pricing strategy often felt excessive. It felt like the company kept pushing harder and harder instead of asking whether the value was still fair for the player.
Creator monetization had its own problems too. The token payout system was not necessarily bad as a small bonus. For many creators, especially younger ones, earning something from their work was exciting. But realistically, most smaller creators were never going to make a living from it. That is fine. The bigger issue was not only the money — it was visibility and recognition.
A lot of smaller creators did not need huge payouts. They wanted to feel seen. They wanted the platform to notice their work, promote good rooms, support creative people, and make them feel like part of the ecosystem. Instead, it often felt like the biggest creators got most of the attention, early access, support, and opportunities, while smaller creators were left behind.
This was especially noticeable with things like Rec Room Studio. Larger creators often received access early and could publish impressive rooms before smaller creators even had a real chance. From a business perspective, I understand why a company supports creators who already bring in players and money. But from a community perspective, it can feel unfair. It tells smaller creators: “You only matter once you are already big.” That is not how you build a healthy creative community.
Rec Room Studio itself was also a double-edged sword. On one hand, it was powerful and opened up many possibilities. On the other hand, Studio rooms could be resource-heavy, more complex to maintain, and probably more expensive for infrastructure. I made several Rec Room Studio rooms myself that I never even published, and even that kind of unused or unfinished content can contribute to the overall technical burden. Maybe access to such tools should have been handled differently — not necessarily locked behind payment, but perhaps tied to creator progress, proven activity, or certain milestones. For example, creators could unlock Studio access after reaching a meaningful token revenue threshold or after demonstrating that they are actively building and publishing quality content. That might have reduced waste and made the system more sustainable.
Another big issue was platform expansion. Rec Room being cross-platform was one of its biggest strengths, but supporting too many platforms also creates a huge maintenance burden. Steam, SteamVR, Quest, PlayStation — those make sense. But mobile and possibly even Nintendo Switch are more questionable. I understand why the company wanted more users and better numbers, but not every platform necessarily fits the experience. Rec Room on a phone or tablet never felt like the ideal way to play. And every additional platform means more testing, more bugs, more UI problems, more performance work, more support, and more technical debt.
A good example of questionable product direction was RecNet messaging. Being able to message people through RecNet was useful. Then features like that became more limited or were removed, seemingly to push users toward the mobile app. But the mobile app drained battery and was not always convenient if all you wanted to do was quickly reply to someone. That kind of decision made it feel like the goal was not necessarily improving the community experience, but increasing mobile usage numbers.
That connects to another problem: inflated public numbers. Rec Room often talked about huge account numbers, like over 100 million or more registered users. But anyone who spent time in the game knew that this did not reflect active players. Many accounts were inactive for years. Many users had multiple alternate accounts. Creating accounts was easy. So while the headline number looked impressive for marketing and partnerships, it did not necessarily represent the real active player base. In the long run, presenting the game as bigger than it actually was may have backfired, especially if partners expected more engagement than Rec Room could actually deliver.
Brand partnerships, such as collaborations with companies like Puma, were interesting, but they also depended on real engagement. If the active audience is much smaller than the headline account number suggests, then those partnerships become harder to justify. And if the resulting items are also very expensive, players may feel like they are being monetized too aggressively instead of being offered something exciting.
Moderation and toxicity were also serious problems. Many people avoided Rec Room because of toxic behavior, especially in public spaces. The company did try things. Voice moderation, AI-based systems, anti-cheat measures, and reporting tools were all steps in the right direction. But the results often did not feel strong enough. Hackers, trolls, toxic players, and abusive behavior remained a major issue. Some systems may have stopped basic abuse or obvious exploits, but people who really knew what they were doing often found ways around them.
Again, I know this is technically difficult. Moderation at scale is hard. Anti-cheat is hard. Voice moderation is hard. But these were not minor issues. They directly affected whether people wanted to stay in the game. If new players enter a public room and immediately experience toxicity, harassment, cheating, or chaos, they may never come back. That is not just a community problem. That is a business problem.
What made it more frustrating was that Rec Room used to have community events and creator-focused moments that made the game feel alive. Events like Art Festival were great because normal users could actually participate. It was not just a corporate showcase. People could create, contribute, explore, and feel included. ReCon was interesting too, but it did not always involve everyday users in the same way. Over time, it felt like there were fewer meaningful events, fewer contests, fewer reasons for the wider community to feel involved. That was a loss.
Rec Room had so many volunteer creators, room makers, moderators, event helpers, and community members who contributed enormous value without being paid. Many people built things, helped others, created events, promoted the game, taught new players, and kept communities alive. A platform like Rec Room should have treated that community as one of its most valuable assets. Instead, it often felt like the company underestimated how important those people were.
I also think the company may have had a cost structure that was simply too high. I cannot know the internal numbers, and I do not want to pretend I do. But from the outside, it looked like Rec Room spent heavily: large teams, ambitious projects, many platforms, AI experiments, Studio infrastructure, official content, moderation systems, partnerships, and probably high salaries compared to some competitors. Paying people well is not wrong. Developers and designers deserve fair pay. But if expenses grow faster than the product’s real active user base and revenue, then the business becomes fragile.
That is why I do not accept the simple explanation that “Rec Room just could not make enough money.” It is more accurate to say that Rec Room may have built an expensive structure around a product that was not being managed, marketed, monetized, or prioritized efficiently enough.
The saddest part is that the game itself had real potential. Rec Room was not a worthless product. It was not a bad idea. It was actually one of the most unique social gaming platforms out there. It had official game modes, creator tools, cross-platform play, VR support, a recognizable art style, and a community that cared deeply about it. That combination is rare.
But potential is not enough. A good product still needs good direction.
Rec Room could have focused more on polishing core features, improving moderation, supporting small and medium creators, creating better events, keeping prices fair, strengthening the game’s own identity, and marketing the platform more honestly. Instead, it often seemed to chase new monetization, new platforms, new experiments, and new identity changes while long-standing issues remained unresolved.
I do not think everything was unpredictable. Some of these problems were visible for years. The decline in trust, the frustration from creators, the slow development of important features, the high prices, the toxicity, the technical problems, the questionable platform priorities, and the identity crisis were not sudden surprises. Many players felt it coming.
Personally, I already had the feeling quite a while ago that Rec Room was slowly heading toward the end. I still had ideas for rooms I wanted to build, but at some point I stopped investing serious time because it no longer felt safe to build long-term projects there. That is a sad feeling, because Rec Room gave many people great memories. For a lot of players, it was not just a game. It was a place where they met friends, built things, explored worlds, and spent years of their lives.
I also want to say that I genuinely hope the employees who worked on Rec Room find good opportunities. Many of them probably did their best under difficult circumstances. The failure of a company or product does not mean every individual employee failed. A lot of people likely worked hard, cared about the game, and are now affected by decisions they did not personally control. I wish them the best.
But at the company level, I do think Rec Room has to take responsibility. It is too easy to say, “The game did not make enough money.” The more important question is why. Why did the expenses become too high? Why did monetization become so aggressive? Why were key community problems not solved earlier? Why were smaller creators not supported better? Why did the game move away from parts of its identity? Why were resources spent on features that did not provide enough real value? Why did some obvious problems remain for so long?
Those are the questions that matter.
To me, Rec Room’s story is not simply the story of a social VR game that could not survive. It is the story of a game with a strong concept and a passionate community that was weakened by poor prioritization, over-monetization, high costs, slow reactions, weak marketing, technical debt, and a loss of focus.
Rec Room achieved something genuinely impressive. That should not be forgotten. But it also made many avoidable mistakes. And if there is ever a future project inspired by Rec Room, I hope the people behind it learn from this: do not underestimate your community, do not price people out, do not ignore small creators, do not chase every trend, do not expand faster than you can maintain, and do not abandon the identity that made your game special in the first place.
Rec Room had the potential to be much more than what it became in the end. That is what makes the whole situation so frustrating.
