The internet David Bowie imagined

In 1998, David Bowie launched an internet service provider.

For about $20 a month, fans could connect to the internet through BowieNet, get a davidbowie.com email address, build their own homepage, access exclusive content, and spend time in forums and chat rooms where Bowie himself would occasionally appear. It was part internet connection, part creative experiment, and part fan community.

At the time, it probably felt like a novelty. A rock star doing something weird with technology. But looking back, BowieNet reads like a prototype for the kind of internet fandom keeps trying to rebuild today.

Before social media feeds, before creator platforms, before newsletters and Discord servers, Bowie was asking a different question about the internet. What if artists didn’t just show up online? What if they built the spaces fans gathered in?

The idea actually began with music industry veterans who believed the internet could refresh the traditional fan club model. Instead of newsletters arriving in the mail, fans would gather inside a shared digital space. Bowie did not just license his name to the concept. He invested in it, collaborated on it, and helped shape how it worked. He wanted to see the design decisions, the navigation, the experience from the fan’s perspective. He treated it like both an art project and a community experiment.

Most fan spaces in the late 90s were scattered across message boards, email lists, and unofficial websites. I’ve had so much fun doing deep dives of early virtual communities (I’m considering doing a book club series where I tell you what I’m learning so you don’t need to read obscure but helpful books) and I love that BowieNet pulled all of those behaviors into one place.

Subscribers were members of a network and having a davidbowie.com email address was fan identity. It signaled belonging in a way that having a screen name, a fan forum badge, or a piece of merch cannot. Think about your favorite band. You can’t deny that it would be cool to have an official email address tied to their name and website, right??

The service included chat rooms, message boards, early streaming content, and even opportunities for fans to collaborate creatively. Bowie hosted songwriting contests and released music online before physical distribution. He reportedly joined discussions anonymously at times, blending into the community he created.

Fans responded with the kind of participation that defines fandom at its core. Some configured their computers to alert them whenever Bowie logged into the chat rooms. Others built personal fan sites by scanning film photos, writing HTML, and sharing them with the community. BowieNet members wore neon green shirts at concerts so they could find each other in crowds.

This was participation, identity-building, and fan labor x 100.

BowieNet functioned as what its creators called an “affinity hub.” A place where connection mattered more than reach and belonging mattered more than scale.

Looking back, BowieNet feels like a glimpse into an alternate version of the internet. One where creators owned their channels, communities were smaller, and identity formed through participation instead of performance.

The internet we ended up with has optimized for scale, advertising, and endless discovery. BowieNet was built around proximity, creativity, and shared identity.

Neither version is better or worse (okay can we admit today’s internet is a little worse?) but we can admit that they produce very different experiences when it comes to fandom.

One musician who worked with Bowie during this period later reflected that the goal of BowieNet “was never to make a zillion dollars.” The goal was connection (cut to a tear rolling down my cheek).

For a long time, BowieNet looked like a technological dead end. Dial up communities disappeared. Social media platforms took over. Fan spaces became fragmented across platforms that creators did not control.

But in the last few years, something interesting has happened. We keep rebuilding BowieNet in pieces.

Each of these solutions attempt to recreate something smaller and more intentional than the algorithmic internet. They promise proximity to creators, shared culture with other fans, and identity that forms through participation rather than visibility.

They offer a return to rooms instead of feeds.

There is another detail from BowieNet that feels especially relevant now. It was a paid community, and fans often describe it as unusually kind and collaborative. One participant later said there were no trolls on BowieNet. You had to care enough to be there.

Why? I think it’s because the infinite internet is incredible for discovery but difficult for belonging. You can follow thousands of people and still feel like you’re floating. You can access everything and still feel disconnected from meaning. You can arrive to a conversation without any context and an easy way to weigh in.

BowieNet was not trying to reach everyone on the internet. It was trying to gather a specific group of people inside a shared world. That is still what fandom wants.

Even after BowieNet dissolved, the community did not fully disappear. Fans still meet up years later, describing reunions that feel like no time has passed.

BowieNet shut down in 2006, largely after Bowie stepped away from public life due to health issues. Without the artist driving the experiment, the hub slowly dissolved just as social media platforms began to dominate online interaction. Based on my studying and research, I would say that the former reason had a bigger impact. With such a strong community, I bet Bowie didn’t drive activity as much as people would like to think.

No matter what, I believe BowieNet was pointing toward a version of the internet we are still trying to figure out how to build.

Artists still want direct relationships with fans. Fans still want spaces that feel like home. Creators still want to own the channels where community happens.

We are still experimenting with the same question Bowie asked in 1998. What happens when the artist builds the internet around their work instead of relying on platforms to distribute it?

The tools look different now, but the instinct is the same.