Webfishing has captured the old-school chatroom MMO vibes to perfection, and somehow made it so much better than I remember as a kid

Like a lot of kids who grew up with unrestricted access to the internet in the early-to-mid 2000s, I spent a helluva lot of time in social chatroom games. Habbo Hotel, Club Penguin, IMVU, and Gaia Online were in my regular rotation, being an exciting (and more importantly, free) new way of connecting with people all over the world. 

Sure, they were frighteningly unmoderated and often times hostile—ripe for predatory behaviour and for folks stealing your data under the guise of letting you be the illustrious “admin” of, I dunno, something—but when I grew up and they largely vanished into the 2010s, I felt a little sad. Things have sort of reemerged with Roblox popping off, but I’ve never much resonated with a platform that is very clearly geared more towards children while I trundle through my 20s.

But then, this year, Webfishing happened. I was initially drawn in by its kinda crunchy Animal Crossing art style and my penchant for being a giant videogame fishing sicko. I hadn’t really considered the whole multiplayer chatroom side of Lamedeveloper’s (great name, by the way) creation. I just wanted to fish, man!

It’s funny, really, because as a kid I couldn’t care less about yapping with internet strangers. These days I’m far more anxious about it, so I was hesitant to fish alongside a bunch of other real humans—or dogs and cats, I guess. I cautiously threw myself into someone’s server the first time I booted Webfishing up, not entirely sure what manner of Online People I was going to deal with.

Huh. That’s an Among Us chalk drawing on the floor. And a Pride flag. And, of course, a penis. One by one, the room’s present fisherman shot me a “hey” in chat, coming out through their animal mouths as non-descript gruffs. I hear faint meows as characters leap and trip across my path. Apparently it makes them go faster. To me, it looked like a whole lot of tripping over.

Based on the first several seconds alone, I was getting the feeling that Webfishing was actually pretty neat. While my memory of navigating chatroom games as a child was more hostile, this was a chill and safe experience. I grabbed my rod and started to do what I’d actually come here for: fishing, baby. I headed over to the dock where most of the other players were stationed. Some had laid props out like loungers, beer, and picnic blankets for the ultimate cosy vibes.

Every time someone landed a real chunky catch that enveloped my entire screen, one by one folk would type “beeg fish” to acknowledge that it was, in fact, a big fish. I found myself joining in after the first few impressive catches, and before I knew it I was caring less about the fishing and more about engaging in weird and wonderful conversations with these strangers.

It’s the kind of chatroom experience I’d always yearned for as a kid. Being among people my age, sharing my interests even when there were cities or oceans between us. Webfishing somehow manages to perfectly encapsulate the pure vibes of early 2000s chatroom games while also making it a really pleasant, safe space to be a part of. These are my kind of weirdos, and it’s made every room I’ve joined in my hours since an absolute joy to be a part of.

The fishing still rocks too, mind you. I’m still not quite at the “launching myself halfway across the map to perform a trickshot” level of skill that has been taking over my Instagram and TikTok feeds, but I’ve been finding an innate pleasure in rocking up to a body of water, laying down a six pack and a picnic blanket, emoting to sit down, and casting my line out as a way to unwind. Clicking away to reel them in, before my cat (who has a lil’ booger hanging out her nose) swings round to display her catch for everyone to see. Ending up in all sorts of conversations about streamers, queer culture, studying, work life, and television shows before the host zips out of existence, taking the lobby with it and leaving me to seek out those vibes with a new room with 20-odd anglers.

It’s a vibe I have simply failed to match in anything else I’ve played this year, one which is definitely making 10-year-old Mollie feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Webfishing really is the perfect game for the folks like me, the ones who yearn to yank just a small part of their childhood back as the horrors of adult life rear their ugly head. No thoughts, just fish and yap.