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By Manuel Cebrián and José Balsa-Barreiro
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
Manuel Cebrián is a Senior Research Scientist at the Spanish National Research Council (Spain). José Balsa-Barreiro is a Researcher Associate in the CITIES group at New York University (UAE) and at the MIT Media Lab (USA).
By Manuel Cebrián and José Balsa-Barreiro
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
Manuel Cebrián is a Senior Research Scientist at the Spanish National Research Council (Spain). José Balsa-Barreiro is a Researcher Associate in the CITIES group at New York University (UAE) and at the MIT Media Lab (USA).
By Manuel Cebrián and José Balsa-Barreiro
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
Manuel Cebrián is a Senior Research Scientist at the Spanish National Research Council (Spain). José Balsa-Barreiro is a Researcher Associate in the CITIES group at New York University (UAE) and at the MIT Media Lab (USA).
By Manuel Cebrián and José Balsa-Barreiro
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
In an age where uncertainty looms large, a peculiar phenomenon grips our collective psyche: the allure and dread of liminal spaces—those unsettling thresholds between the familiar and the unknown. Liminal spaces or “backrooms” are transitional zones—empty offices after hours, deserted malls, silent stadiums—places that evoke a sense of eerie dislocation.
The concept of backrooms has emerged from internet culture to describe an endless maze of monotonous, empty rooms, often symbolizing feelings of entrapment and alienation. These spaces have become a cultural touchstone, reflecting our deep-seated anxieties and the fragmentation of modern society. As our world fractures under the weight of pandemics, political upheaval, and social isolation, we find ourselves drawn into these backrooms, both real and metaphorical. Why do these spaces, neither here nor there, resonate so profoundly with us today?
To illustrate how profoundly these liminal spaces affect us, consider the experience of Alex Thornton. In the predawn hours of a crisp July morning, Alex, an avid England fan, awakens alone, freezing, in the stands of an empty stadium. The last echo of England's victory in the UEFA Euro 2024 fades into a haunting silence. The stadium, once alive with the roar of thousands, now stretches before him as a vast expanse of emptiness—a physical manifestation of the backrooms. His friends seem to have forgotten him. He has no texts in his phone. Nobody seems to care. Alex's disorientation mirrors a collective unease, a slipping grasp on moments of communal joy.
Across the channel, another soul stirred in a different kind of emptiness. In the stifling heat of a Parisian afternoon, Marco Rossi woke up with the weight of his gold medal for the 100-meter backstroke resting heavily on his chest, earned just hours earlier at the 2024 Paris Olympics. The bustling Olympic Village, symbolizing global unity and personal triumph, now feels like an oppressive maze. Marco's sense of accomplishment dissipates as he navigates this labyrinthine space, highlighting the ephemeral nature of success amid societal fragmentation.
In a remote Galician town in northwest Spain, Sofia Mendez returns to Bar Portonovo, a once-beloved family haunt. Confronted with a hostile sign—"Tourists Go Home"—and the absence of familiar warmth, she steps into a backroom of social alienation. The bar, a former nexus of shared memories, now embodies the widening chasm between past joys and present realities. Sofia's experience underscores the loss of communal spaces that once anchored our identities.
These narratives illustrate how liminal spaces and backrooms have seeped into our lived experiences, symbolizing the erosion of connection and certainty. They are not just physical locations but states of mind, reflecting our struggle to find footing in a rapidly changing world. The proliferation of the backrooms phenomenon signals a collective grappling with nostalgia and dislocation. We yearn for the simplicity and happiness of bygone days—childhood summers, carefree nights, communal celebrations—yet find these memories slipping further out of reach. The more we chase the past, the more we find ourselves trapped in the liminal, unable to fully return or move forward.
As we wrestle with these feelings, some attribute them to the aftermath of COVID-19, political divisions, or economic instability. However, the root may lie deeper in our psychological response to a world where traditional structures and certainties have dissolved. The backrooms become a metaphor for this unsettling reality—a space where familiar markers vanish, leaving us to navigate an endless maze of uncertainty.
As we reflect on these narratives and the liminal spaces that pervade our world, the changing seasons become yet another threshold we must cross. It's September now, and the impending end of summer mirrors our internal anxieties. Typing these lines from a café at a remote gas station along an untraveled road, we find solace in unpredictability. Five days ago, we left the city without a destination, embracing the open road as a refuge from the backrooms encroaching on our lives. The stories we have collected—from the eerie to the joyful—affirm that while the world may feel fractured, the human spirit persists in seeking connection and meaning.
Perhaps the world as we knew it is over. Yet, with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities ahead, we continue our journey through the liminal spaces, searching for new ways to belong in a transformed landscape.
*All the stories presented throughout this essay are fictionalised accounts inspired by real events.
Manuel Cebrián is a Senior Research Scientist at the Spanish National Research Council (Spain). José Balsa-Barreiro is a Researcher Associate in the CITIES group at New York University (UAE) and at the MIT Media Lab (USA).