As a Mac software expert and technologist, I‘ve long been fascinated by the ways that organizations utilize digital tools and platforms to shape their operations and culture. In the case of WeWork, the coworking giant that spectacularly imploded in 2019, technology was central to its promise of revolutionizing the office experience for a new generation of entrepreneurs and creatives. With sleek apps to book conference rooms, unlock doors and network with fellow members, WeWork presented itself as a real estate company for the digital age.
But as WeWork‘s dramatic unraveling has revealed, beneath the veneer of Silicon Valley-style innovation lay a rotten corporate culture fueled by hubris, greed and unchecked ambition. The company didn‘t just burn money on excessive perks and ill-advised side ventures; it burned through the trust and goodwill of its own employees and members with a stubborn disregard for responsible governance and human decency. No amount of slick software could hide the fundamental rot within the organization.
To understand the depths of WeWork‘s cultural dysfunction, we can look at a telling incident at the company‘s Bangkok coworking space in late 2019. As first reported by TechCrunch Southeast Asia editor Alyssa Leevada, a member accidentally cracked a glass whiteboard and was subsequently billed an outrageous 36,861 Thai baht (about $1,219) for the damages – over twice the actual cost of replacing the board.
When the member asked for an itemized receipt detailing the charges, WeWork‘s local staff initially stonewalled, claiming it was "confidential information." Only after the member investigated independently and confronted them with evidence of the inflated fees did WeWork sheepishly agree to revise the bill. Even then, the new invoice included an exorbitant 8,500 baht ($280) "management fee" for handling the matter.
This may seem like a small incident in the grand scheme of WeWork‘s woes, but it perfectly encapsulates the arrogance and unscrupulousness that permeated the company‘s culture. Here was an organization that touted community, transparency and hospitality as its core values, yet when a member took responsibility for a simple mistake, WeWork‘s instinct was to obscure, manipulate and squeeze them for every last dollar.
Such toxic conduct was not an aberration, but the logical conclusion of a startup culture that worshipped growth at all costs. Hypnotized by the charisma and extravagant promises of co-founder Adam Neumann, WeWork employees were encouraged to chase bigger, bolder deals with little regard for long-term viability, much like the visionary founder himself. "We thought we were killing it, changing the world," one former WeWork executive told the Wall Street Journal.
In reality, WeWork was digging its own grave by signing massive, overpriced leases and saddling itself with ballooning debt even as its coworking spaces struggled to turn a profit. When the music finally stopped with the company‘s botched IPO in 2019, the staggering scope of its losses and liabilities was laid bare. WeWork‘s valuation plummeted overnight from $47 billion to under $8 billion as investors fled and lenders panicked.
The implosion triggered mass layoffs of nearly 20% of WeWork‘s workforce, according to an internal memo obtained by CNBC. The company was forced to divest non-core business like its Wavegarden surfing venture and shutter dozens of underperforming locations across the US. By March 2020, WeWork bonds were trading at just 36 cents on the dollar as the pandemic emptied its remaining offices.
Today, WeWork is a husk of its former self, clinging to solvency through harsh cost-cutting, asset sales and emergency funding from SoftBank. As of the end of 2022, the company had around 700 locations worldwide, down from over 800 at its peak, as per its public investor relations data. Occupancy rates hover just above 70%, compared to over 90% in its heyday.
But slashing expenses alone won‘t save WeWork if it doesn‘t address the root cause of its downfall: a corrosive corporate ethos that saw members as marks to be exploited rather than a community to nurture. Under the leadership of new CEO Sandeep Mathrani, WeWork has made some strides in repairing its financials and governance, such as renegotiating leases and adding more experienced board members.
However, there is little evidence that WeWork has meaningfully reformed its underlying culture or business model. In fact, under pressure to boost revenue, some WeWork locations have resorted to nickel-and-diming tactics like charging members for previously free perks. "The so-called community managers are just salespeople now," a current member at New York‘s Bryant Park location told the New York Times.
Indeed, a quick scan of WeWork‘s member forum reveals countless complaints about shoddy amenities, hidden fees, unresponsive staff and overall deteriorating value compared to WeWork‘s pre-implosion days. "The focus is no longer on hospitality or providing the best member experience," wrote one anonymous reviewer on CoworkingInsights.com. "It‘s all about cutting costs now."
This shortsighted approach is particularly concerning given that WeWork‘s core technology systems, from its member portal to its booking apps, are still riddled with bugs and usability issues that frustrate rather than empower users. For a company that touted itself as digitally-driven, WeWork has consistently underinvested in the very tools that are meant to be its competitive advantage.
For instance, WeWork‘s mobile app for iOS currently has a dismal 1.7 out of 5 star rating on the App Store, with reviewers complaining about frequent crashes, incorrect billing, and limited features compared to the web portal. "For a company based around a digital/app interface, it doesn‘t seem to be much of a priority to provide a decent UX to paying customers," reads one typical review.
As a software expert, I believe that WeWork‘s halfhearted embrace of technology is a symptom of its larger cultural dysfunction. Rather than seeing digital tools as a means to genuinely enhance the member experience, WeWork treated them as flashy gimmicks to lure customers and extract more revenue. This is a common trap that "tech-enabled" companies fall into when they prioritize growth and profits over solving real problems.
Had WeWork approached its software with the same empathy, curiosity and craftsmanship that defines the best Mac and iOS developers, it may have built something truly valuable for its members. Imagine a WeWork app that not only booked rooms and handled billing, but intelligently connected members based on their skills and interests, seamlessly integrated with productivity tools like Slack and Asana, and proactively addressed maintenance issues before they disrupted work. Such a thoughtful, member-centric platform could have engendered the kind of loyalty and community that WeWork initially promised.
Instead, WeWork‘s buggy, neglected apps are emblematic of a company that lost sight of its original mission in pursuit of domination and enrichment. The same culture that enabled Adam Neumann‘s excesses and the company‘s unsustainable expansion also produced shoddy software and services that failed its core users. It‘s a cautionary tale of what happens when a tech company cares more about hype and hubris than the hard work of building something meaningful.
As WeWork looks to rebuild in the wake of the pandemic, it will need more than just a financial restructuring and new management. It will need a wholesale reinvention of its culture and technology, one that puts members and their needs at the center of every decision. This means investing in robust, user-friendly digital tools that enhance rather than frustrate the coworking experience. It means hiring and empowering staff who are motivated by service rather than sales. And it means fostering a workplace that values integrity, transparency and accountability at every level.
Only then can WeWork hope to regain the trust of the entrepreneurs and creatives who once flocked to its trendy offices in search of community and inspiration. Because ultimately, no amount of ping-pong tables or kombucha on tap can compensate for a culture that sees members as simply another number on a growth chart. WeWork needs to rediscover its humanity, one line of code and one interaction at a time.
The broken glass whiteboard in Bangkok was a small symbol of a company that had shattered its own ideals in pursuit of profit and prestige. But like any software bug, WeWork‘s cultural flaws can be fixed with a willingness to confront hard truths, refactor toxic patterns and collaborate with users to build something better. The question is whether WeWork has the vision and the guts to reboot itself into a truly sustainable, member-driven organization. Until then, I‘m keeping my own company far from its spaces.