When you picture a virtual reality headset user, you’re probably not picturing someone like Sherry Dickson. At 69, the snowy-haired, retired elementary school teacher hops into her Meta Quest headset five days a week, for roughly 60 to 90 minutes at a time. She’s not attending live concerts or watching immersive films. Dickson, a fitness buff since Jane Fonda workout videos in the ’80s, largely uses her headset for one reason — to play Supernatural, a VR fitness game with a huge, loyal fan base and a tight-knit community.
Supernatural isn’t dead, but it might as well be. A few weeks ago, Meta shut down three VR studios as part of broader layoffs in its Reality Labs division. As a result, Supernatural will no longer get new content. That’s why Dickson is spearheading an online social media campaign to save Supernatural from slowly fading into oblivion.
Supernatural is a mix between a Peloton class and rhythm games like Just Dance or Beat Saber. You swat at targets as they fly toward you, timed to music, inside a picturesque virtual world. You can choose from a library of dance-like Flow workouts, boxing, or even meditative breathing classes. Like any connected fitness game, Supernatural’s stickiness relies on an ever-evolving content library. New music, levels, and choreography keep people hooked because they not only keep things fresh, but strengthen the bond between users and the game’s charismatic coaches.
“Mark Zuckerberg helped buy a ballroom for a fascist. Perhaps it is not surprising that he killed Supernatural.”
For a game like Supernatural, shutting down content production was a death knell that left Dickson and countless other Supernatural fans blindsided with shock, then grief. The Supernatural Facebook page has over 110,000 members, many of whom have written sprawling odes to the game. Over 7,000 and counting have also signed a Change.org petition, begging Meta and CEO Mark Zuckerberg to rethink the decision.
Dickson is what your typical Supernatural user looks like. In an emerging tech category with expensive hardware dominated by 18-to-34-year-old men, the majority of Supernatural’s warriors are women, people over 50, and folks with limited mobility. And in the weeks since the news, they’re not staying quiet in their grief.
They’re pissed, and they want Meta to know two things. Not only has the company royally screwed up, but they’re also not letting Supernatural go without a fight.
“My opinion of Meta can be summed up as @*#&&1 $^!@ &^#%,” Regina Lynn, a Supernatural athlete in her 50s, tells me in an email. (Athlete is the term the Supernatural community prefers.) Lynn has been playing for five years, roughly three to four times a week. “Mark Zuckerberg helped buy a ballroom for a fascist. Perhaps it is not surprising that he killed Supernatural.”
Lynn is one of several Supernatural fans who reached out to The Verge to say they see a correlation between what’s going on in the world and how Meta has conducted business since acquiring Within, the studio behind the game. Unlike Meta, Within was an independent studio with roots in music videos, feature films, and creative projects. In a Decoder interview, Within cofounder Chris Milk described building Supernatural as “making something that is meaningful to another human being” — something more akin to immersive art than a means to solidify dominance in the VR market. That, in no small part, explains why some fans have reacted so viscerally.
Supernatural was widely considered a successful VR app before Meta ever entered the picture. In fact, when Meta announced it planned to buy it in 2021, the Federal Trade Commission launched a probe to try and block the acquisition — partly because Meta had already acquired Beat Saber, a similar VR game, and Supernatural threatened its dominance. It was also reported that Meta was keen to snap up the game before Apple, which was rumored to be interested in the game. The FTC probe ultimately failed, and the acquisition was completed in 2023.
“This is just a small mirror of a huge problem in our society right now. The blunt way of saying it is those with the gold make the rules. This is what we’re fighting on every single level globally right now,” says Dickson. “We’re fighting those with the money telling us how our lives will be lived, what we can access, what we can do, and what we can say. … Of course there are far bigger things to fight for right now, and I do. But if I don’t take care of my health, my mental health, my physical body? I have nothing to give or fight with for the big causes.”
“I despise Meta along with the oligarchs, the top one percent that continue to destroy our world and kill anything that brings joy and beauty of human experience and connection because their only goal is to make a profit.”
“I despise Meta along with the oligarchs, the top one percent that continue to destroy our world and kill anything that brings joy and beauty of human experience and connection because their only goal is to make a profit,” agrees DeeDee Henry, an avid Supernatural athlete since 2020. Henry, who has participated in beta testing and user interviews for the app, says she finds it “overwhelming” to convey how much Supernatural’s community has impacted her.
“We have built a community of love and support with each other. We meet each other, we talk, and we form bonds.”
Behind the anger is a community’s palpable loss over the fact that they may lose the very thing that brought them together. To its diehard fans, Supernatural was more than “just a game.” It was a virtual place to prioritize health while making friends. Take Henry and Dickson. A year ago, the two were complete strangers. They were randomly paired together through Supernatural’s Together multiplayer feature, which enables joint workouts, supports voice chat, and allows players to create teams. A year later, Dickson and Henry have formed “Team Sunshine” with Henry’s 75-year-old mother, Darlene “Cookie” Norman, and a fourth friend, Kelly Hines. The four women play five days a week but have yet to all meet in person, with Dickson living in Canada, Henry just outside Los Angeles, Norman in rural California, and Hines in Ohio.
And it’s not just making friends. Marginalized users say Supernatural let them exercise without judgment. Inside the headset, they could lunge, squat, and swipe at targets just like anyone else. They didn’t have to worry about being looked down on for not having six-pack abs, being older, working out in a wheelchair, or having a limited range of movement.
Peruse the Supernatural Facebook group, and you’ll find hundreds of stories like this and more. More than 50 Supernatural athletes reached out to The Verge specifically to share how the game helped them through deep depression, bouts with cancer and other life-threatening illnesses, as well as rehabilitation from serious injuries. Some have lost a significant amount of weight, while others say it’s the only form of accessible fitness that keeps them engaged.
“There was no intimidation of gym settings, no time required to drive there, no time limit on when or for how long I could jump in and sweat. Supernatural is the only reason I bought my Quest 2 headset and is the only cardio exercise I do,” says Vickie Bitter, another Supernatural athlete in her 50s. “It is literally the only thing I use on it every single day.”
“I can’t move my ankle, I can’t stand up on my toes or anything,” says Jennifer Boyer, a longtime Supernatural athlete who needs ankle-foot orthotics, a type of brace that goes from the bottom of the foot to the knee. For Boyer, maintaining core strength is a necessity while using the braces to prevent injury. Unfortunately, Boyer didn’t like gyms because she felt self-conscious and found repetitive strength routines boring. As a result, she struggled to find a workout that would stick.
Supernatural appealed to Boyer because the choreography in the game’s Flow workouts kept movements fresh. In these levels, different types of triangles fly toward users to signal whether they should squat or lean into side lunges. They’re interspersed with teardrop-shaped balls pointed in different directions, signaling where they should swing their arms. Users with limb differences can also pick a wheelchair mode, choose single-handed play, or adjust settings to accommodate their mobility needs.
“I hurt so much after the first day because I wouldn’t stop playing. It was so much fun. You’re doing squats and side lunges — I can’t do traditional lunges where you step forward and drop a knee to the ground. But with Supernatural, I love the Flow workouts because I feel more like I’m dancing,” Boyer explains.
“I introduce many of my patients to VR. I have a pretty high take rate, meaning that they like it and enjoy it as an intervention,” says Jeanna Duryee, a physical therapist. “In Alaska, I’m fighting depression, deconditioning, and seasonal [affective] disorder at a higher rate [than] in other areas. Supernatural gave me a tool to use to get people that I never seen smile, smile broadly while exercising. I see people that say they hate exercise and hate gyms, but they love Supernatural.”
The fervent devotion among Supernatural fans is reminiscent of another connected fitness platform: Peloton. Like Peloton users, Supernatural athletes have to invest in niche hardware. But a major difference is that Peloton is an independent company whose sole purpose is maintaining and improving on a single platform. Meta may have invested (and lost) billions in VR and the metaverse over the years, but it’s notably shifted gears toward its AI. And where Peloton fans love the company, Supernatural fans strongly feel Meta fumbled a rising star.
Given the game’s popularity and Meta’s ambitions to dominate the VR market, one might think it’d be a no-brainer to invest in Supernatural. But according to Boyer, Dickson, and dozens of other Supernatural fans, the decline in quality was undeniable once Meta acquired Supernatural. Not just in terms of features, but also in community support.
“When Meta said they were going to buy it, everyone was like, ‘Oh my god, kiss of death.’ It wasn’t long after Meta bought it that they stopped having the extra features they said they would have,” says Boyer, a longtime Supernatural beta tester before and after Meta’s acquisition.
“When Meta said they were going to buy it, everyone was like, ‘Oh my god, kiss of death.’”
Prior to the acquisition, Boyer says you could tune into video calls with Supernatural coaches. While athletes couldn’t speak to them directly, they could type in the chat and receive personalized shoutouts and responses. After the acquisition, those opportunities slowed down. Instead of directly hopping into chats with coaches, fans were limited to seeing videos and hoping the algorithm would surface their comments on coaches’ posts. Boyer asserts that compared to the original owners, Meta never took an interest in getting feedback on new features either.
“There was a new workout every day, and then they started doing new workouts once a week. Then they fired all the user experience people who were managing, pulling together those fun things with the coaches. Then there were no more beta group chats,” laments Boyer, noting that soon there were no new backdrops for the game.
“Other app developers should take note of how capriciously Meta fought for, then ditched Supernatural. If you make something you love, you might make a pile of money selling it to Meta, but they’re likely to mismanage and kill it,” adds Matt Krzycki, an early adopter of Supernatural.
But for many vocal Supernatural fans, the most painful part of Meta’s neglect wasn’t the slow decay of the platform or the lack of new content. The ultimate betrayal is how the company has treated the creative team behind the game, particularly the coaches. In nearly every interview, Supernatural fans told The Verge that the Supernatural coaches’ openness and vulnerability helped make the platform stand out among the competition. For them, the coaches weren’t people inside the headset. They were friends and family.
“It wasn’t like when they cancel your favorite show, and you feel bad for everyone in the production and hope the actors get new roles. Instead, these were six people who I personally spent half an hour with almost every day for almost a year,” says Erica Carter, speaking of the Supernatural coaches. “So when they were laid off, when they posted videos trying to be strong and supportive, putting the community first — gosh, it hurts. I cried.”
The love for the coaches isn’t hyperbole. When coach Leanne Pendante’s husband died, the entire community rallied around her with an outpouring of love and support. Now that the community is suffering, the coaches are returning the favor.
“Yes, I did get laid off and it was very difficult because (a) I wasn’t expecting it and (b) this Supernatural community, if you have not met them, they are incredible and they just swallow you with so much love and I just wanted to stay there forever,” coach Mindy Lai shared on Instagram.
“Apologies for not hopping on earlier in the week once all the news broke, but, you know, I got a family to provide for, so once everything happened I had to put my feet to the concrete and hit the streets and start making moves,” says coach Antonio “Doc” Harrison in an Instagram post. “I am so grateful, so honored and humbled to have been a small part of your journey.”
“There have been a couple of times where I’m like, ‘I want to get in! I just want to get in and do a workout, a group workout, let’s see who’s in there.’ And it’s hard,” coach Mark Harari says in a recently posted video, trying to motivate discouraged Supernatural users to put their headsets back on.
“We’re still here, okay? We haven’t left. All the coaches, we’re still here. … We’re still a part of this community, we’re here still to love, and support, and to raise up, and to stand by your side when things are tough.”
When reached for comment, Meta declined to address the backlash it has since received from the community or plans for the future. Instead, spokesperson Johanna Peace pointed to several new features and content Meta released after the acquisition, including a price drop in the subscription, a multiplayer mode, and new artists series and collaborations.
But barring a reversal in its decision, there’s little Meta can say to comfort Supernatural fans. Every single fan who spoke with The Verge has said their trust in the company has been shattered. For most, it’s a matter of picking which is the lesser evil moving forward.
On Reddit and the Facebook group, some have already posted screenshots of canceling their subscriptions. Others, like Dickson, are trying to rally Supernatural fans to create a grassroots movement that could save the game. Of those who spoke to The Verge, everyone said they’d stick with Supernatural until they can’t any longer. For most, the biggest source of anxiety is the music, as no one trusts Meta will renew licenses once they’ve run out. Once that happens, they fear workouts will begin disappearing, creating holes within the existing content library. Asked about alternatives, the most common response is, “There’s nothing else like Supernatural out there.”
“I’m torn because I don’t want to give Meta another penny. They don’t deserve it,” says Boyer, who invested in three Meta Quest headsets, along with several straps and accessories. “The corporation as a whole does not care about the people who use it. That’s the message I got from them and as a result, I will never buy those glasses, their watch, or any of the other things they’re trying to develop.”
Pieter Montoulieu is taking a different approach. After five years of playing Supernatural, Montoulieu decided to channel his grief into creating a Supernatural-like prototype game for the Apple Vision Pro. Montoulieu says he’s already been hit up by avid Supernatural fans interested in testing and creating custom workouts. Asked why the Vision Pro and not the Quest, Montoulieu says that “shutting down one of the only Meta services that actually made me feel healthier was kind of the last straw.”
For Dickson, the bare minimum that she wants from her campaign to save Supernatural is for the program to remain on Meta’s servers with no disappearing songs or workouts.
“What I’d really like to see is an investor — someone of vision — to come along and possibly buy the rights of Supernatural and make it independent again,” says Dickson. Ideally, she says that’d mean rehiring the creative team, and not just the coaches and choreographers. “Maybe on a different platform that’s supportive, like Steam. Where this program stays alive and continues to be guided by the Creative Vision of the people that made it in the first place.”
Through a spokesperson, Chris Milk declined to comment.
The mood in the Supernatural Facebook group is a picture in the five stages of grief. Right now, it’s between denial and incandescent anger. Frustration with Meta (and colorful insults for Zuckerberg) sits directly alongside hope that this isn’t truly the end. Supernatural coaches still pop in to post motivational videos, challenging users to venture back into their headsets and take heart in the community, existing content library, and their shared experiences.
“People are telling me I’m nuts and I’m going, ‘No, no. I will not give up.’ It’ll take the coaches reaching out to me to say, ‘We don’t want you to do this, Sherry.’ But they’re not,” Dickson says.
For now, Dickson is hoping to stir up the community’s fighting spirit. To get them believing that Meta can be shamed into doing the right thing and preserve the app. Or perhaps signal that a dedicated community is still there for potential buyers. After all, Dickson says, Disney reinstated Jimmy Kimmel after a week of public pressure — who’s to say it’s impossible?
It’s possible Supernatural will miraculously get a second life. More likely, it’ll end up as another casualty of Meta’s shifting ambitions. But, among the hundreds of forum comments and over 50 interviews I’ve conducted, perhaps this sentiment from Supernatural fan Sherer Minor sums it up best.
“I hope the app, in whatever form I can get it, never truly goes away. In the meantime, I’ll keep logging in and punching the air, because punching people is frowned upon.”
