By Miriam Jayaratna

Today we are gathered to pay our respects to Skype, an app that some may be surprised to learn was still alive. Microsoft, which bought Skype for a record $8.5 billion in 2011, has decided to put it out to pasture. Many of us -- dozens, even -- aren't happy about this.

For those of us of a certain age, raised on the promise of air taxis and robot maids, the birth of Skype's audiovisual calls in 2003 made us feel like we were finally living in the future. This was an innocent time, before we realized the relentlessness of technological innovation would leave us all unemployed and in toxic situationships with our ChatGPT therapists.

Sure, Skype was glitchy. Somehow it forgot your login details every fifth usage. Its pixelated visuals presaged Minecraft. But even its flaws had grace: If you were ever hung over after a night of salsa dancing with a mysterious Spaniard and running late to a 7 a.m. video call with a study-abroad adviser, all was instantly forgiven with the magic words, "Sorry, I had to restart Skype, and then it made me reset my password."

Like death, Skype was a great equalizer. It worked just as poorly on an Android phone in the middle of the Mojave Desert as it did on a brand new MacBook in Silicon Valley. It accepted us in all our filterless imperfection, and all it asked in return was that we rate the quality of the call on a scale of zero to five stars.

Even as we matured and technology burgeoned around us, Skype remained soothingly unchanged. Instead of the purgatory of a virtual waiting room, Skype humbly presented us with a list of all our contacts and how recently they'd been online. For those of us who'd come of age on AOL Instant Messenger, this was deeply reassuring. Seeing whether a buddy's icon was an active green or an aloof orange was the closest thing we had to an attachment style.

When the pandemic hit, other videoconferencing apps saw a chance to capitalize on remote work and shake us down for cash. Newer, sleeker models offered dazzling features like tropical backgrounds and the ability to express a thumbs-up without ever using a thumb.

Not Skype. It selflessly granted unlimited calls and demanded no membership fee. Skype wasn't sophisticated enough for exchanging state secrets, so we knew there was zero chance a Russian troll would hack our calls.

Skype's contribution to tech progress must not be underestimated. Skype walked, then froze, then walked again so that Zoom could run.

Skype, your passing leaves us with so many unanswered questions. Such as: Why did you survive for as long as you did? And: Must you go now? Isn't the world unstable enough? Are your handful of loyal users really now expected to migrate over to Microsoft Teams, an app that raises the question: What if a tool meant for professional collaboration was completely incapable of making calls?

When we remember Skype, we won't dwell on all the times we missed what someone said because of a "poor connection," or how many hours with loved ones we lost because we were redownloading it. We won't recall all those frustrating moments when it said we weren't online even though we were literally right there, staring at the home page.

No. Instead, we'll think of Skype's catchy, syncopated ringtone, which made each call feel like a merry locomotive transporting us back to the halcyon days of the mid-aughts. We'll wave at our screens, and we'll smile.

Miriam Jayaratna is a clinical psychologist and writer based in New York City.

(END) Dow Jones Newswires

April 25, 2025 21:00 ET (01:00 GMT)

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