When I was learning to code, one of the things that motivated me most was the sense of community. I found a ton of value in the Twitter community, where people answered questions, shared resources, and celebrated each other’s wins. I also found incredible support in online coding communities. A huge part of this was the ability to ask questions and get help from others who had been where I was. They brought empathy and experience in a way that documentation and tutorials couldn’t, and made me feel like I could do it even when I didn’t believe that.
A huge part of Virtual Coffee’s early growth was people finding each other to ask questions, get help, and learn together. It was a safe space to say “I don’t know how to do this” or “Is this interview experience ‘normal’?” and have someone patiently walk you through it.
Not only did having your question answered give you the information you needed, it gave you validation. You weren’t alone. You were struggling with something that other people struggled with too. But. it also felt good to help. And in a lot of ways, you experienced growth and it felt tangible when you were able to answer someone else’s question. Successful communities saw collective knowledge sharing, mutual aid, opportunities to learn together.
By 2024, something had fundamentally shifted.
ChatGPT could answer your JavaScript question in three seconds. Claude could debug your code and explain why. The questions that used to fill Discord and Slack, “how do I center a div?” or “what’s the difference between let and const?” or “why isn’t my API call working?” suddenly had a faster, always-available answer. And now, you prompt your LLM and get code that works, explanations that make sense, and debugging help without needing to wait for someone to see your question and respond.
And with that shift came a new tension nobody quite knew how to name: the growing frustration when someone asks a question that AI could have answered, and the growing anxiety about asking questions when you’re not sure if you’ve “done enough work first.”
The bar rose.
The Numbers Tell the Story
Developers weren’t being difficult. They were being rational.
Why post a question on Stack Overflow and wait for someone to answer when ChatGPT gives you working code in seconds? Why search through Discord message history when Claude can explain the concept in plain English, tailored to your specific context? Why ask a community and risk judgment and assholes on the internet when AI is always available, non-judgmental, and fast?
AI could now handle most of the questions communities used to.
The Unspoken Contract Changed
Here’s what this shift did to the implicit contract of online communities:
In 2020-2021:
- You asked questions, even basic ones, and people were happy to help
- The community was the primary resource for learning and problem-solving
- At Virtual Coffee, we embraced horizontal mentrship—everyone could ask and everyone could answer
- Asking for help was normal and expected
In 2025-2026:
- You’re expected to try AI first before “wasting” people’s time
- The community is for questions AI can’t answer
- There’s an unspoken frustration at questions ChatGPT could handle
- Asking for help requires demonstrating you’ve done your homework
We started to see that community members who were tired of answering the same basic questions when AI could do it faster.
What Communities Are Actually For Now
So if AI handles basic questions, what are communities actually for?
The answer should be: judgment, experience, connection, and the questions AI can’t answer.
- “Should I take this job or stay at my current role?”
- “How do you actually work with this technology in production?”
- “What’s the culture like at {company}?”
- “I’m burned out. How did you work through it?”
- “Here’s this cool thing I built and I think it could help others. What do you think?”
- “How do you navigate sick kids and a feature launch???”
These are inherently human questions requiring human judgment, lived experience, and contextual understanding. They’re the questions that make communities valuable. They’re the questions that foster connection and belonging. They’re the questions that create shared understanding and collective wisdom.
But here’s the problem: many communities haven’t consciously made this shift. They’re still structured around Q&A patterns that AI now handles better. They’re still trying to be “the place developers get answers” when that race is lost.
Product communities are particularly stuck. They’re trying to serve two populations:
- Drive-by users who just need their build to work and will never engage beyond that
- Community seekers who want connection, depth, and belonging
These need different things. The drive-by user benefits from AI-first + good docs. The community seeker needs human connection. Trying to serve both with the same strategy doesn’t work.
The Sustainability Crisis
This creates a sustainability problem that’s quietly breaking communities:
For community builders: You’re caught between welcoming everyone and managing finite volunteer energy. When someone asks a question ChatGPT could answer in 3 seconds, do you answer it (and enable learned helplessness) or redirect them (and risk seeming unwelcoming)? There’s no good answer, and the constant navigation is exhausting.
For community members: You’re navigating unwritten rules about what’s “appropriate” to ask. You feel guilty asking for help because maybe you didn’t try hard enough. You see others get redirected to AI and worry you’ll be next. The psychological safety that made communities work is eroding.
The Uncomfortable Questions
Where does this leave us? With some hard questions we need to actually ask:
About AI expectations:
- How do we honor that AI makes many questions obsolete without making people feel unwelcome?
- What’s our responsibility when not everyone has the same AI access?
- How do we shift from “Q&A community” to “judgment and experience community”?
- What questions actually need humans now?
- Is “try ChatGPT first” gatekeeping or reasonable boundary?
About community purpose:
- Are we trying to be everything when we should be something specific?
- Can drive-by Q&A and deep connection coexist in one space?
- What happens when 80% of your community just wants fast answers?
- How do we serve people who need basic help without burning out the helpers?
About sustainability:
- Can volunteer-run communities survive when the “easy” questions (that felt good to answer) are gone?
- How do we make helping feel rewarding again when all that’s left are hard questions?
- What’s the minimum viable community when AI handles the basics?
What Actually Works Now
The communities thriving in 2026 aren’t the ones fighting AI or pretending it doesn’t exist. They’re the ones that:
Accepted the shift in purpose. They’re not trying to be Stack Overflow. They’re spaces for nuanced discussion, career advice, lived experience, and human judgment calls. They’ve made peace with AI handling the basics.
Stay welcoming while having boundaries. “Hey, ChatGPT might be faster for this!” is fine. “Why are you wasting our time?” is not. There’s a way to redirect to AI tools while maintaining psychological safety.
Separate transaction from connection. Some spaces are for quick help (and that’s fine). Some spaces are for deeper belonging (and that’s different). Trying to be both creates friction.
Accepted different participation levels. Drive-by questions are fine. People who only show up when they need something are fine. The always-engaged ideal is dead, and that’s okay.
Built for the people who actually need them now. People navigating complex career decisions. People working with niche technologies where AI training is thin. People who need human judgment, not just answers. People without AI access. Not everyone, because not everyone needs human community for Q&A anymore.
The bar that nobody asked for—AI capability—did change what communities are for. But it didn’t eliminate the need for community. It just clarified it.
We don’t need communities to answer “how do I center a div?” anymore. We need them for “should I take this job?” and “how do I not burn out?” and “what’s it actually like to work there?”
And honestly? Those are better questions. They just require us to be more human, not less.