Remembering Om

Yesterday, we learned the gutting news that Om Malik passed away from complications from a heart attack. For those of you who don’t know, nearly two decades ago, at the height of Web 2.0 and his publishing career, Om had a heart attack that nearly killed him. He’d go on to say it was the best thing that ever happened to him because it made him focus on what really mattered.

It’s not lost on us that Om’s photography, often taken in frozen lands in or around the arctic circle, was the polar opposite of his personality. While he focused on subtle shapes and hidden landscapes, he was the sun of any group he was in. Folks just naturally fell into his orbit.

Glass is a better place because he was a part of it. Om was the first person to truly believe in us. Talking with him while it was just an idea became showing a wireframe, and sending him one of our first private beta invites became him interviewing us, which became our launch announcement. He put so much effort into Glass during its infancy because it was something he wanted. Because it was something he had seen exist in previous versions of the internet and sorely missed it.

We wish we could share how he showed up for the Glass team through the first few years of our company, because it offers a more holistic and complete picture of who Om was: the good, the complex, the sharp tongue with a big laugh. Om was a kind, generous man. Om was an asshole and you never doubted that he loved you. The two sides of the same coin.

He offered countless hours of feedback, thoughts, and considered (or hasty) complaints*. He’d often send a text in the middle of the night when an idea came in or send a zoom link because he didn’t want to bother writing out whatever thought had come to him. Easier to go straight to the source, he’d say.

*You would not believe how much he hated Appurciations. No, really, it was such a short email that consisted mostly of curse words. So many, in fact, that Stefan almost turned it off within five minutes of turning the feature on. (Which, in hindsight, also means Om saw it immediately.)

Om showed up for so many of us in the community with kindness, encouragement, and curiosity. He recognized that the internet was the source of so much good in his own life and that our current iteration is broken. What’s more, he recognized the role that the tech industry was playing in its destruction. The harm that our platforms were doing to us. And he used his considerable weight and voice in the industry to try to better it. To mend what had fallen into disrepair. 

He leaves us with that work unfinished, a task that’ll never be completed by any one of us. The internet feels worse since we’ve started Glass. And today, it feels much worse without him. But Om showed us how to make progress. Just show up, curious and ready to help. He did it because he cared about the internet, about connecting with others, about learning and improving. He did it because he cared about photography as an art form and a practice. He did it because he gave a shit. We often borrowed his courage. We're better for having known him.

A veteran of the internet publishing space, he was one of the first to take the now well-worn path of technology writing into venture capital. When we briefly explored raising a small round of VC funding after our launch to support our growth, Om was our first call. He answered and immediately said, “I love you guys, I’ll invest the money if you want it, but don’t fucking do it. What you have is special. Don’t fucking ruin it.”

That’s Om. Simple and to the point. That simplicity showed up in his photography practice. Strip away everything from a photograph, down to the bare minimum of contrast or shadow. What do you focus on? What do you see? How can something so simple be so fulfilling? 

If you were lucky enough to spend time with Om in person, you’d find yourself asking the same question. A regular around his neighborhood in San Francisco, getting the invite to spend an afternoon with Om on his park bench in South Park felt special and pedestrian. 

A nice camera. A good meal. A walk with a friend. A coffee or tea in the sun, maybe sharing a treat, warm from the light and friendship. A life lived in focus.

How could something so simple be so fulfilling?

We’ll miss him dearly.

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This essay was written by Daniel Agee, an early member of the Glass team. Daniel, thank you for putting into words so much of what we're all feeling in the wake of this loss. To our community: thank you for sharing your stories, memories, and photographs of Om. Reading them has illuminated just how many lives he touched, and how deeply his light will be missed.