The Vertical Third Place: How Climbing Gyms Are Reshaping City Life

Forget your local café or trendy bar. The new urban meeting point has five-meter-high walls, resin holds, and the fresh scent of climbing chalk. Welcome to the modern climbing gym, this curious space where socializing sometimes matters more than sending, and reshaping society competes with topping out your latest project. Let’s explore a contemporary phenomenon: the climbing wall as a living space.

At first, climbing gyms had all the gloomy charm of a middle-school gymnasium: questionable odors, pale fluorescent lighting, and a conviviality approaching zero. But that was then. Today, stepping into an urban climbing spot feels more like entering a hip social club. Under soft neon lights, between locally brewed IPAs and red routes, connected climbers debate the state of the world, swapping beta as easily as their latest Netflix recommendations. Are these still gyms, or have they evolved into something more hybrid? Beneath their relaxed and friendly exterior, these spaces profoundly question their social function. The vibe is strangely reminiscent of that neighborhood café where everybody knows your name—except here, you get applauded for falling, a quirky reversal of social norms, let’s admit.

This trend, far from trivial, resonates with a concept cherished by sociologists: the "third place," a term coined by American sociologist Ray Oldenburg. Beyond home (the first place) and work (the second place), Oldenburg envisioned an informal refuge, a site of casual sociability. Antoine Burret, a sociologist specializing in this topic, suggests climbing gyms might easily fulfill the role of third places as effectively as pharmacies, libraries, or even public squares. What truly matters is the authentic social atmosphere of mutual support, solidarity, and sharing. Could indoor climbing have become this improbable third place of the 21st century? With shoes two sizes too small and sociologists in tow, let's dive into this seemingly offbeat yet remarkably pertinent hypothesis.

Third Places: Between Sociological Ideal and Marketing Reality

To grasp Oldenburg's idea of a third place, picture your ideal local bistro: relaxed ambiance, zero hierarchy, everyone on equal footing around the bar. It’s a place where discussing politics, culture, weather, or fashion holds the same simple pleasure: being part of society. According to Oldenburg, these spaces are vital for social cohesion, civic engagement, and even—why not?—local democracy. In short, they’re places where you naturally feel at home.

"We want to be close to everyone, to recreate small village squares inside our gyms. That’s the goal: hybrid spaces where everyone gathers."– Antoine Kharsa, Director of Climbing District Jaurès.

How has the climbing gym, supposedly a temple of individual effort, slipped so gracefully into this near-utopian definition? The answer lies in a careful blend of modern urban ingredients: stylish interior design, locally roasted organic coffees, lo-fi playlists. From Paris to Berlin, London to Lyon, hip climbing venues like Climbing District or Arkose openly embrace their status as lifestyle destinations rather than mere sports facilities. People might come to climb, but they stay to chat, enjoy a drink, lounge in co-working spaces, or watch climbing films on a giant screen. Gym owners fully acknowledge this. During a Radio Campus program recorded at Climbing District Jaurès in October 2023, gym director Antoine Kharsa explained: “We’re very integrated into the local community. The ‘District’ in ‘Climbing District’ isn’t there by chance. Our goal is to recreate little village squares within our gyms, creating hybrid spaces where everyone meets up.”

Yet Jean-Laurent Cassely, an astute observer of urban lifestyles and founder of Maison Cassely, cautions that simply being a hybrid space doesn’t automatically qualify as a true third place: “For a hybrid location to genuinely become a third place, it must fulfill an authentic community role beyond purely transactional or commercial aspects. A climbing gym can’t just declare itself a third place through marketing.” Cassely, co-author of La France sous nos yeux, echoes Antoine Burret’s thoughts: “If a space is purely about consumption, it can’t be a true third place. There must be an authentic social dimension—sharing and support—that transcends commercial exchanges.”

Indeed, some gym managers candidly admit climbing is almost a pretext. “We’re not selling climbing; we offer a lifestyle,” they casually confess. On the same Radio Campus program, Antoine Kharsa elaborated: “Climbing provides the backdrop. It remains our core business, but in reality, it's just one reason among many to come. The bar, restaurant, co-working spaces—all these encourage people to step inside our climbing gym.”

Rituals and Vertical Micro-Societies

Climbing gyms owe much of their social dynamics to their own unique rituals. One doesn’t climb alone, even when climbing solo. Around the crash pads and couches, small interactions spontaneously unfold—absurd yet deeply human. The classic “Allez!” shouted passionately at a stranger dangling desperately, the discreet sharing of chalk (like cementing a friendship through white powder), or the essential fist-bump after topping a tricky problem—all are micro-rituals theorized over half a century ago by Canadian sociologist Erving Goffman in his book The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (1959). Goffman viewed every social interaction as a subtle performance, with each participant skillfully navigating solidarity, humility, and pride.

“Since Covid, people are seeking enhanced physical and social experiences. Climbing gyms perfectly fulfill this hybrid role, blending sport, informal sociability, and recovered urban conviviality.” - JL Cassely.

Thus, each climbing gym eventually cultivates a tribe of regulars, Oldenburg’s cherished “regulars” who lend the space its soul. They know every corner of the wall, every legendary route, and each staff member. Their essential role often involves welcoming newcomers. Thus, gyms become vibrant crossroads where trivial rituals foster genuine inclusion. Climbing happens, certainly, but mostly there’s talking, joking, encouraging, and connecting. If Goffman were around today, he might struggle up a 5.6, but he’d immediately grasp the subtle codes that form the heart of modern climbing gyms.

Here and Now

If a third place is defined above all by conviviality, physical presence, and direct interaction, then the modern climbing gym represents a subtle resistance to our increasingly digital lives. While many contemporary interactions occur behind screens, indoor climbing demands immediate, physical connection. Cassely points out how post-Covid times intensified this return to physical presence: “Since Covid, people are seeking enhanced physical and social experiences. Climbing gyms perfectly fulfill this hybrid role, blending sport, informal sociability, and recovered urban conviviality.”

“With hybridized climbing gyms (co-working spaces, food services, fitness, showers), prices inevitably rise, potentially increasing economic exclusion.”- Gilles Rotillon.

In this context, gyms become rare spaces where reconnecting physically and spontaneously takes on real meaning. Yes, digital devices are nearby, but the genuine conviviality around the mats quietly triumphs over digital isolation. Here, validation isn’t a social media story, but a shared smile, spontaneous applause, or casual conversations at the bar.

When Third Places Must Do Their Part

But let’s be honest: the analogy has its limits. Despite their openness, climbing gyms often cater to a fairly homogeneous crowd—young, educated, trendy urbanites—sometimes excluding less privileged groups, older generations, or those unfamiliar with climbing culture’s codes.

This "vertical gentrification," albeit unintentional, raises questions about third-place accessibility. Gilles Rotillon, an economist specializing in leisure sports, notes that “with hybridized climbing gyms (co-working spaces, food services, fitness, showers), prices inevitably rise, potentially increasing economic exclusion.” Can we genuinely speak of openness when entry requires a substantial monthly fee? Can we celebrate universal conviviality when mostly encountering our social duplicates? These slightly uncomfortable questions must be addressed if gyms truly wish to fulfill their social promise.

Climbing Together to Live Better?

So, climbing gyms—new vertical cafés or merely a trendy urban fad? The answer probably lies somewhere in between. Yes, they rebuild social bonds, foster camaraderie and conviviality, and create community. But gyms must recognize their limits, paradoxes, and social blind spots.

Ultimately, perhaps the future of climbing gyms as third places lies in their ability to ascend while keeping feet firmly on the ground: creating bonds without excluding, embracing conviviality without becoming caricatures, turning into authentic community hubs without losing climbing’s essential joy—simple, vertical, and shared.

As Antoine Burret reminds us: “Some neighborhood cafés or local shops can become third places because they truly serve residents’ social needs. But it’s never automatic.” A crucial reminder: genuine third places can’t be declared; they must be built, day after day.

After all, climbing together already means beginning to live together. And that alone deserves an IPA or lemonade at the bar. Cheers!