When I was younger, I never left home without my Nintendo 3DS. Not because I wanted to play Mario Kart or Animal Crossing every five minutes (though I definitely did), but because of a tiny green light. That light meant one thing : someone, somewhere, had just crossed my path.
StreetPass was a strange kind of magic. Introduced by Nintendo in 2011, it allowed 3DS consoles to exchange data automatically when they passed near each other. No Wi-Fi, no usernames, no effort just proximity. That was so interesting especially because we were not all allowed to have wifi in our home and this helped go around that “lack” and it was fascinating for a 10 year old. Every time that green light blinked, I knew my console had “met” someone new. Sometimes it was a classmate I didn’t talk to much, sometimes a stranger on the bus, or someone walking by outside.
Opening my 3DS to see who I’d met was always exciting. Their little Mii characters would show up, waving at me, carrying small messages or puzzle pieces. (I loved those puzzles, it was always fascinating meeting people who had puzzles complete that I had never even seen before) In streetpass Mii plaza, these tiny encounters became mini adventures. I would use the people I had met to unlock puzzles, fight ghosts, or build crowns. It was really simple with not that many features in the games and yet joyful everytime.
Looking back, StreetPass was more than just a game feature. It was a quiet, invisible network that connected people in the real world. It turned everyday spaces like schools, malls, train stations into secret meeting grounds for hidden communities. You never really knew who you were passing, but you knew someone was there.
In a way, StreetPass was one of the purest forms of social connection digital technology ever created. There were no likes, no follows, no competition, just random traces of presence. A gentle reminder that we share our spaces with others, even if we don’t always see them.
I still remember traveling and opening my 3DS in airports or foreign cities, curious to see what new Miis would appear. I especially remember on summer holidays in a camping I went to with my parents every year the same people would feed my Plaza. In smaller towns, the green light barely blinked. But that was part of the fun: every StreetPass felt rare but so exciting.
Now, years later, the service has faded away. Nintendo shut down most online features for the 3DS, and StreetPass lives only in memory — in those of us who remember watching that little green light flash. The Miis we collected are frozen in our consoles, their data quietly waiting for a signal that will never come.
Sometimes I wonder where all those people are now. The students, travelers, and strangers whose avatars once filled my Plaza? Do they still play games? Do they even remember crossing my path every year?
Maybe that’s the most beautiful part of it. For a brief moment in time, our paths crossed digitally and physically without needing to talk. And even though those connections are gone, they remind me of something that feels rare in today’s digital world: the joy of small, fleeting, human encounters.
And sometimes, I still like to think that somewhere out there, a piece of my Mii is still walking around in someone else’s 3DS.
Recent Comments