Belong anywhere new.

THE FEAR IS THAT THOSE DON'T COME TOGETHER

Not for me. Not somewhere I'd genuinely like.

That gap is the whole reason LikeMe exists.

We know which places suit you because you told us how you live, and the people there told us what everyday life is actually like.

And if you already know where you’re going — a job, a course, a visa, or just four days in March — you don’t have to learn every useful thing the hard way.

Guides for what’s next. Kits for knowing a place, inside and out. And people for the things only people can tell you.

You don’t have to know everything before you feel ready. You just have to know where to turn when the next question shows up.

The rest of the time, it stays useful.

See the life, not just the destination.

Places that stay close

Immerse yourself before you go.

Do you want to understand the place, or collect facts about it forever?

Humour, language and the tiny rules nobody teaches. They don’t sink in one by one. They sink in because you keep meeting them holding hands out in the world.

The Meanwhile feed slips you into ordinary local afternoons right now — 💬 someone recounting the family group chat that got completely out of hand, 🚶 a quiet video of someone’s evening walk with hellos for every neighbour along the way, 📝 a love note taped to a fridge, 📻 the radio host who overshares at midnight.

You follow writers who know the place inside out — yes, the fanfics; culture did not clock out because somebody posted at 1:14 a.m., and suddenly a joke lands that would have sailed past you last week.

🌐 Translation and 🔊 pronunciation sit right inside the app, so you can join in instead of just watching.

Everything you saved packs itself.

Chengdu can stay a daydream while Halifax gets your attention now. Lisbon has four days in March. My World holds them all without pretending they need the same thing from you.

Notebook holds the bits only you would remember: private notes beside a saved chapter, the society-meeting outfit panic, and a loose Saturday that ends somewhere warm.

Save something from the feed, the map or a conversation. Add the detail nobody else would think to write down. When the date gets close, the right things quietly return—no archaeological dig through your screenshots.

Start with one thing.

Build the life, not just the arrival.

Build a week you don’t have to invent every morning.

Find work — and understand the life around it.

Build a week every person in the household can live inside.

Find out how people actually build things here.

A life does not appear all at once.

Meet people you’ll actually keep seeing.

Then one day, it’s just… home.

Come straight in. No arrival arc required.

See what your community’s doing, meet people around you, join discussions, get useful alerts, and find parts of home you’ve somehow missed for six years.

And your ordinary life here matters. The breakfast you grew up with. What people actually wear when the weather does that. A joke that makes no sense until somebody explains the last twenty years. The quiet route home. The thing visitors always misunderstand.

You don’t need to become glamorous to share where you live. Glamour is welcome. So is toast. 🍞

Your post only has to be true to the part you know. Together, those small accounts give somebody elsewhere a version of Halifax, Chengdu or Lisbon they could never have found by searching “what is it like?” for the seventeenth time.

The warmth is there because people need it. But if LikeMe is going to help with where you live, how you prepare and who you meet, the system underneath has to earn the right to make a suggestion.

The matching questions, Culture Fingerprint, Place Reads, Kits, local surveys and cohort tests are informed by published research, checked against lived experience, and measured by whether they actually help someone.

Nobody who answered had been.

Years ago I wanted to go somewhere, and I was afraid of what it would be like for me there. So I asked. The confident answers came from people who’d never had to ask it about themselves, and they were at the top. The people who had actually gone were near the bottom, barely voted on at all.

They bought groceries, made friends, got bored, had good days. Their lives sounded ordinary. Often lovely. Nothing like the place described above them.

I never made the trip. Then someone from there came into my life instead.

Being close to someone who had grown up somewhere very different from me taught me something the search results hadn’t. So much of a culture lives in tiny, ordinary things nobody thinks to explain: what counts as affection, what feels thoughtful, how families show care, who follows up, what a silence means, and all the little rules that only become visible when two people grew up with different ones.

We learned a lot of those things together, sometimes because one of us stopped and asked, wait — what does that mean to you?

The answers existed. They were just scattered across old forums, family advice, search results, and the kindness of people willing to explain. I started gathering them into something we could actually use. Those became LikeMe Kits.

Then the idea grew.

LikeMe grew from both experiences: wanting to understand what a place could really be like for someone like me, and wanting to understand the world of someone important to me without reducing either of us to stereotypes, warnings or a list of facts.

It’s the app I needed then. Somewhere to see the lives people are already living, understand where your own life could fit, and enter a place with more context, more connection and far less guesswork.

— Mirabel, founder of LikeMe

LikeMe needs just enough context to give you a good answer. Not your life story.

It’s an independent project built by an immigrant founder — not a government or immigration service. What you tell LikeMe shapes your experience here. It doesn’t get reported to either.