the radical self-destruction of burning man
the eleventh principle, perhaps
Thank you for reading Hmm … That’s Interesting, a reader-supported publication! If you enjoy the newsletter, please consider becoming a subscribing member.
I have to be honest: I find it very difficult, if not impossible, to feel sorry for the Burning Man people. I am trying, to a degree, because humanity is a community and so on and so forth, but I can't help my general aversion to the situation. A personal failing, I am sure, and perhaps irrational, definitely judgmental, but for as long as I have known of the festival's existence, I have made fun of it in my head. My impression of Burning Man has always been that of a multitude of grown people with too much money going on this weird little pilgrimage to the desert to do drugs and have sex and then going back home and telling everyone who will listen about how they went on this weird little pilgrimage to the desert to do drugs and have sex. And I have to ask, what happened to living local? What happened to discretion?
As a rule — and fair warning that this is about to be one of my judgiest posts, for which I apologize, but it appears that faux hippies are, in 2023, my breaking point — I tend to find it suspicious when adults feel the need to travel hundreds, if not thousands, of miles to become interesting. If you need to go to the desert for a week in August (of all months!) with 70,000 people to convince others of how fun and profound and care-free you are … it will simply give me reason to pause!
As a recap: Late last week, Burning Man attendees got more than they bargained for when heavy rain trapped tens of thousands of people in the festival grounds of Black Rock Desert, as the subsequent mud made it unsafe for vehicles to drive in or out of the festival. For a few days, the only way people were able to leave the campsite was by foot (unadvised, as the mud made the ground rather unstable).
It is giving me OceanGate flashbacks, sprinkled with a bit of Fyre Festival, I fear. It is challenging to hold space for sympathy over manufactured hardship.
Not that Burning Man's participants are solely composed of the ultra-rich. Luckily, though, one does not need to be a billionaire to be a little obnoxious. Such is the generosity of the American dream. Because maybe a few decades ago, when it first started, Burning Man truly was a countercultural event, filled with honest-to-god free spirits (?) and radicals, but the proportion of that type of attendee appears to be steadily dwindling. This year, for instance? Diplo was in attendance, as he has been for years. Neal Katyal, the lawyer who defended Nestle's use of overseas child labor in the Supreme Court, wore a ridiculous outfit to announce his attendance. Grover Norquist, the man with a bizarrely visceral hostility to taxes, is apparently a long-time participant. White people with dreadlocks categorically refuse to miss it. Davina from Selling Sunset? Present. Every venture capitalist terrorizing Silicon Valley is currently re-enacting their favorite Lord of the Flies moments in Black Rock Desert, trash bags on their feet and a dream in their hearts.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Hmm That's Interesting to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.