las vegas: an ethnographer’s wet nightmare

Nov. 30/2007 – Adam’s presentation introduced the Kozinets article on the Burning Man festival, which offers a discussion of the pervasiveness of promotional consumer culture. Kozinets concludes, “whether in cultural capital-laden appeals to authentic communities that exist outside the market or to so-called radical self-expression that fits within subscultural and commercial norms, the urge to differentiate from other consumers drives participation at Burning Man and does not release [participants] from the grip of the market’s sign game and social logics,” (36). In other words, despite even the noblest of our efforts, it is difficult (if not impossible) to escape the influence of promotional consumer culture.

In discussing the Burning Man festival as a sort of spiritual pilgrimage, I was reminded of a music festival I once attended. Taking place in the desert of Las Vegas (well, not exactly the desert per se, but in the grassy surroundings of UNLV’s football stadium), the ‘Vegoose’ festival was a celebration of the arts (er, rock concert) rooted in an embrace of community and personal freedom (at the hardly-free cost of about $100 a day). The festival was a weekend-long celebration of eclectic style, taking place right around Halloween and inspiring some truly wacky costumes.


























What attracted me was, firstly, the fact that I had never visited Las Vegas before, followed closely by the impressive lineup of bands that would be attending. The bands were excellent, and the crowd was great too. It was strange, though; people were treating the event like it was Woodstock 2005, as though it were some major spiritual event, some deep religious pilgrimage, even though it was the first annual instance of the festival. Maybe it was the open drug use that affected everyone’s attitude, but there was a distinguishable buzz and a feeling of tolerance and community among the festival-goers. I was sober (really) and I still felt that hum of collective humanism, a refreshing and rare feeling that I hadn’t experienced in ages. But then it occurred to me: why is it that people need to spend 300 bucks to connect with one another? The freedom we felt was mediated by the manned fences that surrounded those of us who could afford to participate. Vegoose was a concert, a really good concert, but it was hardly a metaphysical retreat - everyone went back to their themed neon hotels on the Strip afterwards, and nobody’s life was changed forever (with the exception of those who probably swore off psychedelic drugs after a bad trip).

In the same way that a Britney Spears concert, while formulaic and commercialized, offers the authentic experience of a Britney Spears concert, I don’t regret spending the money on Vegoose, and I have some great memories from my encounter with expensive freedom. But I never try to fool myself that it was anything more than a massive capitalist venture, taking place in a city that exists as a monument to Western excess and artificiality.