Has Burning Man Lost Its Way? Reflections After Three Visits

Burning Man has been a part of my life for years now. The first time I ventured into the Nevada desert to experience this legendary festival, I was captivated by the sheer creativity, the radical self-expression, and the profound sense of community that seemed to transcend reality. It was as if I had stepped into a different world, one where art, freedom, and human connection reigned supreme. But after three trips to the playa, I can't help but wonder if Burning Man, as we know it, might be nearing the end of an era.

The signs have been there for a while. For the first time since 2011, Burning Man tickets didn’t sell out immediately. That might not sound like a big deal, but for a festival that has prided itself on being a sought-after, almost mythical experience, it’s a significant shift. I remember the frenzy of getting tickets in previous years, the excitement, the anxiety of whether I’d secure my spot in this temporary city in the desert. This year? Not so much.

I’ve spoken with other longtime burners, and the sentiment is similar. The past few years have been rough on Burning Man. First, the cancellations in 2020 and 2021 due to the pandemic left us all wondering if the festival would ever return. Then, in 2022, the heat was unbearable—record-setting temperatures turned the playa into an unforgiving inferno. And if that wasn’t enough, 2023 brought heavy rains that transformed the desert into a muddy trap, leaving many of us stuck for days. As much as we try to embrace the unpredictability of the playa, these challenges have taken a toll.

I met Sarah, a 25-year-old Gen Z burner from San Francisco, who has been to Burning Man twice. She reflected on her mixed feelings about returning. “The first time I went, it felt like nothing else in the world—a utopia of creativity and acceptance. But last year was tough. The rain, the mud, and the endless waiting to leave—it wasn’t the magical experience I remembered. I’m wondering if the festival has lost its way, or if maybe it’s me who’s changed.” Her words echoed something I’ve been feeling myself, a sense that the festival is struggling to maintain its identity in the face of growing challenges.

It’s not just the weather or the logistics, though. Burning Man has changed in ways that go beyond the practical difficulties. There’s been a shift in the culture, one that’s hard to ignore if you’ve been going for a while. The event has always attracted a wide range of people, but in recent years, it feels like there are more and more festival-goers who aren’t as committed to the core principles of Burning Man—principles like “radical self-reliance” and “de-commodification.”

Tom, a 45-year-old burner from Austin, has been attending since 2006 and has seen the festival evolve firsthand. “When I first started coming, it was all about community and participation. Everyone contributed something, whether it was art, performances, or just helping out in the camps. But now, I see more people treating it like a party or a social media opportunity, without really engaging with what makes Burning Man special. It’s starting to feel more like Coachella than the Burning Man I fell in love with.”

Tom’s observation struck a chord with me. I remember the first time I walked onto the playa, it was a place where everyone contributed, where the line between participant and spectator was blurred. But now, it seems like there are more and more people who come just to experience the spectacle without truly engaging with the ethos of the event. There’s a growing divide between those who are there to contribute and those who are there to consume.

Last year’s disaster, with the rains and the mud, was a wake-up call for many of us. It was a reminder that Burning Man is, at its core, an experiment in temporary community. But that experiment has faced some tough tests recently. The weather challenges, the shifting culture, and the financial strain have all made it clear that something needs to change.

I also spoke with Michael, a 38-year-old artist from Portland who has been bringing large art installations to Burning Man for over a decade. “The financial burden of participating has become overwhelming,” he told me. “I love creating art for the playa, but it’s getting harder to justify the costs. Between the materials, transportation, and just getting there, it’s a huge investment. And with the festival becoming more commercialized, it feels like the focus is shifting away from the art and more towards the spectacle. That’s not what Burning Man is supposed to be about.”

Michael’s frustration is shared by many in the community. The cost of attending Burning Man has skyrocketed. Tickets start at $575, but that’s just the beginning. For those who like to bring large art installations or create elaborate camps, the expenses can climb into the tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars. In a time when many people are struggling with the rising cost of living, it’s no wonder that some are choosing to sit this one out.

But it’s not just the money or the weather. There’s a sense that Burning Man is at a crossroads, that the festival needs to decide what it wants to be in the future. Does it continue on its current path, growing larger and more mainstream, or does it return to its roots, focusing on the core principles that made it so special in the first place?

Rachel, a 29-year-old burner from Los Angeles, has been attending since 2015. She shared her thoughts with me: “I think Burning Man is going through growing pains. It’s become this massive cultural phenomenon, but in doing so, it’s lost some of the intimacy and connection that made it so powerful. I’m not saying it’s time for it to end, but maybe it needs to scale back, to focus more on what makes it unique rather than trying to accommodate everyone.” Rachel’s words made me think about how festivals, like anything else, need to evolve to survive. But that evolution needs to be thoughtful, rooted in the original spirit of the event rather than driven by external pressures.

The organizers are already thinking outside the box, trying to find ways to keep the festival alive. This year, for the first time, tickets were available just a few weeks before the event. That’s unheard of for Burning Man. Normally, tickets are sold out months in advance, and if you didn’t plan ahead, you were out of luck. But this year, the OMG sale was open to anyone who wanted to go, even if they hadn’t pre-registered. It’s a sign that things are shifting, that the festival is trying to adapt to a new reality.

Marian Goodell, the executive director of the Burning Man Project, emphasized the need to bring in new people, to offer wider access to the festival. “Experiencing the wonder, inspiration, creativity, and community of Burning Man in Black Rock City is the antidote to today’s social division and alienation,” she said in a press release. I get it. The world is a tough place right now, and Burning Man has always been a refuge, a place where people can come together and create something beautiful out of nothing. But I wonder if opening the gates wider is enough.

The Burning Man I fell in love with was a place of radical experimentation, where every year was different, and you never knew what to expect. But lately, it feels like the festival has become a victim of its own success, struggling to maintain the spontaneity and chaos that made it so special in the first place. The challenges of recent years have only highlighted this, making it clear that Burning Man can’t just keep doing the same thing and expect different results.

So, where does that leave us? I don’t have all the answers, but I do know that if Burning Man is going to survive, it needs to embrace change. Maybe that means scaling back, returning to its roots as a smaller, more intimate gathering. Or maybe it means finding new ways to engage with the community year-round, rather than focusing all the energy on one big event.

I’ll always cherish my memories of the playa, the people I’ve met, the art I’ve seen, the nights spent dancing under the stars. But as much as it pains me to say it, maybe it’s time for Burning Man to evolve, to find a new direction that can carry it into the future without losing the spirit that made it so special in the first place.

For now, I’m taking a break. Three times at Burning Man have given me enough incredible experiences to last a lifetime, but they’ve also made me realize that nothing stays the same forever. As I watch from afar, I hope the festival finds a way to reignite the spark that once made it feel like a beacon of possibility in a world that often feels too rigid, too structured.

Stay connected with more insights and reflections on the ever-evolving world of festivals at Woke Waves Magazine.

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Photo by Sasha Matveeva