Burning Man often gets a bad reputation. I get it. To many, it looks like a week-long desert rave for the wealthy, wrapped in anti-capitalist slogans. The truth? It’s not cheap, it’s not relaxing, and you could fly to Europe for less. So why do people keep coming back? And why, after swearing off the playa in 2017, did I end up selling some of my crypto to go again this year?
My decision was spontaneous. I was visiting New York in June and met up with a couple of friends who started their own camp a few years ago. They asked me if I was going and offered to camp with them. Initially, I didn’t plan to attend - I had too much going on at work and was busy focusing on my own projects in my spare time. I returned to LA and received a warm message saying how nice it was to have me back in New York and encouraging me to join the camp again, if I wanted to.
At the same time, I was dating someone in Los Angeles who was also planning to go. I told him about the invite and left room for him to suggest we go together. Instead, a few days later, he ended things on a late-night call, saying he couldn’t give me what I wanted because he hadn’t healed from his divorce. It contradicted everything he’d told me before, about where we were headed and how he felt. I was blindsided and livid, but underneath the anger, I knew he was telling the truth.
The truth is, people can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves. He wasn't a villain — just someone who wasn't as far along as he'd led himself and me to believe. His honesty came late and landed clumsily, but at least it came. I was ready for someone who could actually show up, and that call, as much as it stung, freed me.
The camp fees weren’t cheap, but I knew I needed to go. I was craving adventure and real community. Los Angeles can get lonely. I’d made some money in crypto, so I cashed out a little, paid my dues, and started planning.
The 10 Principles
Burning Man is built on 10 guiding principles.
Radical Inclusion – Everyone’s welcome. No VIP list.
Gifting – Give freely, no strings attached. Pancakes, hugs, advice — it’s all fair game.
Decommodification – No ads, no logos, no “brought to you by.” It’s about connection, not consumption.
Radical Self-Reliance – Bring everything you need to survive: water, food, clothing, sunscreen, etc. No one’s babysitting you.
Radical Self-Expression – Show up as your truest self, however that looks.
Communal Effort – Build, share, and create together. The magic is in collaboration.
Civic Responsibility – Respect laws and the wellbeing of others. Play responsibly.
Leave No Trace – Pack it all out. The desert should look untouched when we’re gone.
Participation – No spectators. You don’t watch Burning Man; you do Burning Man.
Immediacy – Be fully present. No filter can replace what’s happening right now.
These are what keep Burning Man different from being just another giant party. Sadly, not everyone lives by them — plenty of people treat the playa as one big Instagram backdrop. But when you see them in action, you understand why people return.
My Camp: Gong Wrong
Our camp was called Gong Wrong (a play on "gone wrong") — spiritual at its core, built around gong meditations meant to foster collective consciousness, but packed with music, art, and chaos in equal measure. The people were an improbable mix: founders and lawyers, artists and entrepreneurs, the kind of group that would never share a tent in the default world. Out on the playa, none of that was the point. We were equals, measured only by how we showed up for each other.
We weren’t a plug-and-play camp where you simply pay and show up. Everyone contributed financially and physically. Most of us flew in early to build the camp ourselves. There was no hired help, except for professionals who safely assembled our large communal tent.
The weather tested us: massive dust storms, then heavy rain that turned the playa into a muddy mess. But our leads were prepared. Tarps under the shift pods kept them dry. A construction vacuum sucked up water. And when the storm stranded some of us, our campmates offered their RVs, so no one was left without a bed.
We lost things to the storm, rebuilt them, and lost them again. It was exhausting. Some camps fell apart under the pressure, but ours only got stronger. One night, when rain trapped us in a 40-foot RV, a campmate cooked for everyone and set up a full DJ set inside. We laughed, danced, and turned chaos into community. That was the spirit of Gong Wrong.
The Dark Side of the Playa
The playa isn’t all magic. A ranger in our camp shared stories of people being drugged and hospitalized. This year even saw the first murder in Burning Man’s history — still under investigation. Some camps crumbled under conflict and poor organization. The desert doesn’t hide dysfunction; it magnifies it.
Why It Was Worth It
So why spend thousands of dollars, countless prep hours, and a week in harsh conditions when I could’ve been sipping spritzes in Europe? For me, it was worth it because:
Disconnection is medicine. With Starlink and influencer livestreams everywhere, it’s not as unplugged as it once was — but I managed to step away from work. When I came back, nothing had collapsed.
Strangers become friends. Driving through the streets and stopping for coffee, food, or just vibes reminded me how rare genuine connection feels in daily life.
Hardship reveals character. Burning Man tested my friendships. Some grew stronger, one fell apart. The desert shows you who people really are.
It’s a Misogi. In Japan, Misogi is the idea of doing one hard, defining thing a year to grow resilience and self-discovery. Burning Man is exactly that: physical, emotional, and spiritual all at once. But the same can be done in real life — like launching a business or choosing another challenge that pushes you beyond comfort.
It feels like living in a dream. The playa is surreal, like stepping into a Salvador Dalí painting. It reminded me of Destino, an animated short begun in 1945 and only completed decades later — a reminder that the impossible can come to life in unexpected ways.
Final Reflection
Would I encourage everyone to go? No. Burning Man is an acquired taste. But for me? Absolutely.
More importantly, whether or not you ever step foot on the playa, I’d encourage you to do hard things, show up for others the way you want them to show up for you, and hold onto your integrity. Because the desert may test you, but life will too.
In retrospect the dots connect.
