One of the three founders of Burning Man reflects on how the festival he helped create 36 years ago has transformed beyond recognition. Since 1996, he has avoided the Black Rock Desert, yet constant media interest persists. Early Burning Man was an anarchistic collaboration of equals, conjured by a few hundred people far from anyone’s control. There was no official ideology or hierarchy — just a group attuned to their moment. Today’s event is a massive, kaleidoscopic extravaganza for Western elites and middle-class creatives. Attendees can buy luxury camps with private chefs, fly in on chartered planes, and hire stylists. It has become a commercialized escape hatch — a week when anyone with enough money can leave their real life behind entirely. The original gathering emerged from San Francisco’s punk-industrial scene, influenced by Dada, surrealism, the Beats, and the Cacophony Society. It was never meant to be a ready-made escape but a temporary autonomous zone of creation and collaboration. What it became makes the founder a little sad.

The festival’s roots trace back to the Cacophony Society, a loose collective born from the Suicide Club, known for pranks and urban explorations. These groups embodied the anarchist spirit that launched Burning Man into being. There was no way to monetize it then — it was antithetical to structure and hierarchy. The original concept was beautifully simple: people coming together to create.

Now, the event presents itself as a serious artistic enterprise grounded in philosophical principles, yet functions as a carnival for the well-heeled. The founder won’t pretend it isn’t fun, but says it’s barely recognizable from what they made.