What Burning Man’s Gen Z problem says about the festival
The first time Samantha R. went to Burning Man, it was on a whim. She hadn’t read much about it and had no idea what to expect. She received a free ticket from someone she met at a Grateful Dead event and had little time to prepare. She didn’t bring goggles or even a big coat to survive the cold, dusty nights. Despite the spontaneity and haphazardness of it all, which contributed to a rough burn, the 22-year-old returned on two more occasions — including this year.
“Burning Man still gives me some of the most joyous days out of my year,” she told Salon.
“As someone who likes to be clean, the playa looks like my personal hell,” Melissa said. “All that dust seems like a recipe for a UTI.”
But according to the most recent Burning Man census, Samantha is an anomaly. Only an estimated 10% of the festival’s participants are between the ages of 20 and 29, a demographic that has been on the decline at the festival since 2015. In 2014, this group made up 29.6% of Burning Man attendees. The largest cohort of attendees is now people in their 30s, followed by people in their 40s. Notably, the recently released census highlighted that the demographic of attendees is also a majority of men, leading to headlines describing Burning Man as a “wrinkled sausage fest.”
As Burning Man faces continuous bad press — from an unsolved homicide in 2025 to sexual assaults on the playa to three deaths this year — the latest narrative about how Gen Z isn’t going to Burning Man left the public with a lot of speculation, but few answers from Gen Z themselves. Salon spoke to a handful of Gen Z-ers about why many of them aren’t interested in going to Burning Man.
The first reason many people jump to is cost. This year, the price of a ticket for Burning Man was $550. In 2015, a ticket cost $390. But compared to other festivals like Coachella or Electric Forest, the cost is roughly within the same range — maybe even a little cheaper. Of course, this doesn’t include what it costs to prepare for the festival — the outfits, the supplies, the transportation, the vehicle pass, and the time off work. But Melissa M., a 24-year-old in Canada, told Salon she wouldn’t go even if the event were free.
“As someone who likes to be clean, the playa looks like my personal hell,” Melissa said. “All that dust seems like a recipe for a UTI.”
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She added that she is concerned about all the dust and its health effects. The harsh environment of Burning Man — which for some people is part of the appeal — is famously taxing. The nearly weeklong event takes place on a sun-blasted, nearly six-square-mile patch of a 200-mile Pleistocene-era lakebed in Nevada, and is a place of extremes, with very cold nights and hot days. There may be dust storms, which contribute to “playa lung” — a term Burners have coined to describe a cough or losing one’s voice after breathing in dust daily. Then, when it rains — like it did this year — the mud can become thick and ankle-deep.
“I just don’t think the experience is worth having to survive a week of whiteouts and extreme mud if it rains,” she added. “If Burning Man were somewhere else geographically, like in a forest, I’d potentially be more drawn to it.”
Gen Z has made headlines for having a seemingly healthier lifestyle for their age than previous generations. For example, they’re allegedly drinking less alcohol — although recently reports suggested that was changing. They’re also a generation that’s more open to mental health therapy and talking about mental health issues. Perhaps their focus on health contributes to the generation being less inclined to suffer through such extreme conditions.
But Freek Wallagh, a 28-year-old artist and organizer based in Amsterdam, said he sees a lack of Gen Z’s interest in Burning Man as a “sign of the times.” “Gen Z craves authenticity,” Wallagh said. “With the commercialization of Burning Man, you will find that young festivalgoers will pick smaller events that are still more ‘authentic.’”
Indeed, the so-called “commercialization” of Burning Man has been much discussed as of late. What started as a small summer-solstice gathering on San Francisco’s Baker Beach in 1986 now draws typically 70,000 festival-goers, although that number varies each year. One of Burning Man’s 10 principles is gifting, which is why the festival runs on a gifting economy. “Decommodification,” the Burning Man Project says, protects its culture “from being leveraged to promote, support or market a person, product, company or any kind of commercial endeavor.” Yet the festival makes millions of dollars in revenue, and has become a popular event with tech CEOs and celebrities who chronically document their experiences on social media.
“I’m personally more interested in leaning towards local burns because I think that I’m more likely to find community and true connection there,” Dandy, a twenty-something from the Seattle area, said. “Rather than, like, having a massive social media expectation, and going to the Burning Man.”
A “local burn” is a smaller, regional Burning Man-like event.
“Gen Z craves authenticity,” Wallagh said. “With the commercialization of Burning Man, you will find that young festivalgoers will pick smaller events that are still more ‘authentic.’”
One Gen Z-er, who asked to remain anonymous, said that while they like drugs and live music, there are “better options” out there today. Leo G., a 27-year-old, said if Burning Man was what it was 20 years ago, maybe he’d be interested. “But from what I’ve heard, the crowd is now significantly older, and it’s largely rich out-of-touch folks,” he said. Matthew James, a 26-year-old, said he thinks it’s become “a symbol of white privilege.” “It’s rich young white college kids and Silicon Valley billionaires running around a desert, drunk and high, pretending this is some sort of cultural revolution,” he said. “I like the ideals of what Burning Man should be, not what it currently stands for.”
Zoe, a 25-year-old in Chicago, said for her, she’s concerned about the “garbage problem.”
At Burning Man, there are no garbage cans. Participants are expected to remove their own trash and garbage from the playa. There is a “trash fence,” a 4-foot-high, 9.2-mile-long orange plastic barrier, according to SF Gate, that blocks the trash from blowing away in the desert. While Burning Man is a “leave no trace” event, it still has a significant environmental impact, as reported recently by the Reno Gazette Journal. As Dandy from the Seattle area told me, Gen Z has “actively seen climate change affect our own lives.” Participating in an event that might have an environmental impact is a concern.
Zoe added that in the media, there is rarely good press about Burning Man. “Tell me the last time there was good publicity for Burning Man,” she said. For a generation that’s been raised with access to so much technology and information, some Gen Z-ers also expressed safety concerns.
For Samantha, she said what makes headlines rarely aligns with her own experience at Burning Man.
“Do I think there are more older people? Of course, but I didn’t have any trouble just riding around solo on my bike and running into groups of people in their 20s,” she said. She added that for safety reasons — with reports of sexual assaults on the playa — she pays attention to who she interacts with at the festival. “I think it’s a place of chaotic energy and substances, so I am pretty careful with who I interact with.”
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