Do you believe that everybody should have fun or that only a few people should have fun?

Which side are you on?

I recently watched two videos. The second one is neat. It’s a whole bunch of New Yorkers celebrating in the streets after the Knicks won the NBA championship. At one point a dad says “tonight, we’re all neighbors.” Terrific.

The other video was filmed at Game Four of the playoffs. A man with a microphone interviews fans at the game, curious as to how much they paid for tickets. The dollar amounts are offensively high. There are a lot of references to wealthy parents. It is not a feel good video.

As far as I can tell, the point of the ticket price video is to make you feel astronomical levels of envy and resentment, and also to make you utilize a very specific app the next time you would like to attend a concert or a sporting event. You are supposed to get a tiny peak at life for these be-jerseyed Antionettes and be reminded that they are allowed to have fun in a way that you are not. “DADDY’S MONEY!” they squeal, taunting you, but also revealing a degree of shame. And in response, you mutter, “screw them,” but also, more quietly, “must be nice.”

This is how entertainment works now. You are technically allowed, as a plebe, to be a fan of international soccer, Taylor Swift, or Disney. But there is now a level of fan experience— being in the arena for the historic playoff game, screaming your lungs out on the floor of the Eras tour, spending a truly care-free day at a theme park— that is increasingly only accessible to the brahmins and plutocrats. The trend is well-documented, but also you have eyes and ears and a bank account. You have likely, at some point in the last year, considered, “could I go to Coachella?” or “wouldn’t it be nice to check out a World Cup match?” only to immediately have the blood drain from your face when you see the price.

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Here are some sentences I read recently:

“Introducing the Truss Club, a new membership experience designed for those who want the best out of game day and beyond. Membership to the Truss Club provides exclusive access to The Truss, a new two-story, open-air club that transforms how you experience game day. The Truss brings together elite hospitality, elevated culinary experiences, personalized service and an elegant indoor-outdoor atmosphere unlike anything previously offered at American Family Field.”

That prose was written by my favorite baseball team, a breezy explanation as to why public funding from the State of Wisconsin, Milwaukee County and the City of Milwaukee is being spent for a decidedly non-public purpose. Put in non-marketing terms, the Truss Club will be a fancy new space available only to season ticket holders in the most expensive seats in the ballpark. Apparently the Milwaukee Brewers are one of the last teams in Major League Baseball to hop on this cool new trend (“extortion,” it used to be called). They had no choice, trust them. “Fans have increased expectations for their game day experience,” a team representative assures me in a separate press release.

Speaking as a fan, do I have increased expectations for my game day experience? I am told I should. I am supposed to no longer be satisfied with the thrill of drinking a Miller Lite outside in July and high-fiving a few strangers and agreeing with my children, for the millionth time, that William Contreras has the best at bat song. I am supposed to want to be in the Truss Club. Or at least I am supposed to accept that somebody wants to be in the Truss Club, and that they deserve to be there, away from me, because they are rich and I am not and that’s why, in just about every city in America, the old stadium got torn down and the new one got millions in subsidies and the primary difference between old and new was the addition of Premium Spaces.¹

It does not matter if I resent the Truss Club or I desperately want to gain access to the Truss Club. What’s important, for the maintenance of a profoundly broken system, is that I accept that the Truss Club is inevitable, as is paying the cost of a used car for World Cup tickets, or being permanently priced out seeing your favorite artist.

The point is to make you feel like there is no realistic alternative. You can go to the comments of that video about the rich kids at the Knicks game and flood the zone with guillotine emojis. You can write 3000 word essays about enshittification and how the end game is to make the median experience so terrible (endless lines, overworked staffers, hot and tired human beings thrust together in ways that bring out our worse) that it incentivizes the fat cats to pay even more to separate themselves from the rabble. You can play the game for a night, maxing out a credit card for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But whatever you do, you are supposed to accept that this is what it means to be entertained in the United States of America in 2026. Want to have fun? Like, the most fun? Get rich, or die trying.

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Which brings us to the street parties. You did not have to be physically in New York City on Saturday night to understand how it must have felt. You do not need to be the kind of person who, like me, watched a million videos of other people flipping out with, around and on top of each other. You do not need to personally enjoy hugging sweaty strangers in the middle of a suddenly car-free boulevard, nor do you need any emotional connection to the New York Knicks. You understand what it looks like for human beings to entertain each other, to be both recipients and transmitters of joy.

You know it looked fun as hell, because before we were offered Premium Experiences you were human, and you knew how to have fun with other humans. You know what transcendence feels like to you— perhaps the swish of a ball through a net as the clock expires, or a series of perfect brush strokes on canvas, or the tone of four voices in harmony, or a perfectly timed punch line or jump scare— and you understand the profound human pleasure of sharing that experience with others.

New York City, I am so happy for you, and so grateful for your mayor’s attempts to democratize spaces and experiences that have been stolen from the public, so I will allow you all your paeans about how Saturday night proved something about your city in particular. I agree that it is easier, with proximity and walkability, to celebrate together. I love all that for you.

But this is not just possible in one city. And it is not just possible when a sports team wins a championship. There is a reason why I am currently hosting a relay of fifty free events in fifty states, and why those events include Polynesian fire knife performances in Hawaii, intimate group discussions in Nevada, trans movie nights in Utah, Indigenous punk rock shows in North Dakota, and family play time in Nebraska.²

We do not all need to have fun in the same way, nor to love the same things, but we are all equally deserving of being entertained, in public, for free.

That is and always has been a political statement, and for any social movement throughout history that actually loves people, it’s also been an organizing principle. You want me to believe that you’re serious about building a better world? Throw the best parties, and make sure that everybody who shows up feels welcome.

I resent the corporations that commodify our joy. I hate this broader system of haves and have nots. And I’ve got plenty of not-too-tender feelings about the wealth hoarders themselves, occupying their luxury boxes and driving up prices for the rest of us. But I also feel sorry for them, because the more they buy into the idea of exclusivity and isolation, the more that they’ll never actually experience the best parts of being alive.

Here’s a rendering of The Truss Club, in case you’re curious.

You’ll notice it’s mostly empty. And half the people are alone. So goes the exclusive experience.

Here’s another image, also including a human being with their arms raised in elation. You tell me which one you believe more.

The most fun place in the world isn’t a luxury box. It is not a Truss Club. It is not backstage at the concert. It’s not on the other side of a velvet rope. It’s always been wherever you are having the time of your life and you run into another stranger and they are having the time in your life and nobody around you is trying to rip you off, they just made a space where you could be together. It’s when you realize that you didn’t have to prove yourself, and how in fact there’s nothing to prove. You remember that you are alive, and you deserve to feel like this all the time.

End notes:

1. A related essay, from the great Rebecca Solnit. And another one, from me, about singing out loud with strangers in a sports stadium.

2. I am very much not a wealthy person, but I offer just about everything I do (my trainings, virtually all of my writing, coaching and support for organizers) for free, without a paywall. There are some things that paid subscribers have access to (merchandise, because that costs a fair bit for me to buy, and our discussion space, because it does help if that community can be safer and more vulnerable), but the vast majority of stuff is just out there, for you. Heck, I'm even using the grant I got for the Interdependence Relay to pay other people instead of myself (hosts all get a stipend). I like doing it that way, though it’s only possible if I also include these little paragraphs about how I really do rely on the generosity of readers. So here you go: I bet you’re not wealthy either, but if you have the proverbial cup of coffee a month to spare to keep a space like this rolling, you’re doing a kindness both to me and to other people who also love this space but can’t afford to support it.

3. I bet you want to learn more about that relay, don’t you? And even apply to host? Everything you need, right here! And a fun little carousel about it (on Instagram) here. Applications open now for hosts in IA, KS, MO, OK, AR, TX and LA.

4. Here is another video of residents of Zohran Mamdani’s New York being insanely happy. A very happy bing bong to all the people in this video, including the legendary Jane Pauley.

5. In case you are wondering, here is William Contreras’ walk up song. I am well aware that it is not merely his at bat song, that it is very popular throughout professional sports, but I’m sure neither myself nor my favorite catcher believe in gatekeeping.

1. Shout out to the activists and elected officials in many communities trying to bravely stand up to this trend, in the face of immense pressure. Portland, Oregon. I see you.

2. Some of these events have already occurred, some have already been announced, and a few others are teasers for events we’ll be announcing soon.