I was recently put in the position of justifying my deep, undying love of dreadful, horrible, useless, pointless, classist, cruel "society." This was, of course, after I decided, drunk of Diet Coke, to call everyone at Burning Man "a poser."
Do I think everyone at Burning Man is a poser? Yes.
Should I say so in mixed company? No.
Anyway, when pressed to explain why I enjoy flipping through the bolded names and tight-grinned photos of people who would never deign to speak to me, I was stumped. I mean, really. If you want to talk about posers, any big city society's got them in spades. Why is it that I roll my eyes at Burning Man but read this (to fucking die for) article and will gladly sell my first born for a spot anywhere in the Monkey Bar? There's really not that much of a difference. Some people enjoy doing drugs in the sand once a year to prove that they're open-minded for 8 whole days. And some people will attend the opening of an abortion clinic if it means they'll be photographed and make someone jealous.
When you think about it, I'm the worst of them all. Because I just read about the people attending the opening of the abortion clinic. I'm not even invited! I'd have to get an actual abortion to go.
So now I feel a little bad for shitting on the Burners because we all have our flawed vices, right? For example, instead of hand-washing the mites and HPV our of my cargo pants like Burning Man People, I'll be spending Tuesday night stalking the Opening Night of the Symphony. So I will do my best to dampen my desire to strangle the population of the Playa if they will do their best to dampen their...christ, anything. Soap, hair, love of the sitar...