Somewhere along the way, going to a rave started requiring a costume.


Not literally.


Walk into the right club at 3 a.m. and half the room is probably wearing black.


But online, raving looks a little different.


The outfit was ordered two weeks ago.


The boots are brand new.


The accessories have accessories.


Someone spent more getting ready than they did getting in.


And before anyone hears a single drum:


WAIT. GET A PICTURE OF ME.


Raving didn’t suddenly become expensive.


THE GLAMOROUS VERSION IS JUST THE EASIEST ONE TO SEE.


Huge festivals.


Destination weekends.


Flights.


Hotels.


VIP.


Drinks that somehow cost more because there’s a light show nearby.


You can spend an absurd amount of money chasing dance music around the world.


And listen.


I love that version.


Give me the ridiculous stage.


The artist I’ve been waiting months to see.


Thousands of people realizing what song is coming at exactly the same time.


That’s fun.


But that’s also only one layer of a much bigger culture.


Because when the festival ends, the music doesn’t.


THE SCENE GOES HOME AND KEEPS GOING.



THE UNDERGROUND ISN’T THE CHEAP VERSION.


It’s the intimate club.


The local techno night.


The warehouse.


The party you found because somebody sent you a flyer a few hours before it started.


It’s a DJ playing to 100 people.


A promoter taking a chance on someone who isn’t guaranteed to fill the room.


A crowd that came because they actually wanted to hear what was playing.


Miami has its version of this.


Every city with an authentic dance-music community has its own.


Different rooms.


Different sounds.


Same ecosystem.


And those smaller nights aren’t what happens while everyone waits around for the next big festival.


THEY’RE WHAT KEEP THE CULTURE MOVING BETWEEN THEM.


DJs learn in those rooms.


Promoters experiment there.


People meet each other there.


Sounds get passed around before anyone has figured out what to call them.


Something can be unknown, unprofitable and really fucking good all at once.


Then somebody notices.


The room gets bigger.


The DJ starts traveling.


The sound moves to another city.


Eventually, something that started in a tiny room is playing in front of thousands of people.


THE MAIN STAGE HAS A BASEMENT.



AND THEN EVERYONE WANTS IN.


Which is what happens when a subculture makes something exciting.


People notice.


The music travels.


The trends travel.


The fashion travels.


Then the internet gets hold of it.


Then brands do.


Eventually, you don’t have to know anything about the roots of dance-music culture to know what a raver is 'supposed' to look like.


You can buy the boots.


The glasses.


The mesh.


The entire identity can arrive at your door by Friday.


And I’m not mad at that.


Fashion has always belonged to nightlife.


Getting dressed with your friends is fun.


Looking insane is fun.


PLEASE HAVE A LOOK.


The interesting part is that a culture built around something as simple as dancing, can eventually create an entire economy around looking like you do exactly that.


That’s when the rave starts looking expensive.


Not necessarily because it costs that much to get inside.


Because everything around it can.

MAINSTREAM DOESN’T MEAN FAKE.


And underground doesn’t automatically mean better.


That’s where this conversation usually gets annoying.


The second something gets popular, people start arguing about who was there first and who is doing it correctly.


Who is a real raver.


Which parties count.


Which DJs are too mainstream.


Who is there for the music.


Who is there for the picture.


Who cares?


People enter culture through different doors.


Maybe you found dance music in a tiny club.


Maybe your first experience was standing in front of an enormous stage at a festival.


Maybe you saw someone’s outfit online and thought:


I want to go wherever the hell she’s going.


Cool.


COME DANCE.


Because the big stage and the tiny room aren’t enemies.


They feed each other.


One gives artists somewhere to grow.


The other gives them somewhere to go.


One keeps a scene intimate enough to experiment.


The other lets something created by a small group of people reach the other side of the world.


The problem isn’t that rave culture got bigger.


It’s forgetting what made it worth getting big in the first place.



THE CULTURE IS STILL THERE.


Underneath the outfits.


Underneath the wristbands.


Underneath the destination weekends and videos of the drop.


There’s still a room somewhere.


A DJ nobody knows yet.


A promoter hoping enough people show up.


Someone hearing a sound they’ve never heard before.


Someone dragging their friend out.


Someone saying one more set and staying for three.


And people dancing because the music is good and the people are dope.

That’s it.


That’s the thing everything else was built around.


So maybe raving isn’t getting too expensive.


Maybe we’ve confused the cost of participation with the cost of the performance.


Those aren’t the same thing.


You can fly across the world for a festival.


You can spend nothing but cover and dance in your own city.


THAT’S NOT THE CHEAP VERSION OF RAVE CULTURE.


THAT’S WHERE THE EXPENSIVE VERSION COMES FROM.

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WHEN DID CULTURE BECOME SOMETHING YOU COULD SHOP FOR?