How Much Does it Cost to Be A Raver

Technically?

Like $20.

Unfortunately, nobody has ever left it there.

FIRST, YOU NEED A TICKET

This can go one of two ways.

Twenty bucks to hear somebody you’ve never heard of play in a room you didn’t know existed until your friend sent you the flyer at 11:46 p.m.

Or $487.63 plus fees.

Your choice.

The funny thing about dance music is that these can somehow be part of the exact same ecosystem.

The person playing to 80 people on Thursday might be halfway up a festival lineup two years from now.

Then you’ll pay $200 to see them and tell everyone you saw them when tickets were $15.

This is important.

THEN THERE’S EVERYTHING THAT ISN’T THE TICKET

This is where we lose control.

Uber there.

Uber home.

Unless someone says “I can drive,” which is one of those sentences that sounds incredible at 9 p.m. and becomes a logistical crisis eight hours later.

Locker.

Water.

Food.

Hotel if we’re doing a festival.

Flight if we’ve apparently decided seeing a DJ requires crossing an ocean.

And somehow there is always another wristband.

Nobody knows what it’s for.

Put it on.

THE OUTFIT CAN ALSO BECOME A SITUATION

You can absolutely go out in a black T-shirt and shoes you don’t mind destroying.

In fact, historically, this has worked pretty well.

Or.

You can order an entire new identity on Wednesday.

Boots.

Glasses.

Tiny bag.

Something mesh.

Something reflective.

An accessory whose function remains unclear.

Suddenly getting dressed to listen to techno costs more than the techno.

I support having a look.

Please have a look.

But there is something objectively funny about spending $400 to look like you accidentally ended up in a warehouse.

FESTIVALS REALLY MESSED WITH THE MATH

This is where people start saying raving is expensive.

And yeah.

If your version of raving requires a flight, four nights in a hotel, three festival days, afters, outfits, Ubers, food and one emergency purchase at CVS, you’ve basically planned a vacation.

Because you have.

That’s not really the price of going dancing.

That’s the price of going dancing in another city while sleeping at a Marriott.

Different invoice.

MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN YOUR OWN CITY

There’s probably a DJ playing this weekend for $15.

Maybe $20.

Maybe free before midnight if you’re capable of arriving anywhere before midnight.

The room won’t have a 70-foot LED wall.

Good.

You might hear something you don’t know.

Even better.

This isn’t the budget version of dance music.

It’s just dance music before everybody involved needs an artist wristband.

These are the rooms where people figure things out.

DJs try something weird because there aren’t 5,000 people waiting for the song they heard on TikTok.

Promoters book someone because they like them, not because their name moves 3,000 tickets.

Sometimes the night is incredible.

Sometimes twelve people show up.

That’s nightlife.

AND NO, UNDERGROUND DOESN’T AUTOMATICALLY MEAN GOOD

We need to behave here.

A party being difficult to find does not make it culturally important.

Sometimes the secret warehouse party is bad.

Sometimes the enormous festival set is incredible.

Sometimes the DJ with 900 followers changes your brain chemistry.

Sometimes the DJ you flew across the country to see plays exactly what you expected for 90 minutes and you have a wonderful time anyway.

Fine.

There is no prize for suffering correctly.

SO HOW MUCH DOES IT COST?

Whatever you want, apparently.

Twenty dollars.

Two hundred.

A flight to Berlin.

Your entire checking account during Miami Music Week.

The music doesn’t really care.

That’s the part that gets lost when rave culture becomes something you mostly see online.

The giant stages photograph better.

The outfits photograph better.

Ibiza photographs considerably better than the dark room 15 minutes from your apartment.

But one isn’t necessarily more rave than the other.

Sometimes the expensive version is worth every cent.

Sometimes the best thing you hear all month costs $15 at the door.

And sometimes you spend $600 on a weekend just to come home talking about the set you accidentally caught at the afters.

Typical.