At South by Southwest, everyone is a VIP and no one is a VIP.
Your $1,600 badge gives you access to everything in the world and nothing at all. You can breeze through the door at a startup’s private party with the flash of a business card or you can stand in a line wrapping around the block to get into a cable TV network’s “sensory house,” which has already run out of Sugarfina gummies.
As a woman obsessed with mundanity and excess as well as status and how internet-age social structures make it both easy and impossible to pretend to have it, this is my ideal environment. SXSW is my Westworld, where I can act out my stupidest fantasies of self without consequence, and also there’s a Westworld.
I love it, mostly because my favorite…