Music festivals have transformed significantly over the years, evolving from community-driven celebrations into highly commercialized events. This shift has led to resentment toward influencers, who are often seen as symbols of this change. However, a closer examination reveals that influencers are merely pawns in a larger game orchestrated by festival producers and corporate sponsors. The focus on profit over experience has not only inflated ticket prices but also altered the essence of these gatherings. Through strategic marketing tactics, brands manipulate consumer behavior while local governments benefit financially from increased attendance. Despite being convenient targets for public dissatisfaction, influencers play a minor role in this broader scheme.

In recent decades, music festivals like Lollapalooza (Lolla) have drifted far from their roots as affordable, community-focused events. Today, they represent an industry dominated by commercial interests where influencers act as promotional tools for brands. These individuals receive free access to festivals in exchange for creating content that advertises both the event and its sponsors. While it's easy to criticize them for enjoying such perks, one must consider the broader context: these figures are simply fulfilling roles assigned to them by those truly pulling the strings.

Alejandra Roman, a Chicago-based influencer within the rave scene, acknowledges this dynamic. She argues that attendees should direct their frustration towards the companies behind these practices rather than blaming the hired promoters. Festival organizers and associated brands leverage influencer marketing to generate fear of missing out (FOMO), enhancing the perceived value—or "hype"—of each gathering. This artificial enthusiasm encourages potential visitors to overlook exorbitant costs, which have surged dramatically without corresponding justification based on production expenses.

DePaul student Meredith Bach highlights how this profit-driven approach detracts from authentic musical enjoyment. Over the past ten years alone, Lolla's ticket prices have risen nearly 50%, far exceeding typical inflation rates tied to operational expenditures. Consequently, genuine fans frequently find themselves priced out of attending performances featuring artists they admire most passionately. Instead, crowds increasingly consist of individuals prioritizing social status through participation regardless of personal interest or connection with featured musicians.

Chicago itself plays a significant part in perpetuating this model. Former mayor Lori Lightfoot emphasized Lolla's importance as an economic driver for the city, justifying expansions in attendee capacity despite static venue dimensions. Such decisions transform participants into commodities packed tightly together akin to livestock on industrial farms. Michelle Lopez, another local influencer specializing in gossip and lifestyle topics, recounts harrowing experiences resulting from overcrowding during previous editions of the festival. During Chappell Roan’s performance last year, she endured extreme difficulty exiting dense throngs following the conclusion of the set—a situation compounded by visible distress among nearby spectators.

Ultimately, the blame for deteriorating festival quality cannot rest solely upon influencers' shoulders. Both festival organizers and municipal authorities share responsibility for prioritizing financial gains above attendee safety and satisfaction. By understanding these underlying mechanisms, we can redirect our grievances appropriately and perhaps reconsider our initial assumptions about those involved in modern-day music promotion strategies.