The heat is what strikes you first. The morning is still young, barely eleven, but the sun scorches where it hits. All around you the tide of humanity floats in a brownian motion. The largest tents and the most colourful are those that promise food. Tacos, pizza, margaritas, deep friend oreos on a stick, cheesy fries and non cheesy fries. There is candy everywhere, in all colours and flavours and sizes.
There are children, but the children are somehow outnumbered by the adults, some of whom seem to be there with the children. I’ve gone with family and friends, four kids in total, ages 2 to 7. 3:4 adult ratio. And maybe a third of the overall visitors are youth? It’s higher than the national average, but it’s still far lower than what one might naively expect.
The people around are a microcosm of the country. You can hear all sorts of accents. There’s a dad with three daughters getting angry irrationally at them for asking for something. He’s wearing a black singlet and tattooed all over. There’s a family with grandma and three young elementary school age kids, and they’re bargaining over the toys they each got. There’s an Indian family busily tucking into a whole table full of stuff they bought. The dad’s inexplicably eating a tub of popcorn himself. The couple who are clearly on a date, she’s laughing at his jokes, he’s laughing at his own jokes, drinking a giant cup of blue.
Every inch of space around promises happiness. Each toy, each multicoloured ride, each game, all of them.
The core fact that one notices about fairs is that they are the final boss of capitalism. Once you enter you enter into a captive world. Every experience is mediated to be the perfect buyable representation of something you want, but in its inner hyde-esque distilled sense. Sells you ‘id’, attracts you with colours and lights. It's a place where money ceases to have any meaning. They design it so, you are meant to convert money into tickets, and then do the maths on those tickets, so you have to do rather complex maths if you want to figure out how to maximise your “fun”. Do I believe I will take 3 rides? 5? 10? What about games? And if so does it make sense to spend $20 for 17 tickets, when the average ride takes 4-5 tickets, depending on the rise, or should I take the addition to spend also on 2 games? The full package or the summation of two middling ones? How much will I actually like these? Should I swap my enjoyment from this ride for that game?
And then do the maths again for your kids. You can ask them, and they'll give you a response too, but can you trust the response? You make sure. Four, seven, ten year olds standing around while their parents try and do differential equations with plugged in utility numbers to figure out what’s the right amount to spend.
But you don't need to worry. The little booths stand around like small purple cartoon-emblazoned ATMs ubiquitous to the point you cannot ever make the excuse of not having enough tickets to get a ride for your child.
The food is everywhere. Pungent but preserved so it stays in the sun. Carefully crafted to give you the impression of indulgence, with none of the consideration for quality, or nutrition, much less taste. The pizza slices are inside hot boxes but are inexplicably room temperature. Too much cheese, runny tomato sauce that is processed enough that it has lost the taste of tomato, and crust thick enough to fill any stomach. A slice of pizza the price of a whole pizza. A pizza-esque experience, at least, if not with the succour a pizza slice demands. You pay for being able to carry a slice with you, it cannot bend nor break, and the portability premium easily supplants the edibility discount.
Is $10 for a cup of coffee too much? A mile to the left or right that would be robbery, double the price with tip, but here? No. You’re paying for the ambience, or the location, or something. For the convenience of being able to go to a corner shop and get the same coffee from the same machine manned by the same disinterested teenager.
And why would he be interested? I look around and I can feel myself getting satiated, can you imagine working here? To feel your neurons get numb at the sight of fried cheese and mozzarella balls, with families fighting to decide who will spend that last token at the game where you throw a little ball into a frog’s mouth to win a stuffed teddy they will forget in a week?
Despite the abundance there is scarce variety. You're hedonically adjusted all the way up. You can only compare the joy of this against the experience of everything else outside the fair in your life but if you work there the memories fade. They must.
A long time ago I went on a cruise, only for a day, in Scandinavia. It was for work (really), and it was the most extraordinarily boring day I’ve spent anywhere, despite being tailor made to satisfy human desire. Something about the extreme convenience and mediocre imitations of everything you might like, together in a shopping mall, seemed to be a mockery of our existence. It’s like the proprietors did an equation - what’s the lowest quality people will agree to consume for our food, music, art or pool hygiene, against what’s the most we can get away with charging them.
I get it. That’s exactly the equation to be maximised. But when “exit” is no longer an option, as you’re floating in the open ocean, you realise the equilibrium price is dramatically lower than what it would’ve been on land.
And shorn of the need for any actual effort, since the pool and casino and observation deck and comedy cellar and jazz lounge are all in walking distance carefully calibrated to seem short to even those on walkers, one ends up feeling a weird form of ennui. A feeling of “is this all there is to life”? You look at others smiling and laughing and feel ever so slightly jealous.
The children wait in line for rides far more patiently than they have ever waited for anything else. But the distinction between the rides are blurred, when you ask them.
“Did you enjoy riding the boat?”
“Yes, it was fun.”
“Was it more fun than the rotating bears?”
“That was also fun.”
And so on. I am somewhat in awe of the creators here. The machines, and these are machines, help swing, rotate and shake with confidence. They sound like a washing machine ready for repair but the groans are ignored in a form of consensual hallucination and a belief in civil society that's unheard of in other realms of modern life. We don't even suffer schools like this. This is trust, trust in the system.
I looked up what certifications a fairground ride has to go through. There are annual inspections and permits and all forms of documentation of accidents and maintence that’s needed. California isn’t shy about regulating. They must have insurance to. Reading up later I learn that there are multiple committees and standards - NAARSO and AIMS for ride inspectors and operators. And compliance with ASTM. Of course Cal/ OSHA. Title 8. It’s not easy, it would seem, because there are 50 rides, occasionally varying, sometimes more, but enough to require capital M management.
I wonder idly how much money they might have made. I can’t help it, businesses are businesses. If you have ten thousand people visiting, and a third are children, many of whom ride and many of whom will buy the $45 ticket, they might well make up to $100-200k a day. More on weekends.
I can’t easily tell if it’s good. It sure is a lot of effort to go through! The fairgrounds itself is around 270 acres. There are maybe a hundred rides and game booths. Probably more. And then there is food and shopping. Many of them seem small, selling sombreros and so on.. There are a thousand or fifteen hundred workers. When you look at it like that, the $100-200k a day seem not that impressive. It’s a hard way to make money, but then they all are.
There was a circus we went to see not that long ago. Venardi circus. They explained why the name earlier but I forgot the reason. But even as a small circus touring the east bay it had exceptional acrobats. Some more than a few generations in the circus life. I thought the same then, as they swung above us and twirled impossibly, how much effort is needed to get good at this, and how little society actually values it.
The reason I keep thinking about this is not that the economics are fascinating, though they are, but the overwhelming feeling I get from fairs is to find a quiet place in the shade and to have a beer.
That too is in offer at the fair. In fact, that’s inescapable. There are stands everywhere selling beer and lemonade and large cups of blue whose names I forget. The beer is also an emblem, not of beer per se but the existence of beer, because having one on a warm day as a form of respite provides respite even above the beverage itself.
My kids end up wanting to go to a Professor Science show. He asks questions, they know some of the answers. “What’s the name of the large telescope orbiting the earth?” he asks. My seven year old turns to me and asks, “Galileo?”. The logic is correct, the knowledge however isn't there yet. “Hubble,” I tell him. I’m sure he’ll remember Hubble though, I first remember learning about it in a similar fashion, when my dad told me about it. The new oral tradition.
(I also told him about cavitation, I’m not sure why, because it happens when I crack my knuckles, about mantis shrimp, and the apocryphal tail whips of apatosaurs also causing the phenomenon.)
But the scientist, an older gentleman assisted by his wife of forty four years, shows more props. My attention drifts. They get a gang of kids together, get them to break a lightbulb by screaming standing together in a semicircle. They make anodyne jokes, “your parents must be so proud.” The audience laughs.
We go back to the rides. There’s a small rollercoaster shaped like a dragon, riding in a lopsided figure 8. The kids seem to love it, some of them even try to take their hands up while the whiplash makes their necks wobble. Did they enjoy it? Yes, they say.
Next they go to one that does the same as the rotating multi-coloured bears but in multicoloured helicopters.
Why do they all look and feel the same? Ferris-wheel, boom-flipper (Zipper), spinning drum (Gravitron), tilt-platform, Himalaya oval. I imagine it has to do with the fact that fairs aren’t permanent. They evolved into the sizes that would allow maximum enjoyment but can be “folded up” and transported on a trailer to the next fair. It also can’t be too complex, the workers know the machines but they’re not experts. And they have to pass inspections, which means building things that the inspectors know how to pass.
Convergent evolution is at work here. The rotating swings are like the eyes of the natural world, showing up again and again because it’s the best fit functionally to satisfy the csontraints. Which is also why there aren’t that many suppliers. I learn that there are only three - Chance RIdes which makes the Zipper type coasters. Wisdom Rides making Gravitrons and Himalayas. And a few international ones - Zamperla and Fabbri from Italy, KMG from Netherlands - which make up most of the portable ride market.
And because there are only a few suppliers, the only way to stand out is to add more colours, more art. Like motorheads painting their cars with fire. The carnivals buy them from each other, re-skin them, add more LEDs, different colours, an inevitable trend towards complete garish oversaturation of the visible spectrum until the entire eyeline is covered in neon in several hues of red and yellow and orange. The fact that this is a small market, highly incestuous, where everyone wants to reuse everything shows up in the extreme mundanity of what we all see. They look the same because they literally are the same, just new coats of paint to trick the eyes.
The diversity comes entirely from the things around the rides and the food and the games. Or rather, those sources of diversity exist, whether or not they actually succeed. The music stands set up at regular intervals where local bands can play cover songs from the eighties and nineties that evokes nostalgia for the parents and apathy for the kids.
Professor Science was one of those, though in the United States success breeds replication so now there are Professors of Science across multiple fairs. He too sells a little backscratcher looking thing for five dollars that has an optical illusion at the back of it. Promising a short exploration of the optical system within kids but mostly destined to end up at the bottom of a toybox, as part of a short but fascinating life of a low priced mass manufactured mini toy.
The existence of a form of entertainment has transformed into a beautifully stylized supply chain, a few suppliers who build a few machines that pass inspection, and seemingly a caste of people who think of this as their whole way of life. Occasionally maybe a new game or ride breaks out, or a new cuisine, but by and large this seems an invariant source of entertainment across the ages. With the addition now being of the items on offer squeezed to their ultimate essence, of separating capital from its owners with maximum alacrity. Every trick in the book applied simultaneously.
The biggest attraction though was courtesy of the local pet shop. A large hall filled with animals. Perhaps it came at the end, but perhaps because of what it was. Kids yearn to be with animals. Bunnies, geckos, snakes, birds, turtles, some hissing cockroaches, and pygmy goats. You could touch them, play with them, and of course buy them!
To me it provided a brief respite from the sun. The hall had benches the adults can sit on, to rest from the extreme calf pain only brought about by slowly walking around and occasionally standing.
The detritus of people continues to float in all directions. There are more people, there are also more stationary forms under the shades of trees and awnings. It’s past noon, there’s food everywhere.
We walk out before we melt. The kids are tuckered out from the rides physically but not mentally, every new with is a promise that this one's amazing and even if it looks the same as the old ones they pull on the little heartstrings, holding kitschy toys that they'll forget in a day (they did!) and passing a larger group of people walking in.
The tumult is the attraction. Individually each aspect seems dull, even banal, the same thing one has seen a thousand times over in any lifetime, but together they create a space that invites you to create your own reality. “This is fun” they say, and in saying so repeatedly and liberally try to get you to agree with them. After all, what’s not fun about a rollercoaster at 11 am followed by a cheesy medium-warm hot dog and then a cold beer? Isn’t this the very goal of life?
The metal and plastic are hot but the ridership isn’t down. Kids and couples are still queuing up to go up the dragon and down the misshapen ships. They don’t seem to mind the heat.