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I Keep Going Back to the Edinburgh Fringe. I Can't Explain Why.

I Keep Going Back to the Edinburgh Fringe. I Can't Explain Why.

The Edinburgh Fringe is a miracle and a scam. I love it and I hate it. Every August, I swear it’s my last.

This was my third year there, and each time I learn more about what it actually is and how it’s actually run. To be crystal clear: the more I learn, the more disillusioned I become. Then, as the sting fades, I kinda like it again.

But before I get into all of that—some background info, for anyone unfamiliar with the festival. Because to understand why artists keep coming back, you have to know what they’re walking into.

The Edinburgh Festival Fringe is the world’s largest arts and culture festival. It’s also the third largest ticketed event in the world, behind The World Cup and the Olympics. The city’s population doubles during the month of August. In 2025 alone, the Fringe hosted nearly 4,000 shows across 300 venues, sold over 2.6 million tickets, and drew artists from more than 60 countries. For one month, Edinburgh’s population doubles—and the cell towers can’t keep up.

The festival takes place annually in August in Edinburgh, Scotland. It started in 1947, the first year of the Edinburgh International Festival, an event meant to reunite Europe after the devastation of World War II. Eight theater groups showed up, uninvited, and staged their own shows on the periphery (the “fringe”) of the main event. This indie movement grew organically, and in 1958 the Edinburgh Festival Fringe Society was officially formed. Since then, it’s ballooned into the sprawling spectacle it is today.

Each year, I got a little deeper into the machine. Here’s a breakdown of my involvement:

2023: The Tourist
I went as a punter (Fringe slang for a ticket-buying audience member) and saw more than thirty shows in eight days.

2024: The Performer
I brought my first solo show, The Balls of Philadelphia, performed daily, and saw over fifty more.

2025: The Reviewer
I returned with a new work-in-progress show, Freedom Camp, and a reviewer pass. Over fifty shows later and nineteen reviews published, I’d really seen behind the curtain.

The first year I went because it was a bucket list item to check out the festival. That year, my cousin and a guy I used to do improv with in Chicago also had their own shows. While there I realized it’s a pay-to-play festival—so as long as I could afford it, I could do it too. I already had an idea for a memoir, and when I told my improv friend about it he grabbed me, shook me, and said, “You have to do a show!” 

So that’s how in 2024 I went again to bring a solo show for a full run. I met some nice people, got some positive reviews, and by the end of it people kept asking, “Are you coming back next year?” My reply was, “If I don’t have to pay for it, sure.” I said that because my overall feeling (which included a fair share of nonsense) was that the festival was worth doing, but unsustainable to do annually if self-funded. 

Then the next year, in 2025, I got a free room at the last minute with Free Fringe and a free place to stay as a housesitting gig. That made the costs very low, so I returned as a reviewer and brought a work in progress show (that means it was still in development). 

I am writing this in the fall of 2025. When I left this year, I felt I had my fill—that I’d only go back as a tourist or if I were paid to be there. I say this because both years I brought shows, including this last year with my costs very low, I lost money and I just couldn’t see a way to even break even with the kind of work I was bringing- storytelling shows. This type of work draws small audiences unless the performer already has made a name for themselves in Edinburgh

At a certain point, calling it “exposure” stops being romantic and starts feeling like unpaid labor. If I’m going to work, I need to be paid. There’s a strange loneliness in realizing your art is worth less than your airfare.

I may change my mind later, but this is how I feel right now. There are artists who do not need the money, or don’t expect to get paid there. They see it purely as artistic growth and expression, and are willing to take the financial hit. That was me last year. BUT, realistically, if I keep doing that, it will really cut into my ability to do other things in life, like buy a house or retire.

And, even as I say all of that, I’m still drawn to it. And I would encourage anyone who feels a pull to do it to absolutely go for it. With eyes wide open. 

One day I’ll probably be back. The Fringe has a gravitational pull—equal parts art, chaos, and hope. I’d say it’s the only place where you can lose money and still feel rich. But I’m from the United States. 

We invented that feeling.

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