Scaachi Koul, Buzzfeed:
I briefly considered bringing a rolling suitcase so I could accommodate the entire packing list: running shoes, sandals, bug spray, sunscreen, multiple hot-weather tank tops plus a few fleece sweaters for cold nights, a Wonder Woman costume, a Woodstock costume, heart-shaped sunglasses. I stopped short at one of the suggested items — “tribal tattoos” — because I’m not a fucking idiot. It felt like a lot to carry in a backpack, but I was more concerned about being teased for bringing luggage into the woods. I was heading to Camp No Counselors, a three-day summer camp for adults with locations across North America, complete with activities, dance parties, and open bars.
The older we get, the harder it becomes to make friends, or to develop real human connections with strangers, particularly as we get further from school, the place where human connection was mandatory for survival. By your mid-twenties, you can largely live your life knowing the same three people in your same industry, in your little corner of the world. But in the last few years, there’s been a boon in adult camps — Zombie Survival Camp, Camp Reset, Camp Grounded — environments where moderately affluent twentysomethings can manufacture those childhood human connections.
A CNC weekend was happening just a few hours away from me north of Toronto in late June, so I forked over nearly $700 (Canadian, so I guess it barely counts), booked a seat on their chartered bus, and got ready for a three-night sleepover with a group of strangers.
Sounds awful. If I’m bad, when I die, I’ll get sent to Camp No Counselors.