Orgy of Cannabis Capitalism

“So really, to you,” I suggested, “this is just a business expo like any other…”

He smiled congenially and chuckled at the notion. With his polo shirt and khaki slacks, the security consultant seemed out of place at the High Times Cannabis Cup. He knows that he's the new kid on the scene. Yet, of all the people I talked to this afternoon, he was probably the most honest about his purpose here. "Well, it's a business expo," he said, grinning up at me. "But it's certainly not like any other."

This new paradigm of legal recreational marijuana sales has made for some strange bedfellows. Whereas years ago, you'd never find a booth selling security cameras and software at a weed convention, there's an entire section of vendors here that have nothing to do with the culture of potheads. They came with the industry. They are following the money. As my jolly new friend explained, "Businesspeople are businesspeople, regardless of their line of work." It's probably the most American thing I've ever heard anyone say.

High Times magazine advertises its symposium of pot as a sort of Disneyland for stoners, a celebration of legalization and the culture's progress toward legitimacy. I was never under any illusion that it would be like this, but I don't think anything could have truly prepared me for the sheer entrepreneurial depravity of the event. Aside from the omnipresent smoke cloud and the prevalent barrage of bass-heavy reggae beats, the main difference between the Cannabis Cup and any other industry convention is that the end consumers are a large part of the visiting demographic—at $50 a ticket. As a result, the event is less Comic-Con and more Antiques Roadshow.

Of course, as always, when dealing in the legally pubescent realm of marijuana, there is a catch. You see, none of the dispensaries are allowed to sell their product at this convention. So instead of selling, the dispensaries give things away. It seemed like a lot of people, like my friends and I, had come expecting a competition (something about a "Cup"), only to find themselves trapped in the real-life analogue of an unskippable 30-second YouTube advert. One dispensary had a guy walking around on stilts to gain attention, but he was failing, as not 30 feet away was a stage advertising Magic Butter, with strippers and dancers wearing anthropomorphic neon-green butter heads with googly eyes.

Looking around at the sweltering parking lot outside the building where the convention was held, with not a bench to sit on, and only one minuscule, trash-covered patch of grass and trees, in the shadow of a massive grey building, it became clear to me that whoever planned this event knows more about marketing than getting high. The High Times Cannabis Cup (and, honestly, the entirety of the magazine's output) is an attempt at commercializing a culture that has always been defined by its illegitimacy. It is to actual potheads as Hot Topic is to people who listen to rock or Olive Garden is to Italians.

After wandering in a circle around the convention grounds for another half hour, we finally found the exit, where we were herded into school buses by very annoyed-looking security personnel and ferried back to the parking lot. Like in any commercial venture, once they were done "messaging" us, we were of no more use to them. But we are responsible people. So we sat in the car awhile, until someone felt capable of driving. Zenon rolled a joint. You know, to take the edge off.

Miljen spends his days thinking deep thoughts about shallow things and drinking good beers with interesting people. Become one of them by emailing miljen@sfreporter.com or read more about his recent Denver adventure at santafegonzo.blogspot.com


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