For many voracious observers of social media, and some depressed news consumers agonizing through Donald Trump’s first 100 days, the fiasco unfolding around the Fyre Festival in the Bahamas may have been something of a surprise. The festival, which Fyre promoters had marketed on Instagram as the next Coachella, didn’t quite turn out to be the opulent Bahamas getaway, as promised, with yachts and luxury cabanas, celebrity-chef catering, and the greatest live-music entertainment that anyone had ever imagined. Instead, it was more like Lord of the Flies dystopia meets social-media hysteria, circa 2017. The luxury cabanas appeared to be disaster-relief tents. There were no lights. The lavish spread turned out to be a couple of wedges of whole-wheat bread, school-cafeteria-styled sliced cheese, and other accoutrement that appeared picked from a garbage.

And those were only the trivial problems. There wasn’t enough water. People were fainting in the airport. Luggage was lost. And a photo of a vacant concierge cabana, which was really just a few two-by-fours with a cheap roof, became a meme across social media. People were stranded on the island. Ja Rule, a co-founder of the event, took to social media to announce that this wasn’t his fault (he literally capitalized “NOT MY FAULT” for emphasis), even though it really was his fault. And his co-founder, Fyre C.E.O Billy McFarland, said it was the worst day of his life. The best part of this entire weekend was that there isn’t an Instagram filter (yet) that can make disaster-relief tents and sliced bread and cheese on a Styrofoam plate look luxurious.

Think the industry jargon in the Fyre Festival pitch deck is insufferable? Check out the most overused words in Silicon Valley.

But for the investors who were able to glimpse Fyre’s pitch deck, little of this should have been a shock. The presentation, which I recently obtained and appears in full at the bottom of this page, is one of the most preposterous invitations for outside capital that I have ever seen (and that’s saying something). It’s hard to pin down, on some level, the most ludicrous element of the document. Perhaps it’s the fact that the 43-page deck resembles an amalgamation of a Miami Beach spa package with selfies you might find saved on a teenager’s smartphone. Or perhaps it’s the fact that the employees who work for Fyre (yes, it’s more than just a festival, it’s an app too!) are referred to as “The Fyre Squad.” Or maybe it’s that a pitch deck seeking $25 million in funding ends with a quote from the philosopher and poet Rumi, noting: “Seek those who light your flames.” Though, I’d venture to say that the most infuriating thing about the Fyre pitch deck is what occurs on page 21 through 25, in a segment called “The Fyre Starters.”

Before I explain what that strange term is, we need a little backstory.

The 15 Most Absurd Slides from the Fyre Festival Pitch Deck



1 / 15 Chevron Chevron

Even with all of the transformations that have developed during the technology age, few industries have been as visibly thrown into disarray as the advertising business. The Internet has created a Fight Club–esque duel between consumers and advertisers in which companies try to force-feed ads into every possible orifice of our digital experience while consumers do everything possible to avoid them. This antagonism goes back to the heyday of the Internet, when nerds put a strip of tape at the bottom of their computer screens to avoid seeing annoying banner ads. Later, DVRs came along and made it possible for us to fast-forward through unimaginative 30-second television spots. Today’s ad blockers allow people to subvert intrusive ad tech that knows more about us than we know about ourselves.