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First it was weddings. Now, going overboard on birthdays, planning murder-mystery breaks or mini-festivals with dress codes and branded merch, is the norm for many. Is this driven by monster egos, or a search for connection in a fractured age?
MikeFest takes place every year, over the August bank holiday weekend, in a large leafy garden on the Cornish coast. Birthday boy Michael’s nearest and dearest turn up in their sparkliest gear (as per the invitation) with tents tucked under their arms. Masks with his face printed on them are handed out, as are handheld fans and sippy cups branded with each guest’s name. Organised fun ensues, including a compulsory talent show. Michael always wins first place with his interpretive dance routine.
Michael is not turning 10; he is about to be 44. And he accepts the title of “birthdayzilla”, admitting that he’s guilt-tripped friends who were unable to make it and barred those who miss two festivals in a row from future events. But he’s quick to defend his fellow birthday fanatics. “It doesn’t feel like there’s much to celebrate these days, and it’s harder than ever to get people together. So yes, I’m militant about my birthday,” he says. “I just think: I’ve managed to build a life I like and a network of people I love, why not make a fuss about it? I don’t think expecting them to show up for me once a year is such a big ask.”