I did not set out to start a Shrek cult. (Does anyone ever intend to do such things?)
It was an early spring Saturday, and we were on mushrooms. Shrek may be straight edge, according to Shrek rave founder Ka5sh, but I am certainly not. Now that my brain is fully formed and I’ve (mostly) worked through my trauma, good sense and a limited budget are my only governors.
2024 was a big psilocybin year for me; I partook so often that I suffered diminishing returns of what are officially deemed the “mystical experiences” associated with psychedelics (more on that in a future column).
I did shrooms twice with this particular group of friends. The first time was silly and fun, and so we were not content with the mere memory. It had to be recreated, re-lived.
The second sojourn was of special import. Our friend Chloe was moving to Alaska, taking a job that required a CDL and clean drug tests. This might be the last time we could get high and hang out — ever!
We chewed up the dry, earthy fungi and waited.
I don’t know who suggested we watch Shrek. I don’t remember how we decided to follow it with Shrek 2, or who manned the remote that, long past midnight, queued up the humorless Shrek The Third — truly the worst installment. We made a gazillion Shrek puns; we planned what Shrek tattoos we would eventually get to bind us all together in eternal friendship. (I want either the snake or frog balloons that Shrek and Fiona make for each other in the first film, but so far I’ve not been able to talk anyone into getting the other one.)
We finally called it quits around 2 a.m. Chloe had to be up for skiing at 6. But the next morning, those of us still at the house settled in for Shrek Forever After, the franchise’s return to form.
It gave us another bit — “Nobody’s smart but me!” gleefully shouted by the cuntiest twink to ever grace an animated film — and, months later, a reason to attend our very first Shrek rave.
We were down two members of our quartet. Chloe was in Alaska; Mike was stuck at work. My partner slathered green paint on his skin, slapped on a vest and called it good. I scoured thrift stores and my own closet to craft an homage to kink icon Pinocchio, down to the lacy red thong he sports in the sequel.
We chewed a pack of MDMA gummies — gifts from a man called Chunk I’d interviewed months earlier — and went in. The gummies tasted like shit, but the high was fine. Nice and mellow, providing bodily relaxation I could never achieve sober.
The sparse crowd was mostly millennials, all in costume. There were Shreks, a Donkey or two, many, many Lord Farquads and at least one ugly stepsister. At least two packs of blind mice were grouped on the small dance floor. Images of Shrek were projected on a screen behind the DJ: some silly, some scary, some distinctly sexy.
Aside from one woman in pastel pasties and fishnets, everyone seemed to be there for one thing. When “All Star” and other songs from the soundtrack played, they moved as one: hands in the air, feet leaving the floor in rhythm. Even Rufus Wainwright’s version of Hallelujah — not exactly a club banger — brought the energy up.
It was just as the rave’s creator said: “I don’t want to be some cool guy listening to cool music. I want to listen to ‘Accidentally in Love.’”
The DJ apparently didn’t get that message. He kept spinning generic EDM with big drops that no one cared about. Whenever the Shrek music stopped, ravers mostly stood in small circles, talking amongst themselves or fiddling with their phones.
Having no friend group, I kept barging into others and aggressively complimenting people on their outfits. (MDMA quiets your brain’s fear center, so my ever-present fear of rejection was dulled.) I sense that a Shrek rave, like most silly endeavors, are best undertaken with a big group of people, and I was desperately trying to form one from the random bodies around me.
I expected a nonstop party. Though we didn’t come with a crowd, I imagined we’d end the night with one, drawn together by the collective energy.
How could something that was supposed to be objectively fun — dancing and taking drugs — be less enjoyable than a 12-hour marathon of children’s media in a dingy living room? I was high, my blissed-out boyfriend by my side. He is my favorite person in the world. Why wasn’t that enough?
But isn’t that the lesson of Shrek — you need love and friendship to survive this scary, shrinking world? Is not Donkey as integral a part of the story as Fiona? Maybe, as the weight of our existence becomes heavier by the day, it takes more people to keep the vibes up.
That would explain why the most impactful part of this whole experience was the arrival of a children’s book at my doorstep some weeks later. Mike bought us all copies of the William Stieg story that inspired the films. It was a rare, tender gesture from someone who typically shrugs off my hugs and expressions of fondness. Like Shrek, he opened himself to us that day, however slightly.
Our cult hasn’t done shrooms again; we haven’t even been in the same room since that night. We still don’t have those matching tattoos. But I know wherever we are in the world when Shrek 5 debuts in summer 2026, we’ll make sure we are together to watch it.