ALL THE FREE SHIT I GOT AT SXSW
Ranked from most to least cursed
SXSW might be the best festival ever for scoring random free shit—and I’m saying this as a professional swag bag schemer. The music, film and tech gathering has been gradually cannibalized by corporate interests since it began in 1987, going from a scrappy showcase of Austin’s music scene to a networking bonanza for tech founders and angel investors raising millions on LinkedIn.
Sure, there’s still some cool music sprinkled into the mix—shoutout to Diles Que No Me Maten, a psychedelic post-rock band from Mexico City whose freewheeling excursions into saxophone-tinged free jazz and spoken word carried the punky zing of their home city. But such discoveries feel like sideshows, and for the most part, SXSW’s subject position resides squarely within the machine.
This was my first time at SXSW, and I scrolled through hundreds of panels, networking sessions, pitch competitions, and sponsored lounges on the conference’s app, desperately trying to find programming that didn’t feel like it was trying to sell me something. Quickly, I realized that SXSW is the eyeroll-free safe space where marketing gurus learn about the “four types of attention” they must master for effective campaigns; tech bros pick up “skills to succeed in an AI-powered world;” and Spotify’s new CEO plugs the company’s mission of “delivering creativity to the world.”
The irony of company representatives embracing the ethos of Big Tech and Big Pharma while simultaneously claiming to be “changing the game” was so soul-deadening that I had no choice but to surrender to the base, craven part of my soul that delights in collecting junk food, plastic tchotchkes, and reusable tote bags bequeathed by random acts of corporate largesse. SXSW is known for attracting big brands competing to outdo each other with their glossiest approximations of culture, and while marketing budgets were supposedly smaller this year, the decentralized format of the conference, which took place in dozens of event venues and hotels all over downtown Austin, created even more opportunities for sponsored activations and “immersive experiences.”
“What kinds of free shit will I fill my tote bag with today?” I asked myself every morning, as I joined the slipstream of tech bros and music executives flowing down Congress Ave. Redistributing the wealth of foam plushies and free barbecue sponsored by some pharmaceutical company to my friends who couldn’t afford $1995 festival passes thus became more than a little game to keep myself sane—it was praxis. While most of the freebies will probably end up as landfill, a couple items were admittedly pretty cool.
Here is all the free shit I scored at SXSW, ranked from least to most cursed:
MDMA SUPPLEMENTS 😈
Biohacking bros have an extreme nerdiness around neurochemistry that comes in handy for recreational drug users interested in frying their brains responsibly. Third Wave podcaster Paul Austin introduced me to Vessel, a company selling supplement stacks to counteract MDMA’s neurotoxic effects. The elaborate protocol, which is so over-the-top it borders on absurd, costs $100 for two trips’ worth of supplements, and is split into six batches that must be taken one hour before ingesting MDMA, then 12, 24, 36, 48, and 60-hours after. (The MDMA itself is not included.) Ingredients include some usual suspects (magnesium, Lion’s Mane, L-theanine, ashwaganda), but also lots of deeper cuts that I’ve never heard of and are probably a bitch to source yourself. NGL, I kinda love this.
PROTEST FLYER 😈😈
On the first morning of SXSW, I came across five people standing outside the JW Marriott, holding up signs and waving a Palestinian flag. Most passers-by were ignoring them, and when I grabbed one of their fliers, a protestor turned to me with surprise and shouted “THANK YOU,” his eyes hungrily locking into mine.
Turns out the demonstrators were with the advocacy group United Musicians and Allied Workers, and were trying to draw attention to SXSW's continued ties to the military industrial complex. The backstory: in 2024, over 80 artists dropped out of SXSW to protest sponsorship from the literal US Army; in response to the backlash, the festival announced it would cut ties with defense contractors going forward. This year, that promise was quietly removed from its website, and SXSW partnered with a local startup incubator whose clients include defense contractors Palantir and BAE Systems.
This protest flier is slightly cursed because it points to an interesting complexity, especially in this era of escalating global warfare: as Texas Monthly pointed out, “the part of tech that actually is booming—military innovation—is exactly the part SXSW badge holders seem least comfortable embracing.”
QUESTIONABLY LEGAL WEED DRINKS FROM OUT OF OFFICE / TENUR 😈😈😈
Something weird and kind of lit is happening in Texas right now with weed. Even though cannabis is still illegal in the state, super cute dispensaries and smoke lounges are popping up all over Austin, selling hemp-derived edibles, vapes, and buds through a legal loophole in the 2018 Farm Bill. That loophole is closing as regulators actively crack down on these products, but during SXSW, it was still giving grey-market golden era.
One afternoon, I pulled up to a house party hosted by Tenur, an AI-powered social networking app for “the ones who know their network is their greatest asset.” The crowd was mostly 40-somethings with snatched surgeries and sunburnt tans frolicking in a pool; I hid under an umbrella and dissociated while sipping this sparkling THC drink from a brand called Out of Office. The high is always kind of mid with these alt-cannabinoids, which make you feel kind of blunted without the radiant full-spectrum stoned experience—but the taste was surprisingly refreshing.
GARNIER’S MAKEUP REMOVER AND BOOTLEG SMOOTHIES 😈😈😈😈
Rolling Stone’s Future of Music showcase was purportedly the place to check out rising talents, so on the night that Lola Young was playing, I got in line at The Moody Theater behind a bunch of burly German music executives wearing white button-downs. In the lobby, a brand rep was giving out bottles of Garnier’s micellar makeup remover—a product you might recognize from the discount bin at CVS—which was inexplicably paired with a smoothie in a strange shade of off-white, the cheap plastic bottle emblazoned with a sad little sticker in the shape of Garnier’s logo. Not sure what the ROI was for a multi-billion dollar beauty company giving people bootleg smoothies to drink while watching a band, but there’s definitely a spreadsheet out there justifying this confusingly cursed pairing.
PROTEIN PASTA, FANCY CHIPS, AND A GOLF POLO SHIRT FROM ULTRANATIVE x ARENA HALL 😈😈😈😈😈
Ultranative is an Austin-based private equity firm that invests in psychedelic startups and alternative health companies. A while ago, I wrote about their attempt to create a plant-based MDMA pipeline for DoubleBlind’s (paywalled) newsletter last year, so when a calendar invitation popped up on my phone, reminding me that their SXSW day party was ending in 15 minutes, I jumped on a scooter and raced over to Arena Hall—a new members club for “influential builders and thought leaders”—to see what’s up with them.
The venue was teeming with young professionals who looked like they had invested wisely in diversified portfolios. (Overheard: “I had a meeting with Spotify’s CEO this morning…. they can’t afford me.”) The healthy slop bowls were overflowing, and a table was stacked with giveaways of polo shirts for golfers. In the outdoor patio, someone sitting on a panel conversation on the science of sugar was wearing a MAHA hat, and when an audience member chimed in, he referenced something that had the approval of “Bobby”… yes, that would be RFK Jr.
When I peeked into the swag bag, I noticed it contained a bunch of food you might find in the aisles of an Erewhon— a box of protein pasta, a giant bag of gourmet chips, an almond flour cookie, a nut butter brownie. That’s when I realized I’d made it to the tip of the political horseshoe, where California’s wellness influencers meet Austin’s MAHA-adjacent techies.
GODREJ AER’S DISGUSTING AIR FRESHENER
“This will change your life, sis,” a smiling woman said, reaching into a cooler and handing me two plastic packets as I walked through the streets. If I looked closer, I might have seen her fangs. Instead I received the gifts with gratitude, thinking they were innocent little face wipes to combat the 90-degree heat. Alas, I had accidentally welcomed into my sphere one of the most cursed items of the week—air fresheners whose sickening scent would haunt my every waking move, sticking to my skin like some abominable demon. I placed this product in my friend’s bathroom, and as soon as I opened the plastic, a nauseating, stomach-curdling stench flooded the entire house, as if someone had used toxic-grade cleaning products to mask the smell of a rotting corpse. When I threw it into the trash minutes later, the nightmare didn’t end, instead continuing to seep out of the trash can for days. Even the cat yowled and hissed, as if she knew that something unholy had been unleashed.
BOTTLE OF WATER FROM TESLA’S ROBOT
One afternoon, after watching a panel where Serena Williams touted her investments into woman and minority-run health companies, I wandered into a parking lot where a huge crowd was gathered around a Tesla cybertruck. At first, I assumed some lame celebrity was making an appearance, then realized this audience was gathered to witness something far weirder: a live demo of Optimus, the company’s humanoid robot, which is still in beta testing and slated for slated for sale in 2027. Smug-looking Tesla employees ushered dozens of humans willing to wait in a long line to interact with a robot stationed behind a bar. After handing over a bottle of water, the robot flexed its creepily dexterous hands into a peace sign, as if anticipating the barrage of excited photos and selfies.
It was unclear if this robot was being controlled remotely by AI or some underpaid operator in a third-world country—a similar demo in Miami sparked an online debate after a robot fell backwards, and made a motion as if removing a VR headset. All I know is that I’m tired of billionaire man-children bringing to life their sci-fi fantasies. This corny Daft Punk-looking ass is the future of robotics? It even had the nerve to ask for tips.