From Wonkaland to Fyre: The Inside Story of Infamously Bad Viral Festivals

In February this year, Kirsty Paterson found herself in a bit of a rut. At 29, she had spent five years working for an estate agent—a job she despised. After being diagnosed with ADHD, she realized that the conventional nine-to-five office setup was not for her. The nature of the job hindered her ability to stay organized and sit still, crucial elements for her well-being.

Paterson decided to pivot her career and retrained as a yoga instructor, gradually building a clientele while doing various odd jobs. Despite her new venture, she still yearned for a creative outlet. Acting, she believed, was her true calling. She had no fear of performing before crowds, having previously engaged in musical theatre, dance, kids’ entertainment, and even fire performances.

One day, she came across an ad on Indeed, seeking performers for a weekend gig. It seemed perfect. She applied and received a call on a Friday afternoon. Expecting an audition, she had been practicing with friends. However, to her surprise, she was told she got the job without one. She needed to pick up her script within the hour and start work the following day at Willy’s Chocolate Experience in the Whiteinch area of Glasgow.

When she collected the script, she found it bewildering and disconnected from the Willy Wonka stories she loved. Nevertheless, needing the money, she showed up the next morning, ready to work. The event was organized by Billy Coull, known for his dubious ventures, including AI-generated novels.

Attendees, who paid up to £35 for tickets, arrived expecting a magical experience inspired by Roald Dahl’s works. Instead, they found a nearly empty warehouse, sparsely decorated with a few props like candy canes and a couple of oversized toadstools. Kirsty, dressed as an Oompa-Loompa, felt terrible for the excited kids. Along with other actors, she decided to make the best of the situation.

Initially following the nonsensical script, they soon had to abandon it and improvise. Kirsty ended up dancing and handing out jelly beans to children. But with a meager supply, she quickly ran out and resorted to giving out just one jelly bean per person. Despite the actors’ efforts, the event remained a disaster, with complaints and refund demands pouring in. Eventually, the police were called, and the event was shut down after just a few hours.

The fiasco went viral on social media. Pictures of the bare warehouse, misleading refreshments, and Kirsty herself—dubbed the “sad Oompa-Loompa”—spread rapidly. The online abuse Kirsty faced was intense, affecting her mental health severely. She received derogatory comments about her appearance and was wrongly assumed to be part of the organizing team.

Coull apologized and offered refunds to 850 people, but Kirsty was reluctant to discuss him. She was paid only £200 out of the £500 owed for her two days of work. Resultantly, she withdrew from social media for her mental health. It was her sister who encouraged her to take control of the situation.

Heeding her sister’s advice, Kirsty posted a heartfelt TikTok video explaining her side of the story and urging people to be kind. The video went viral, leading to media appearances and numerous opportunities. She now has an agent to manage her social media and is launching her own merchandise. Additionally, she was invited to Los Angeles to participate in a pop-up recreation of the event, organized by local artists.

Reflecting on her journey, Kirsty finds it amazing. The bizarre incident opened up opportunities that allowed her to pursue her dream of performing and advocating for neurodivergent issues. She acknowledges that the viral picture captured a truly low moment in her life. However, the transition from that point to now has been transformative, giving her a chance to be who she always wanted to be.

Source: The Guardian