One such club, called “Club Quarantine” even asks for a $10 cover. Crazier still? Pay another $70 and you’re in a club with influencers in an exclusive room. “There’s a learning process. At first, people were not willing to spend money on Netflix; they were used to streaming movies illegally,” says a worker at the club. “It takes a while to be accepted and for people to understand it’s not a scam.”

“You’re late!” admonishes a bouncer with a glowing Celtic symbol on her forehead, peering through a pixelated window at a gaggle of new guests tuning in from their homes, making sure they are properly outfitted, both with drinks and in looks. She clicks them into different “dance floor” chat rooms, where revelers in colorful costumes shimmy to a live-streamed DJ set while two fluffy puppets maneuvered by an invisible hand waltz in each other’s arms. In an additional networked room, a man in a pink wig leads a spirited conversation about sustainable farming. At the end of the night, the party’s host invites everyone to the “hot tub” room—swimming attire required. Shirts are peeled off and snorkels pulled on as guests gamely play along.

It’s hard to see how this kind of experience can truly be compared to the real thing, especially considering live broadcasts of headlining acts are being hosted for free on Youtube via Beatport, Insomniac and even festivals like Digital Mirage. Then again, considering we may not be able to congregate at events for several months to a year, the voluntary donations to raise money for musicians may just turn into required fees.

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