![f0056-01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/7smgingccgaapvfi/images/fileG6R3EDKK.jpg)
![f0057-01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/7smgingccgaapvfi/images/file4MGGKW6V.jpg)
“FREE FOOD AND DRINK INSIDE.” A BOUNCER TEASES THE CROWD WAITING TO ENTER NEW YORK’S PIER 17, A CONCERT VENUE IN MANHATTAN’S SEAPORT. “BUT THERE ARE NO BATHROOMS.” THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE HAVE GATHERED HERE FOR THE FOURTH AND FINAL NIGHT OF APEFEST, A PARTY FOR MEMBERS OF THE BORED APE YACHT CLUB (BAYC) AND THEIR INVITED FRIENDS. HE WAITS A BEAT, THEN LAUGHS. “NAH . . . I’M JUST FUCKING WITH YOU.”
uga Labs, the company that conceived of the collection of 10,OOO cartoon ape avatars that unlock membership to BAYC, would never forget the bathrooms. The backstory that members bought into when they purchased their digital apes was that these primates congregate in the bathroom of a seedy yacht club—set in a swamp in the middle of nowhere—to scrawl irreverent jokes and shit-talk as the only relief from the boredom of their expensive, cryptofueled lifestyles. Members who got in early paid less than $250 in cryptocurrency for the NFT (nonfungible token) that gave them their ape avatar. If they joined at the peak last spring, just a couple of months before Apefest, they may have paid more than $400,000 to be here. ( attended as a guest