The Aesthetics of Excess : Why We Overindulge at Parties and Call It ‘Fun'

As I sit reflecting on the nature of parties — their noise, their vibrancy, their absurdity — I find myself grappling with a fundamental question : Why do we crave excess? Not just on the fringes of our lives but at the very heart of our shared human experiences. What is it about the thumping basslines, the overflowing glasses, and the gluttonous indulgence in sensory overload that we so willingly call “fun”?

This inquiry isn’t new. It echoes through the philosophical musings of Georges Bataille, the anthropological insights of Thorstein Veblen, and the psychological mechanisms that underpin addiction and hedonic adaptation. But perhaps it is time to reconsider excess not as an aberration but as a deliberate, perhaps even sacred, pursuit. Could it be that balance is the myth, and excess — in all its absurdity and chaos — is our true nature?

The Anatomy of a Party

To understand excess, one must first deconstruct the party. Not the minimalist dinner gathering, but the full-fledged bacchanal : flashing lights, loud music, and free-flowing alcohol. Every element is designed to overwhelm. The human sensory system — which thrives on predictability and homeostasis — is deliberately destabilized.

The music, far from being a gentle backdrop, is a sonic assault. Its basslines disrupt the heart’s natural rhythm. The lights pulse and flash, overwhelming our visual processing centers. Alcohol, of course, removes the barriers of inhibition, reducing cognitive friction and unshackling desires normally bound by restraint. We become “more ourselves” only by becoming “less of ourselves,” dissolving into the collective frenzy of the crowd.

But why? Why do we yearn for this descent into overstimulation?

The answer may lie in the ancient nature of human rituals. In his works, Georges Bataille described excess as an inescapable byproduct of humanity’s attempts to reach transcendence. He argued that every society has a “general economy” of energy — not just of wealth but of emotion, sensation, and libido. If normal life demands control and conservation, parties represent the “expenditure” side of that economy. They are sacred spaces for waste — a “necessary unnecessity.”

Bataille’s Theory of Excess

To grasp Bataille’s radical vision, we must confront his key idea : Excess is not just inevitable; it is essential. For Bataille, every system, whether biological or social, generates surplus energy. Nature, after all, does not optimize for efficiency. The sun’s energy overflows; the body’s reproductive urges overflow; society’s wealth accumulates and must be spent. Civilization’s most iconic achievements — pyramids, cathedrals, festivals — are not “useful” in any instrumental sense. They are works of excess.

Parties operate on a similar logic. The “ordinary” life of work, responsibility, and obligation demands discipline. It builds up unspent energy, and this energy demands release. A party is not simply a place to “have fun” but to burn the accumulated residues of monotony. It’s no wonder parties are often scheduled for the weekend — after a week of labor, the pendulum swings the other way.

Yet excess is not just physical — it is spiritual. Bataille’s notion of “sacred expenditure” places excess in the realm of the sacred. The burning of incense, the offering of wine, the slaughtering of animals — all are acts of destruction that paradoxically affirm life. When we overindulge at parties, we engage in our own sacred expenditure, not unlike ancient sacrificial rites. We offer our clarity of mind, our bodily limits, and even our dignity at the altar of “fun.”

Conspicuous Consumption and Signaling

If Bataille explains the metaphysical drive for excess, Thorstein Veblen explains its social logic. His concept of “conspicuous consumption” asserts that wealth — and by extension, social status — must be displayed through acts of obvious waste.

The modern party — especially the high-end, exclusive club scene — is a living embodiment of this theory. Bottles of champagne (or other alcoholic beverages, which I have zero knowledge of) “pop” not for their flavor but for their symbolic power. Wearing designer clothes to a dimly lit nightclub has no practical value, yet it signals one’s membership in an elite group. The gaudy spectacle of luxury at parties is not unlike the aristocratic feasts of old where nobles demonstrated their wealth by wasting it in front of others.

On a smaller scale, even “ordinary” parties contain echoes of conspicuous consumption. Guests who bring an expensive bottle of wine, host elaborate dinner spreads, or curate “Instagrammable” moments are engaging in a soft form of status signaling. In a world driven by social media — where visibility is power — the excessive party becomes a stage where individuals act out their “curated selves” for a digital audience.

Addiction Psychology and Hedonic Adaptation

From a psychological standpoint, excess is not as “fun” as it seems. It’s addictive — literally. Neurochemical cycles of dopamine create feedback loops that drive us to seek greater and greater stimulation. The first glass of wine offers a “buzz”; by the third, that same buzz requires more alcohol. The “law of diminishing returns” applies to pleasure as much as to economics.

This is where the concept of hedonic adaptation enters. Over time, the highs of a party — its novelty and sensory overload — become normalized. What once felt exhilarating begins to feel routine. The threshold for fun moves upward, pushing partygoers toward ever-greater excess. This explains the gradual escalation in party culture — from casual house gatherings to electronic music festivals with 24-hour raves.

But what if hedonic adaptation isn’t just a flaw but a feature? If evolution “designed” us to constantly seek higher highs, then excess is not a glitch — it’s the code itself. Evolutionary psychology suggests that the pursuit of overstimulation — whether it’s parties, risky behavior, or excessive consumption — may have conferred survival advantages by encouraging exploration, innovation, and boundary-pushing.

Is Balance a Myth?

If excess is our evolutionary heritage and cultural necessity, where does that leave “balance”? The term itself implies symmetry, control, and moderation — all traits praised by ancient Stoics and modern wellness advocates. But is balance truly possible in a world where human nature, as seen through Bataille, Veblen, and addiction psychology, craves asymmetry?

Philosophically, balance may be a noble lie. It’s a story we tell ourselves during the sober hours of the morning after. “Never again,” we mutter, vowing to adopt “healthier” habits. But these vows are always broken. Parties do not happen because people believe in balance; they happen because people — even the most disciplined — carry within them an irreducible excess that demands release.

Balance, in this light, is the shadow of excess — the ghostly reminder of what we abandon when we give in to Bacchic delight. But perhaps “balance” is simply the interlude before the next swing of the pendulum.

Conclusion : Fun or Fugue?

So, why do we call it “fun”? Perhaps because “sacred expenditure” sounds too heavy. Fun is the lighter, palatable version of the truth. Fun conceals the deeper reality that human beings are not creatures of balance but of rhythmic oscillation — between work and play, order and chaos, sense and nonsense.

We indulge not to escape life’s burdens but to momentarily inhabit its most essential state : that of burning, consuming, and overflowing. Bataille’s sacred excess, Veblen’s conspicuous consumption, and the relentless logic of dopamine circuits all converge at the party — the last remaining temple of human abandon.

In the end, perhaps balance is not what we should seek. Perhaps our task is not to renounce excess but to understand it. For excess, properly channeled, is not destruction — it is creation, transformation, and rebirth. If I’m being honest, part of me suspects that the quest for balance is merely another form of excess — an excess of self-control.

So I’ll raise a glass to excess — the absurd, the holy, the chaotic — and I’ll call it “fun.”

Thanks for dropping by !


Disclaimer : Everything written above, I owe to the great minds I’ve encountered and the voices I’ve heard along the way.