A knockoff Burning Man festival that was held last week in Shanghai was not only a pathetic betrayal of the original, it was a rip-off for Shanghai party people expecting something similar. Held in Anji, a bamboo forest outside of Shanghai in Zhejiang Province, this subspecies of an event was just another of the many newbie millennial business modules that have overrun Shanghai in recent years.

My venom for this cheesy offshoot, called Dragon Burn, stems from my deep respect for the original Burning Man, which was launched in my native California in 1986 before making its home in the Black Rock Desert of northern Nevada. In the 1990s, my friends were quite passionate about it and often returned with fierce red eyes, dehydration sickness, deep sunburns and paisley patterned tattoos.

In an attempt to sell Shanghaiers on the inclusive spirit and sense of creative community of the original Burning Man (rather than the for-profit limited liability company franchise that it, sadly, has become), the promoters of Dragon Burn in China stated in their ads that it is "created entirely by Burners and volunteers without support from corporate sponsors or vendors."

Too bad for us, Dragon Burn was merely another lame attempt by promoters to profit from gullible but wealthy Shanghai-rollers by disingenuously trying to translate a unique foreign cultural experience. They charged an outrageous 320 yuan ($50.30) or 375 yuan per ticket, which in 2014 they sold through the website of a - wait for it - tour vendor.

Adding insult to injury, only after buying your ticket they e-mailed you a militant mutation of Burning Man's 10-point credo that went against everything they originally billed it to be. Instead of three days of peace, love and bohemianism, Dragon Burn attendees got three days of incarceration.

I would also cite last month's Budweiser Storm Festival for peddling tired international tropes and tripe. The festival, hoping to recreate a hedonistic rave atmosphere for Shanghai expats with disposable incomes and millennial locals who don't know any better, was little more than a few watered-down trance DJs shilling for an even watery American beer. It should not have come as a surprise, then, to its promoters that it was so sparsely attended.

That wannabe rave reminded me of the failed attempt to commercialize Shanghai's lesbian scene. In a recent tongue-lashing opine in City Weekend, one expat lady writer lamented (under an alias, of course) the rise and fall of local lesbian bars, noting that every "lala lounge" that had ever opened in Shanghai had subsequently been shuttered save for one venerated establishment. The writer equated this with a lack of freedom for lesbians in Shanghai. Wrong.

The harsh fact of the matter is that too many weird male gawkers showed up at these venues once word of their openings were overly publicized in the same "LGBeaT" magazine column that later lamented their demise. Moreover, these LGBT bars and clubs catered primarily to foreigners who champion Western-style flamboyance rather than the discreetness that Chinese prefer.

Ironically, the only events in Shanghai with music or cultural experiences that hit at the heart for pensive existential reflection are venues that host symphonies and operas. Unfortunately for promoters - but thankfully for those who appreciate real music untainted by commercialism - one can't wave glow sticks, dance with body paint or smoke hash at a Beethoven concerto or a Peach Blossom Fan play.

There will never be a need to over-market Moonlight Sonata or Madama Butterfly as some life-changing experience. It just is. Same with the Rolling Stones, Metallica or even that brat Justin Bieber, for that matter. These bands and performers billed their sold-out events in Shanghai exactly as they are: no fake lifestyle was peddled, no extra pop-psychology identity was fobbed off on to teeny-boppers, and nobody got dragon-burned from false advertising.