Beyond the organisers, 15+ parties also highlight problems with what we’ve built for our kids

Teenagers lining up for parties that put them at risk means the problem is bigger than just the organisers

By now, you’ve probably seen the screenshots. Alcohol at a Valentine’s-themed 15+ event. Smoking and drinking in a promotional video. A party advertised to teenagers with the tagline: “We don’t wait till 18.”

The outrage that came after is justified, though typical.

Mythic responded that they launched specifically to give teens a safer alternative to sneaking into clubs. And that response should be called out for what it is: framing of exploitation as rescue.

Yes, teens were sneaking into clubs. Yes, unsupervised chalet parties with alcohol and drugs are a real problem. However, identifying a market gap is not the same as addressing it responsibly. You don’t get credit for building a safer-looking door if the room behind it is just as risky.

The predatory nature of these parties isn’t just in the alcohol or the kiss cams. These organisers identified something real: teenagers who are lonely and hungry for spaces that feel like their own. And they monetised it.

They didn’t create that need. But they profited from it, and they did so while exposing vulnerable minors to risk.

They should be held accountable. Fully. But accountability without understanding is just punishment. Our outrage is the easiest part of this conversation.

The next organiser will come — because the teenagers will still be there, still wanting what these parties were pretending to offer.

So the more important question is: Why were teenagers showing up for these things in the first place? What were they actually looking for?

And why did we not have a better answer ready?

The fact that there’s demand should tell us something

These parties exist because teenagers wanted them. That’s not a defence of the people who organised them; it’s a diagnosis.

Psychologist Erik Erikson famously described adolescence as the stage of “identity vs role confusion” — essentially, the period where you’re trying to figure out who you are. And it’s no surprise that during adolescence, identity is formed primarily through peer relationships.

Crucially, that process doesn’t just happen in classrooms, co-curricular activities (CCAs), or under someone’s mum’s watchful eye.

It requires social experimentation, peer feedback, and spaces where you’re not already known.

Teenagers have always pushed boundaries. That’s not new. Some degree of this is not just normal; it’s developmentally necessary.

The question is not whether our teenagers will seek out edgy experiences. Of course they will. The question is what kind of risk they are exposed to when they do it, and who profits from putting that risk in front of them.

The 15+ party organisers did not create this appetite. They just charged S$25 at the door.

Don’t blame the lack of third spaces in Singapore, blame the kind we have

The obvious retort is: but Singapore has youth spaces. And it does.

*SCAPE reopened in 2025 after a major upgrade with more programmes aimed towards youths. Youth Corps runs interest groups and volunteer programmes. Community clubs have teen activities. Singapore is not a country that has neglected youth infrastructure. Far from it.

And to be clear, many of these spaces do good work. They provide structure, support, and opportunities that many young people genuinely benefit from. Even now, we are in the middle of the National Youth Council’s five-year action plan to create open spaces for youths.

Yet, that’s also where the tension lies.

The problem isn’t the absence of spaces. It’s the character of the spaces we have.

Urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg coined the term “third place”. He described these spaces as informal, low-cost, unstructured environments where people can just be. No performance, evaluation or adult agenda hovering in the background.

Now look at what we’ve built.

Teens might not equate safe spaces with freedom

*SCAPE is thoughtfully programmed and institutionally managed. CCAs are still, at their core, school-adjacent. Community programmes are designed and supervised by adults.

None of this is inherently bad. In fact, much of it is necessary.

However, it does mean that very few of these spaces function as true third places. Places where a teenager can exist without being guided, mentored, or, in some subtle way, shaped.

What we’ve built, with the best of intentions, are spaces that are safe, structured, and purposeful. And sometimes, that’s exactly why they don’t feel like freedom.

So when a poolside event with a DJ and no obvious authority figure shows up, it doesn’t just look fun. It feels like one of the few places where the rules, social or otherwise, are temporarily suspended.

Globally, the decline of true third spaces has been well-documented. Singapore is not immune to that shift.

What we’ve tried to build to fill the gap are spaces that are safer, more supportive, and more intentional. In doing so, however, we may have lost something harder to design: environments where young people can be unstructured, unobserved, and a little bit undefined.

And for a teenager trying to figure out who they are when nobody is watching, that absence matters more than we think.

The social media pipeline to the party

We’ve heard the social media of it all. Singapore teenagers aged 13 to 19 spend nearly 8.5 hours a day on screens, according to a 2025 survey. Meanwhile, a 2024 study found that TikTok can lock users into a content niche within 40 minutes, after which 80% of what they see reinforces the same themes.

This kind of immersion teaches teenagers something very specific: that life is content.

Platforms like Instagram and TikTok reward visibility, aesthetics, and performance. Over time, teenagers learn to evaluate their own social experiences not by how they felt, but by how they looked and by what they could post.

The adolescent need to be the content

Research has already pointed out that social media is shaping adolescent identity. Yet, social media also narrows that same identity. It encourages what one researcher described as the “commodification of the self-concept”.

In simpler terms: you are your content now.

A party with a kiss cam, atmospheric lighting, and a DJ set is the offline extension of that logic. It’s a real-life content opportunity that, by design, offers scenarios for social media posts. Which, in turn, appeals to the youth’s need to be seen and to confirm their social status through visibility. These teens aren’t just seeking belonging; they’re seeking the belonging that photographs well.

And then, there’s the impact on relationships: social media has made real friendship feel like too much work.

When you grow up in a world of low-effort, low-reciprocity interactions — consuming connections through frictionless digital interfaces, through likes and follows — actual friendship starts to feel like a lot.

These low-effort connections have zero entry cost and are naturally shallow. And once you have been fed that diet for a long time, genuine intimacy, which requires vulnerability, consistency, and inconvenience, starts to feel not just hard but almost threatening.

These parties provide the aesthetic of closeness without the exposure of actual closeness. Shared space, shared music, it’s a simulation of intimacy without the vulnerability of real friendship. Connection, without the commitment.

For a generation algorithmically trained to want connection on demand and at low cost, this is not a hard sell.

Taking down the perpetrators is just the first step

So yes, shut down these parties. Regulate them. Hold organisers accountable. But if that’s where the conversation ends, we’ve missed the point entirely.

Because the demand isn’t going anywhere.

Globally, teenagers report the highest rates of loneliness among age groups. In Singapore, one in three youths has reported symptoms of sadness, anxiety, and loneliness.

And into this landscape come these organisers selling what may feel to these teens like the solution to that loneliness.

We cannot fix this issue just by cancelling these organisers.

It’s very easy to ask: How dare these organisers put our kids at risk?

It’s much harder to ask: Why does a poorly supervised party look like a good option at all?

That question doesn’t have a clean villain. It points back at us. At the systems we’ve built. In the digital spaces we’ve let slip under our noses.

And maybe even at the fact that we’ve created a version of teenage life that is so structured, so performative, and so optimised that the only place left to feel free is a bar with bad lighting and worse decisions.

So yes, cancel the parties. Though if that’s all we do, we’re not solving the problem.

We’re just clearing the venue for the next one.

Also Read: S’pore 15+ underage parties under fire over alleged drinking, kiss cams & inappropriate behaviour

Have news you must share? Get in touch with us via email at news@mustsharenews.com.

Featured image adapted from a friend of Mythic organisers and @hyper.parties on Instagram.