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For many of us who have been attending DEFCON for decades, the experience is more than just a conference. It’s been a front-row seat to the evolution of cybersecurity and hacker culture itself. I could play the role of the old guy yelling “get off my lawn”—and to be honest, sometimes I am—but it’s not all bad. In fact, a lot of it has been incredibly good.

Let’s start with the positives. Over the years, cybersecurity has transformed from a fringe interest into a legitimate, respected, and in many cases, lucrative career. Many of us have been fortunate enough to get paid for something we would have happily done for free. What was once a hobby or obsession—pulling things apart, seeing how they worked, and occasionally breaking them—became the foundation for a professional industry. That’s no small shift.

But for those who remember the early days, the heart of it wasn’t about career ladders or sponsorships. It was about the subculture that pulled us together under the neon glow of Las Vegas. Black t-shirts. Spiked mohawks. A healthy distrust of authority. A belief that information should be free, and that curiosity—sometimes reckless, sometimes brilliant—was worth celebrating.

In those days, spotting a fed was a game. Literally. “Spot the Fed” was one of DEFCON’s most infamous contests, and it existed because federal agents were considered outsiders, infiltrators, or at the very least, people who didn’t quite belong in hacker spaces. The tension was part of the fun. It was a cat-and-mouse game that defined the line between hacker culture and the government.

Today, the dynamic has changed. Federal agencies now have an official and very visible presence at DEFCON. Recruitment booths, sponsored talks, and entire tracks dedicated to government perspectives are part of the modern conference. The fed you once tried to spot in a crowd is now right there on the main stage, sharing insights and seeking talent.

Some of this is inevitable, and even beneficial in some ways. Governments need skilled hackers to help defend critical systems, and for many attendees, these sessions provide valuable knowledge. But the side effect is that the rebellious, underground feel that once defined DEFCON has shifted. The hacker culture that thrived on curiosity, experimentation, and skepticism of authority now has to coexist with the very institutions it once quietly resisted.

That doesn’t mean it’s gone. If you know where to look, it’s still there: the hallway conversations, the unsanctioned meetups, the weird projects that never make it onto the main stage. The spirit of hacker culture is still alive, but it has to fight harder for space in a conference now defined by its visibility to the government and the influence of corporations .

One way to preserve that spirit is to create smaller groups of like-minded people locally. Meet regularly, share projects, organize mini-conventions, and nurture the hacker ethos on a scale where curiosity, experimentation, and irreverence can thrive. These local efforts help keep the culture alive in ways that a massive conference can no longer fully support.

When you attend DEFCON today, understand what it has become. It’s still an important place to share ideas, learn, and connect—but remember what it once was. Enjoy the villages, the talks, the camaraderie, but it’s okay to feel a little nostalgic for the desert as it was. Missing what it was doesn’t make you bitter; it means you care about the culture that drew you there in the first place. And that care ensures hacker culture continues, long after the neon lights dim.

DEF CON Attendance Over the Years