Let us consider the flawed premise of American high school reunions. Specifically, that a person elected to be Class President at the age of 17 should be duty-bound, a full decade later, to book a venue and wrangle near-strangers into attending a buffet-based networking event.

That’s the deal, though. You win a popularity contest through well-decorated poster board and skit-based morning announcements, and you take on a lifetime of party planning responsibilities. And it’s not just any party—it’s a forum for our ultimate redemption moments. The stakes are high.

In 2016, as my own ten-year reunion loomed, I watched this strange tradition play out in real time. A rogue Facebook group sprung up early in the year and within days it had hundreds of members and dozens of eager posts:

“Would the school let us host there? The new auditorium looks nice!”
“Anyone know what the budget is? I have a connection at Perry’s but not sure we could afford it. Heh.”
“Will there be an open bar?”
“I’m planning a trip in August, when will the date for this be set??”

I was delighted to see names and faces I hadn’t thought about in years and confused at the volume of names and faces I didn’t recognize at all. Many continued enthusiastically suggesting venues. And dates. And committee structures.

Then, six weeks in, a single comment from our Class President: “Hey y’all!! This is already being planned. Please don’t keep organizing on your own here : ) More details coming soon.”

And that was that. A simple announcement summed up the unglamorous, often invisible work of event production: protecting the shape of the thing so people can show up and have a good time.

That’s the work of producing site-specific theater. It’s less about spectacle and more about equilibrium. When it’s working, the audience doesn't feel the effort. They just feel there.

XV, our immersive fifteen-year high school reunion, took place in a church basement in the Ravenswood neighborhood of Chicago. The venue was stark—no curtains, no color, no ambient charm. Everything had to be built or imagined. The right streamer curtain. The right playlist to make you forget the faint sound of a pickup basketball game in the gym down the hall. A punch bowl that looked both celebratory and slightly sad. Details that may not be individually seen but are always felt. We’d curated spaces as a collective, but we never built them from a blank slate.

“That’s the work of site-specific theater. It’s less about spectacle and more about equilibrium. When it’s working, the audience doesn’t feel the effort. They just feel there.”

My co-producer, Tony, and I set out to create an evening where guests could “relive the glory days. set the record straight. dance the night away.” And to pull that off, we put hours into customizing the napkins and cutting out cougar paw confetti for the punch table. We watched each play from every angle of the basement, tracking the audience experience from coat rack to curtain call. And we coordinated the scheduling constraints of more actors than we ever had before—a talented group of ten that added to the mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces at the Cougar’s fifteenth reunion.

And when it clicks, when the work disappears, you get those moments that feel earned and true. Because if you want a night to feel easy, someone has to sweat the details. And if we, the producers, did our job right—you didn’t notice any of the stress. You just had a good time and maybe experienced a few strange feelings about your past.

XV was designed to hit you right there—in the overlap of nostalgia and fiction. The part of your brain that remembers your locker combo but can’t recall a single substantive fact from World Geography. The part that wonders, even just for a second, whether you were meant to make something more of yourself. Or whether, maybe, you did just fine.

It was an absurd and heartfelt night. And like the best reunions, maybe a little bit healing.

So, welcome. We’re glad you’re here. Don’t forget your name tag.

Kasey Waas is a producer, sometimes artist, and popcorn enthusiast originally from Texas and currently based in Chicago.

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