Puffcon 2025 Has Evolved Into a Giant Customer Support Center With Live DJs

By Boof du Jour | Live from the Battery Replacement Line, Zone C

We witnessed grown men crying, women speaking in tongues, and Action Bronson trying to exchange 75 Peaks at once.

If you've never seen a man openly weep while cradling a dab rig in 90-degree heat, you’ve never been to Puffcon 2025. What was once billed as a futuristic stoner utopia has now fully transitioned into a glorified vape exchange pop-up — part tech support summit, part Burning Man for broken electronics, and entirely unhinged. Puffco may still be calling it a “community celebration,” but behind the smiling volunteers and incense fog is a customer service operation barely held together with washi tape and beta firmware.

It’s not a sesh. It’s a settlement.

Welcome to Customer Support-palooza

This year’s theme? “Bring the Vibe — and the Receipt.” Every major activation was some version of a product triage center:

• The Peak ER tent had a three-hour wait and a 60% success rate. One guy got back a Puffco that blinked a new color and he just sat down and accepted it.

• “The Journey Zone” was supposed to be a mindfulness dome. It became a holding pen for people who updated their app mid-event and bricked their entire rig.

• There was a Charging Station sponsored by Trauma Counselors of Los Angeles. Free tissues with every USB-C cable.

A guy from Tasmania told us he cashed in 280,000 frequent flyer miles just to hand-deliver his Peak Pro to someone “who might actually fix it.”

“I mailed it in four times,” he told us. “They kept sending back a different one. I swear I’ve met five different serial numbers with the same trauma.”

Celebrity Sightings (and Returns)

Action Bronson arrived at noon with a Pelican case full of busted Puffcos like he was turning in cartel weapons. “I don’t even use these,” he shrugged. “They just send ‘em to me. Every time I try one, it dies mid-dab and I end up smoking hash off a butter knife like it’s 2004. I’m done.”

He traded in 75 units. Got back 3 that actually worked.

“That’s a 4% success rate, baby,” he said. “That’s better than my GPA.”

Quotes from the Damaged and the Dabbing

Molly, 26, Austin:

“I’ve been in this line longer than I was in labor. I just want to do a dab without screaming.”

Trevor, 33, Oakland:

“My Peak’s been blinking magenta since Halloween. I thought it was a new feature.”

Nico, 41, NYC:

“My Puffco died during my marriage proposal. I clicked it three times and it just... never lit. We still got engaged but now there’s this tension.”

The Puffco Experience™

Despite the obvious chaos, the brand doubled down on the aesthetic. There were live DJs, 360-degree immersive art domes, and an interpretive dance called “Firmware Update.” People were stimming with glass tools like glowsticks. Some had duct-taped their Peaks to fans in desperation. A small group attempted a seance to resurrect the soul of a lost atomizer.

The founders? Unbothered. They were allegedly in attendance but mostly vibing in the “Integration Lounge” — a roped-off area with aura photographers, mushroom tea, and absolutely zero tech support staff.

“We believe Puffcon is a shared energetic container,” one employee told us, “not a place to resolve logistical concerns.” Cool. Tell that to the guy throwing his Puffco into the porta-potty yelling, “BLINK THIS, BITCH.”

Conclusion: Blissful Malfunction

Puffcon isn’t about dabbing anymore. It’s about acceptance. About the spiritual awakening that comes when your device fails, and no one is coming to save you. It’s stoicism with a lanyard.

No one got what they came for, but everyone left changed. Enlightened, maybe. Sober, definitely.

Puffco might not work — but their grip on your soul sure does.