Las Vegas, the city that once promised anyone could be somebody for a night, is facing a crisis that’s shaking the Strip to its core.

Casino dealers and workers are feeling the pain as tourism dips, leaving empty tables and quiet streets where crowds once buzzed with energy. Social media is flooded with complaints—“Las Vegas is dead,” “Nobody comes here, it’s too expensive,” “Resort and parking fees are outrageous”—and local experts confirm that the city’s lifeblood is thinning fast.

The iconic lights and fountains still shine, but today, something is off; the mammoth crowds have disappeared, and the magic is fading. For decades, Vegas thrived on cheap buffets, $5 blackjack, free drinks, and free parking, offering a place where a truck driver, a teacher, and a tech executive could sit side by side and feel like equals.

That dream is cracking in 2025, as casino executives speak openly about a new business model: higher prices, stricter doors, and fewer seats for the people who built the Strip.

Caesars Entertainment’s CEO Tom Reed admitted they were “kicking out the lowest end,” and MGM’s Bill Hornbuckle echoed the shift toward targeting wealthier “quality customers.” The result is fewer gamblers, fewer dealers, and fewer tables open. The city built on volume is now chasing exclusivity, but the cost is proving steep.

Layoffs ripple through the workforce, and the city that once thrived by catering to everyone now feels like a ghost town, especially on weekdays. Resort fees have climbed more than 11% this year, averaging over $55 a night, even at budget hotels like Excalibur and Luxor, which also charge $20 to $25 for parking. What used to be a cheap weekend getaway now costs thousands before the fun even starts, and the math no longer adds up. In 1999, a billboard advertised a $4.99 steak dinner; in 2025, that same corner sells $30 cocktails.

Experts say the decline is driven by economic concerns, tariffs, and a deliberate shift by casinos to cater to the elite. Visitor volume fell 11% in June, with 1.5 million fewer tourists in the first half of the year alone. The Strip isn’t empty by accident—it’s empty by design, and the numbers tell a painful story.

Bartenders make half the tips they used to, dealers shuffle cards for empty tables, and cab drivers wait longer for fares. The middle—the foundation of Vegas—has been lost, and local diners, gift shops, and ticket sellers are fading away. Strip occupancy has dropped, with weekday rooms sitting half-empty, and insiders whisper about a volume crash.

Even the city’s crown jewel casinos report cooling demand from their elite guests, and the leisure and hospitality industry faces one of the highest unemployment rates in the country. Meanwhile, smaller towns like Laughlin and Mesquite are thriving as they welcome the low-end gamblers Vegas turned away, and online gambling is exploding, offering better odds and no resort fees. Vegas tried to price out the “riffraff,” but instead pushed them toward competitors that treat everyone like a guest.

The irony is brutal: in trying to reinvent itself as a luxury playground, Vegas cut out the very soul that kept it alive—the showgirls, slot players, bus tours, and retirees chasing luck. The city’s reinvention is constant, but the current strategy is backfiring. Resorts World dropped resort fees and brought back free parking, and rooms filled up, showing that crowds will return if the welcome feels real. Convention attendance rose, and the Sphere became a global landmark, but weekdays remain quiet.

Economists warn the decline could worsen into 2026, especially as international travel drops. Some say the Vegas hate is exaggerated for clicks, but the numbers don’t lie. Vegas wasn’t built by billionaires; it was built by everyone. The city needs gamblers, not just shoppers and diners, and the energy of 100,000 middle-class dreamers can’t be replaced by a few thousand wealthy elites.

The lesson is clear: you can’t outsmart math, and when the middle class disappears, even the rich lose the crowd that made them feel rich. Vegas ran on dreams, but now it risks running on emptiness. If the city can rediscover its soul, maybe it can avoid becoming a luxury ghost town.