As an international student from Vietnam, I’ve been exploring how American cities foster community and connect people to their urban environments.
In Reno, one of the places that caught my attention most was Circus Circus, a bright, chaotic casino in the heart of downtown.
Initially, it seemed like just another flashy tourist attraction, full of lights, games, and the sound of slot machines.
However, the more time I spent in the city, the more I realized how central this place is to the daily life of Reno. It’s not just a casino it serves as a place where University of Nevada, Reno (UNR) students park and where families come for affordable entertainment. It even temporarily housed students during the pandemic.
Despite these many community roles, Circus Circus remains a business built around consumption, and this contradiction between commerce and community made me rethink what “community space” means in a city like Reno.
As someone still learning to navigate the Biggest Little City, thinking in-depth about this Circus Circus raised unexpected questions for me about accessibility, belonging, and what kinds of spaces serve the people who live in a city.
Growing up in Ho Chi Minh City, I was used to a downtown that was always in motion with busy sidewalks filled with street vendors, families sitting on plastic stools at informal cafés, and motorbikes weaving through narrow streets.
My home city felt alive and communal, where public and commercial life blended naturally. People didn’t need formal invitations to gather; the city made space for connection in the everyday.
In contrast, when I first arrived in Reno, my experience of downtown felt surprisingly quiet and compartmentalized. The parks were for leisure, the casinos for entertainment, and the sidewalks for passing through.
Visiting Circus Circus added another layer of complexity. Inside, it was full of energy and movement, which reminded me a bit of home, but it also made me question the kind of community it created.
Was it a place where people connected, or where people consumed? This contrast made me reflect on how different cities create different rhythms of life and how those rhythms shape people’s experiences of connection, belonging, and what it means to “be in the city.”
One thing that stood out to me about Circus Circus is that it felt isolated from the rest of Reno. Although it is a major tourist destination, the surrounding public spaces seemed disconnected from the broader urban environment. The sidewalks, plazas, and public areas near Circus Circus often serve the commercial needs of the casino rather than the people who live or visit the city.
As I spent more time in the area, I began to see that Circus Circus, though designed as a space for entertainment, actually did become a part of Reno’s everyday life. UNR students park there, families walk through for cheap entertainment, and during the pandemic, it housed students when campus housing was unavailable. While Circus Circus serves a business purpose, it also serves a community function, which challenged my ideas about how cities create spaces for connection.
When I first walked into Circus Circus, I was struck by the overwhelming size and intensity of the place. Unlike the informal and spontaneous entertainment culture I was used to in Ho Chi Minh City, where street performers or small family-run cafés with live music are common, Circus Circus was a towering building filled with arcade games, flashing lights, and the constant noise of slot machines.
Everything was designed to keep people engaged and spending, moving from one attraction to the next. The energy inside was relentless, and it felt like a small city within the city one where the pace and purpose were driven entirely by consumption.
The arcade upstairs was noisy and packed with children and families, offering more playful escapism, while the casino floor was quiet, with older adults hunched over the slot machines.
Even the live circus performances, though impressive, were short-lived and didn’t interrupt the constant din of the casino. What struck me the most was the lack of spaces to slow down. I couldn’t find outdoor seating areas, green spaces, and no quiet areas to simply hang out. It made me realize that while Circus Circus provides excitement, it doesn’t offer much space for community or connection unless you’re there to spend money.
Right next to Circus Circus, there’s a small public space, a modest area with benches, trees, and open space, serving as a transition zone between the casino and the rest of downtown.
It’s a place where people can pause and rest without the pressure to spend money. However, this space feels underutilized, lacking community-oriented features like interactive art or seating designed for social connection.
To become a meaningful part of Reno’s public landscape, this space could be better integrated into the neighborhood and reimagined with thoughtful design. The surrounding area, however, is dominated by large parking lots and buildings with minimal green space, contributing to the urban heat island effect and a lack of nature in an otherwise built-up area.
This stark contrast to the lush parks I grew up with in Vietnam made me realize that Circus Circus caters more to tourists and gamblers, with little for the local community outside the casino environment. Safety can also be an issue, especially at night. Improving lighting, adding green spaces, and providing better security would go a long way in making the area more welcoming and inclusive for everyone.
Spending time at Circus Circus helped me realize that in a city like Reno, there aren’t many truly public gathering spaces.
Here, casinos and other businesses have taken on the role of de facto community spaces. These places are open, lively, and full of people, but they are designed around making money, which limits how inclusive or welcoming they truly are.
Circus Circus may seem welcoming with its performances, open walkways, and constant flow of people, but at the end of the day, it’s a business, one that caters to people who can afford to spend money.
In places like Ho Chi Minh City, streets feel shared, and people can sit, gather, or sell food without needing permission or a purchase. In Reno, however, these kinds of spaces often feel inaccessible unless you’re ready to spend money. Whether it’s the lack of green space, the absence of seating that isn’t tied to a restaurant, or the overall design that prioritizes tourists over locals, it’s clear that when businesses take on the role of community spaces, the community itself can feel excluded.
As I continue my journey in the U.S., my experiences at Circus Circus have helped me rethink what it means to be part of a community.
In Ho Chi Minh City, public spaces are vibrant and fluid, offering people from all walks of life the opportunity to connect freely and spontaneously.
In contrast, Circus Circus, while bustling and lively, is primarily driven by commercial interests, and that limits its potential as a genuine community space.
For downtown Reno to become a more community-centered space, places like Circus Circus must offer more than just entertainment or places to consume. They need to open up to local residents, offering spaces for connection that are not tied to profit. Perhaps more green spaces, cultural events, and areas dedicated to community gathering could make Circus Circus and the downtown area more inclusive and reflective of the diverse people who live and work in Reno.
Public spaces should be more than physical locations; they should be places where people from all backgrounds can gather, connect, and contribute to the evolving identity of a city.
Contribution by Brian Vo in collaboration with a COM 210 class at UNR with Amy Pason
