The 2026 FIFA World Cup, hosted across the United States, Mexico, and Canada in what FIFA president Gianni Infantino has called "the greatest event in human history," has become the most expensive in the tournament's history — and, for many, the least accessible. Prices for tickets have soared far beyond original pledges, with the cheapest standard final ticket reaching US$5,785 and the most expensive seats topping US$10,990, against a maximum price of US$1,550 that host nations promised in their original bid. One front-row seat reportedly sold for US$32,000. Even US President Donald Trump, on hearing the figures, remarked that "I wouldn't pay it either."

Prices rose across 90 of the tournament's 104 matches. FIFA operates its own official secondary resale market, taking a 15% fee from both buyer and seller on every transaction — meaning the organisation profits whether tickets are sold on the primary or secondary market. FIFA denies using "dynamic pricing," preferring the term "variable pricing," but from a consumer standpoint the effect is the same: prices shift, almost always upward, with no obligation to disclose price ranges before fans join online queuing systems, sometimes waiting hours without knowing what they would be charged. Politicians in New York and New Jersey launched formal investigations into whether FIFA's ticketing practices were even lawful, with New Jersey's Attorney General describing the system as "a maze of confusion, artificial scarcity, and horrendous prices."

In response to criticism, FIFA introduced a US$60 "Supporter Entry Tier" for every match, including the final. However, these discounted seats represent only around 3.3% of the roughly 3.9 million tickets available — a few hundred seats in stadiums holding up to 80,000 — and critics say the measure does little beyond managing public relations. Infantino defended the pricing model by arguing that cheaper tickets would have fuelled black-market resales, and that revenues flow back to FIFA's 211 member associations, including smaller federations such as Curaçao and New Zealand that depend heavily on FIFA funding. Then, just days before the opening match, FIFA quietly slashed prices across all 104 games and returned 70% of its block-booked hotel rooms amid reports of 176,000 to 180,000 unsold tickets — a last-minute reversal widely seen as an attempt to avoid the spectacle of empty stands.

The pricing crisis intersects with broader barriers to attendance. The US is hosting 78 of the 104 matches, yet travel bans and visa restrictions under the Trump administration have barred or heavily restricted fans from more than a quarter of the 48 competing nations. Four competing countries — Haiti, Iran, Ivory Coast, and Senegal — face outright travel bans affecting fans, though not players. Fans from Algeria, Cape Verde, and Tunisia were not granted exemptions from a requirement to deposit up to US$15,000 before obtaining a US visa. An April 2026 report by the American Hotel and Lodging Association found that 80% of hotels in the eleven US host cities were under their forecast bookings, with the industry body describing the tournament as a "non-event." Canadian and Mexican host cities, by contrast, are outpacing US counterparts in hotel reservations.

The consequences extend well beyond inconvenience. FIFA had projected the tournament would attract more than five million fans across the three countries and generate US$40 billion in revenue. Those figures now look optimistic. UEFA, football's European governing body, has already drawn a pointed contrast by capping ticket prices for Euro 2028, with nearly half of all tickets priced under £60. Some football supporter groups have filed a complaint with the European Commission over FIFA's practices. For a tournament Infantino insists is "the most inclusive in history," the combination of record prices, restricted access, and unsold seats has prompted a sharper question: inclusive for whom?