Nudity & Raves: The American Monster (NSFW)

Girls with nipple tassels and G-strings rub against every inch of your body. They’re sweaty, perspiring from a vigorous repetition of the same movement. Their asses have eaten their shorts, but you’d barely call it an entrée. Thuds echo through your mind as a whirlpool of human skin envelops you. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Euphoria emanates from the pores of all those in your vision, lust and love intertwined like a snake coiled around a chalice. There’s grinding, and grinding, and grinding and grinding. Beads of sweat drop from the barely covered bodies of women, as ecstasy tablets tumble down their parched throats. Clothes are scarce, and dignity confiscated by security at the door. You’re at a really loud orgy, but people here in America call it a rave.

I live in the land down under, which is a half-decent euphemism for Australia. I’ve become immune to ass cheeks hanging out of denim shorts and cleavage waving at me from across the way. Summer – or festival season – means girls show every little sliver of skin their Supré savings can grant them, and the blokes do the same. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this. It’s an inherent trait in a hot climate, and when done with a bit of class, it’s just another facet of everyday life. There’s certainly no right way to show the greater public what you had for breakfast, but there’s a hefty medium between showing a bit (lot) of skin and parading the pork loins down Grand Boulevard. 90% of the Australian public knows where to draw the line, and only that ambitious 10% choose to cross it. Not American’s though; American’s have gone and done what they always do. Americans have proudly trumped the rest of the world; That’s right ladies and gentleman, Americans have stopped wearing clothes to raves.

Go through any recent photo album of a prominent American rave and you’ll notice that a solid portion of the girls are naked. They may have a blob of paint covering their nipples and a tiny G-string hiding their vagina from the creepy dudes trying to give them rohypnol laced Vodka Red Bulls, but it’s no more than you or I or any other free-balling sleeper wears to bed. As I sit here and struggle to find the correlation between dance music and not wearing any clothes, I’ve decided my own morals draw the line at nipple tassels and painted on bras. I’m as heterosexual as the next heterosexual guy, but I just don’t understand why American raves look like amateur porn star conventions. Plenty of females in the US apparently do though, and the rest of the world is starting to take notice of this soft-core erotica.

The strangest thing about this X-rated evolution of rave culture is just how far the apple has fallen from the tree. In the early 90’s, raver attire adopted an asexual vibe, which was fist pumped all the way into the new millennium. It was baggy jeans and flannelette shirts, and the only curves in view were the ones you cut on the dance floor. But then, like anything America gets its grubby little mitts on, the traditional cult following was stripped bare and rebuilt from the ground up. Commercialisation was the sole priority as the elevator skyrocketed to the top floor, only stopping for people with enough confidence to bare all in a park full of strangers. Soon enough, lingerie parties and pajama raves started to pop up, and more and more of America’s impressionable youth began to associate rave music with public nudity. I guess they didn’t know any better.

Now gaining recognition as the prosti-tot trend, young girls are continuing to objectify themselves on a global scale. They’re lusting for positive reinforcement and doing anything they can to get it, the repetitive music that’s playing in the background all but forgotten. They’re filling internationally viewed photo albums with their naked bodies, and they’re only caring about the return currency of Facebook and Instagram likes.

And there in lies the problem.

Image fuels the American dance community. The focus on music has dissipated quicker than the clumps of speed in punters stomachs, and the quest to stand out and look cool has became the focal point of this electro nightmare. The trends have become as terrible as the term EDM, and in one foul swoop the good old US of A have proven they will happily take proverbial shits all over a time honoured tradition. All these young girls want is positive reinforcement from their peers, and they’re doing it in the worst way possible. They spend the weeks before festivals lacing thongs with diamantes and finding the sparkliest titty paint money can buy, rather than researching the artists and pretending they care. The promoters do the same, but with fireworks and dancers, but who can blame them for catering to their demographic?

Still don’t know how far down the shitter the USA’s rave scene has floated? Watch some footage of the original Woodstock and compare that to the glittery gang bang that is Electric Daisy Carnival.

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Read more from Sammy Attwood here.