It’s easy to make friends when you wear pasties at EDC. I would know. I did it over the weekend.
I didn’t plan for this to happen. When I
I barfed and went home early on my first night at EDC. I’d
And then there were the outfits — or rather, lack thereof. Girls were wearing panties and bras and thongs like it was the most normal thing in the world. Of course, it was over 100 degrees outside, and I sure as hell am no Mormon. But still, I was shocked. One girl wore a unitard made entirely of (thin) black duct tape. Others seemed to have given up on clothes
“Holy fuck,” I thought to myself as I dragged my heat-addled (and fully-clothed) body through the crowd. “These girls are one step away from being naked and yet, they don’t seem to give a fuck.” I just didn’t get it. Why, other than the heat, were so many women dressed so skimpily? I thought the point of going to a festival was to listen to music and dance, not show off your body and get hit on or stared at.
Granted, not all women are feminists or as sensitive to catcalling and the male gaze as I am, but still, what was up with this? Why were so many females willing to objectify themselves and strip for strangers? What were they getting out of this? What was I missing?
As luck would have it, one of my assignments fell through and I needed to come up with another story. I did some brainstorming and hashed out a few
Shopping for rave gear is both a titillating and challenging experience. Parts of your body that have never seen the light of day are suddenly exposed and you forget that furry legwarmers are a fashion abomination. You question your ability to squeeze into a size medium pair of booty shorts and wonder why there’s nothing bigger than a size large available.
And then you have to choose your pasties. You realize that your identity as a rave girl hinges on the stickers you choose. Will you be that girl with the daisies on her boobs or the neon green alien faces? Or perhaps you’re more partial to feline nipples or glaring yellow happy faces?
It was a tough decision, but in the end, I decided to be a stoner girl, opting for glittery marijuana leaf pasties, green booty shorts, a weed-printed bandana, and a watermelon-flavored ring pop. Fully dressed, with my black Doc Martens boots on my feet, I looked like Poison Ivy’s slutty, rebellious second cousin.
There was only one problem: I lacked the telltale EDM accessory of
Turns out that, in order to receive the bracelet from the other person, you have to go through a three-step handshake of sorts, sealed at the end by a
The moment I left the hotel, I got my first comment. “It looks like the Emerald City,” a blonde, 40-year-old man said, looking at my ass. I smiled and gave a curt nod. Catcalling and comments (be they complimentary or otherwise) are part of the reason why I’m against salacious dressing. People tend to think your outfit is an invitation to be talked to. But I had to be prepared for this, I reasoned. I’m practically begging for it.
After our two-hour crawl of a drive to the Las Vegas Motor Speedway, we finally made it to EDC. For the first time that night, I was around similarly dressed people. Granted, there weren’t as many women wearing pasties as I’d expected — I counted only a dozen the entire night — but already, I felt more comfortable. Was it just me, or were people, men especially, avoiding staring at my chest? Here I was, essentially walking around without a shirt or pants on, yet nobody seemed to blink an eye.
I’ve always felt safer and more comfortable in warm weather and tonight, I realized, was no exception. I was wearing the least amount of clothing that I’d ever worn in public, and I was OK with it. I felt safe and more than a little accepted. In passing, people would call out things like, “I like your pasties!” and “Those are cool!” Girls would come up to me and cheer me on, telling me that I looked “beautiful,” and others asked if they could take pictures with me or give me a hug. I was given four
It was as if people were responding not to me, or my outfit, but to the fact that I had the cojones to wear the outfit in the first place. No one jostled me or cornered me or made me feel uncomfortable or propositioned in any way. Perhaps this was because there was a confluence of similarly dressed women all over the place (and a major shortage of T-shirts at the event). Because I was one of many, I didn’t stand out in the same way that I would in a real life context. Not to mention, a good percentage of the people I encountered were probably tripping on feel-good drugs of some sort that negated the reality of “super-aggressive males,” as one partygoer explained to me. Ogling and hassling were simply not PLUR things to do. Being a creep didn’t fall into the context of EDC behavior and, surprisingly, everyone seemed to have gotten the memo.
But although I felt secure, if not a little popular, I still didn’t understand why so many women had jumped on the almost
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And indeed, it wasn’t. Most women I asked said they wore pasties (or thongs) because it made them feel good about themselves. Christina, a girl wearing cat
It was then that I realized that there were two sorts of girls who showed off their bodies: ones who did it for themselves and ones who did it for others. But in the end, it all came down to the same thing. By wearing revealing outfits to EDC, these women were experiencing firsthand the wonders and glories of PLUR. In an environment where peace, love, unity and respect dominate, why not embrace your body, show it off and feel comfortable in your own skin? If you’re shy or self-conscious, wearing pasties can help you overcome these hurdles. “It’s like, ‘This is
I’m pretty sure that this will be the only time in my life that I wear pasties. I’m not going to start showing more skin or hemming my skirts. But I do have more tolerance when it comes to female exhibitionism. I realized that in judging women for their outfit choices, I had been harsh and anything but feminist on my first day at EDC. Women should be able to wear whatever they want to, regardless of the influence or opinions of others. Of course, they should be smart about it, too, and realize the risks involved in doing so — but still, it’s their prerogative.
It’s our choice as women to do what we want with our bodies. And by the end of the night, it was my choice as a woman to put my shirt back on. (And not share any photos of my outfit. Sometimes, what happens at EDC Vegas stays at EDC Vegas.)