FYI to the uninitiated, I attended 1/3 of Governor's Ball this past weekend. FYI to the more deeply uninitiated, Governor's Ball is a music festival that takes place
not on the actual Governor's Island (where buildings are currently imploding) but on Randall's Island, a.k.a. sports mecca of my city kid youth.
True to form, I spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I would wear to Governor's Ball leading up to the event, and perhaps even truer to form, I changed my mind completely at the very last minute.
You see, thanks to some very torrential downpours courtesy of the scuzziest June weather there ever was, Governor's Island was basically transformed into the highly touristy Dalyan Mud Baths that you probably definitely visited if you ever took a family trip to Turkey. Except unlike on
my family trip to Turkey, I could not simply stand on the sidelines and watch as
my dad others zealously descended into the filth. I, too, would have to join the bathers, if only because Azealia Banks lay within.
So I came prepared. Heavy duty rain boots, non-ironic fanny pack, mirrored sunglasses, impractical sundress, and first time festival-goer resolve in tow, I arrived at Governor's Ball on Saturday afternoon. And now, three days later, I am finally prepared to divulge my thoughts on the experience (in list form, because lists do not require transitional phrases, and I'm in no mood for furthermores).
One Third of Governor's Ball 2013 as Told by Harling Ross:1) First of all, the thick rubber lower leg encasement indigenous to waterproof footwear is a fun thing to have around when you're trekking across mile-long footbridges. What's worse than calf sweat, really? Not much.
2)
Thank god for the thick rubber lower leg encasement indigenous to waterproof footwear. When I stepped twelve inches deep into a particular variety of New York mud that smelled less like the earth and more like
another kind of brown substance (if you catch my drift), I could not have been more grateful for the collective social media suggestion to wear rain boots.
3) My friend and fellow mud-dweller went barefoot for Icona Pop. This image of her legs is just a little PSA re: bravery, sacrifice, DIY spa treatments, etc.
4) I have reached a point of acceptance when it comes to my fair-weather festival fashion hypocrisy (recently identified as such by yours truly): on Saturday, I will admit that I was eerily judgmental of those sporting flower crowns, impractical shoes, bras as shirts, and floral rompers. I kept thinking to myself, DUDES, THAT STUFF IS
SO OVER. IT WAS OVER THE MOMENT WE AGREED TO STEP ONTO AN ISLAND MADE OF MUD. I WOULD BE WEARING A HAZMAT SUIT RIGHT NOW IF I HAD ONE.
5) Okay fine my judgment goes deeper than mud (pun very much intended). Music festival fashion has become more saturated with costume-y cliches than a politically correct Christmas pageant. And I'm one of those insecure people who's all like who? me? flower crowns? Even though I was gaga for them
mere months ago. Now that the tides are turning and the backlash will soon be backlashing, I am extremely curious about how festival fashion will change, or if "festival fashion" will even be a perceivable entity for much longer. Boiled down, the coolest dressers in any case are always the ones who look like
just don't care, so I'm predicting an influx of t-shirts, gym shorts, and tennis sneakers--that is until those things become the new version of trying hard.
6) What's trendier: being into music festivals, or being over music festivals? It's hard to say, if only because FOMO muddles the purity of our generation's actual interests. Generally, I find myself either thinking I should like something because I've never done it, or, having done it, inflating its enjoyability either consciously or subconsciously because, well, look how much fun my instagrams made it seem! So, for the sake of honesty and not hiding behind the glory of Lo-fi or Valencia, I will make a confession: I did not
love Governor's Ball. Maybe it was the mud, or maybe it was just Governor's Ball, but
ugh it was not what I had hoped. While standing in the middle of a brown sea, listening to the far-off sound of Kendrick Lamar repeatedly shouting "DRANK," it occurred to me that I would be much, much happier listening to those same "DRANK(S)" on my iPod while lying on my bed, or any mud-free surface, really. That's when I realized that maybe, despite the instagrams and the hyped up hype and the playlists and the facebook statuses, music festivals are not for me. Am I a Gen Y freak? I don't know. I'm just glad I didn't go all the way to Coachella to find out.
7) Lastly, Azealia Banks was definitely
carried across the mud to the stage in some kind of gilded stretcher on the shoulders of topless men, right??
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