Time and time again I’ve typed the words ‘there for the music’ when describing the ultimate crowd at a summer festival. Completely disinterested in cutting the toilet line or throwing punches at the back of the main tent, the primary objective of the music-motivated crowd is making it in time for their favorite act on the bill. But something is changing. As Aus gears up to welcome another summer festival season come November, youths all over the country are purchasing protein powder and popping bicep curls in anticipation of the biggest festive flesh-baring extravaganza since Sexpo 2012. Yep, it’s time to whip off those low sided singlets and slap on a General Pants snapback, the festival poser apocalypse is almost upon us.

Way back in 2000, Kylie set pulses racing when she donned ‘those’ gold hot pants, only to be usurped over the following decade by Christina’s Aguilera’s Dirrty, Diplo’s ‘Express Yourself’ video and now, Miley Cyrus’s twerking. Horrifyingly, it now appears our girl Kylie was keeping it classy with only a 30% cheek reveal and a succession of well executed camera angles, a luxury not afforded to the average babe from the Sydney burbs. On the flipside, the only males seen to be publicly taking their shirts off anywhere besides the beach, the pool or the gym were those involved in those grainy nineties basement raves, similar to the dude in the background of " target="_blank">THIS. Bless.

So what the hell happened? When did festivals become less about the music and more about muscle definition? When did people start thinking butt clapping was more important than the Chemical Brothers? Furthermore, when did it become the general consensus that any of this actually looks any good?

Let’s examine.

Late last summer I was at a festival with a (male) friend of mine when I casually commented on the amount of bum cheek that was waving to us as we lined up for an overpriced tin of cider. The reaction I received back was the following, and I quote ‘those shorts should be worn by Victoria’s Secret models and female beach volleyball players. Exclusively.’ Point taken. As we strolled around the ‘festie’ we were greeted by the standard slew of stereotype fulfilling attendees; swarms of little orange women, people who never got that note the day fluro died, and the one guy down the front who’s still trapped on a trip from 04’. Men in clothing two sizes too small were plentiful, congregating in groups, sipping disproportionally small looking cans of Redbull and glistening like a fresh Woolies roast chook in the afternoon sun. The amount of skin on show from both sexes verged on ballistic, with almost every nipple, belly button and poorly executed tribal tat winking at me by the time 7pm rolled around.

This article isn’t about shaming, but let’s get something straight. Ladies, your bum is not the Cookie Monster and it does not need to be fed. It would be constructive to consider that by wearing a pair of shorts that look like your crack is about to gobble up the material around it at any second, we might be DESTROYING a male fantasy instead of encouraging one? I cant even bare to look at my own cellulite in the mirror let alone be subjected to a full frontal view of someone else’s wobbling about to the rhythm of a Hot Creations banger. And boys, as much as the display of a perfectly sculpted six-pack can be undeniably sexy, think Mark Walberg in Calvin Klein or Channing Tatum at any time for the last decade, wrapping it in a pastel ‘vintage’ V neck and thrusting it about to the sounds of ‘Bangerang’ is completely uncalled for. And bumbags on men? When next donning one, please look in the mirror, think objectively for twenty seconds and let me know what you come back with. I’m honestly fascinated.

Perhaps in my old age (24,) I’ve already lost touch with the today’s youth and what is considered ‘cool.’ Perhaps I have, in fact, become my mum. But as far as I can tell, most women’s orange and slightly gelatinous milkshake does not bring all the boys to yard, if anything it makes said boys bypass the yard and straight to the local for a stiff, consolatory drink. That said, men are not guiltless in this affair.

‘Did you see his roid-induced back acne?’

‘Oh em gee, that was so hot’

Said no woman. Ever.

Feeling empowered about your physicality is nothing to be ashamed of, but in the interest of public sanity, it might be time to step back en mass and put it away this summer. In conclusion team, let’s save it for Sexpo.