Emma Carmichael is a great writer. The Gathering of the Juggalos is among the most absurd events on earth. With that, I present this:
The Gathering of the Juggalos is not called the Gathering of the Juggalos and also the Juggalettes for a reason. It is not just predominantly male; it is teeming with males. The men are desperate for Faygo (a Detroit soda brand and the Juggalos’ nonalcoholic beverage of choice), Jell-O shots, and cheap cans of beer; they are desperate for Gathering Girlfriends for a four-day tent romance; they are desperate to assert that they only like vaginas (“No homo!” was almost as consistent a call as the ubiquitous “Woop woop!” that Juggalos use to communicate joy, agreement, camaraderie, hellos, goodbyes, or nothing at all); most of all, though, the men are desperate for titties.
But titties must be brokered. …
For the most part, the supply meets the Juggalos’ demands, and most are not overly particular about what’s on display. If the public display of titties is inherently offensive to you, then there is no hope for you at the Gathering. But there is also a very basic egalitarianism to the practice there. The Juggalos do not care if the boobs are lopsided or saggy or small or fake; they only care that they are there.
GOTJ 2011 from Deadspin on Vimeo.
Links:
Dropping In On The Demented Utopia Of The Gathering Of The Juggalos
F-cking Magnets, How DO They Work?