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Coachella 2014

The Great Desert Hunt For Underbutt at Coachella

There was only one trend at Coachella this year: Underbutt.

by Kim Taylor Bennett and Jason MacDonald
17 April 2014, 8:00am


Me after Coachella. Traumatized.

In case you missed the memo: I went to Coachella this year. All kinds of stuff happened! On the first day I broke in backstage, on day two I ate a lot of grilled cheese, and on day three I spent over ten hours looking at ass (a little glimpse of what life is like as a dude, I guess). And yes, I saw a lot of live music too. As the Style Editor it is now time for my annual Coachella Style Special! But look at this year's offerings!

Really? Has your plastic surgeon never seen a real woman? There is no part of the human body that is as perfectly spherical as the orbs inserted under the muscle fibres and stretched skin of this chick's chest. In other news, flower crowns: that's still happening.

I've been going to festivals since 1995. If there's one thing I know how to do and do well it's survive a festival and dress for it. And it's not hard either. Honestly, it shouldn't be your top priority to look good, but that's not to say it's not possible to simultaneously look great and dress practically. A hoodie, for instance is timelessly cool and functional—you can tie it round your waist when it's hot, retreat into it during a sandstorm, and fold it into a pillow when you need a mid-afternoon nap on the grass. It has pockets!

You know what's not practical? A fucking swimsuit. Just a swimsuit. At least she's wearing sneakers, I guess, but unlike say, Benicassim Festival in Spain, there is NO SWIMMING POOL BACKSTAGE AT COACHELLA, and you know there's no hoodie in that teal purse, let alone a pair of pants. Sometimes it gets cold in the desert you know? This is also known as the temperature change when day turns to night. Wanna know something else? Every time she needs to pee she has to get completely naked and hover over stranger's poo in a porta-potty. Bummer. Except I don't feel bad for her because she woke up that morning and decided this was a strong look.

Sorry. Impracticality drives me wild, and not in a good way.

Here's something else I saw: a Bronie. For real? You have a dick and you're dressed like a My Little Pony? And then you thought, "You know what this outfit needs? Some neon plastic bead bracelets." Did you go into your seven-year-old sister's room and help yourself to the treats in that jewelry box with the little spinning ballerina on top? Do your plastic rings light up? I'm happy you found your soulmate because everyone should experience #TrueLove, but can you do us all a favor and use birth control? FOREVER.

So, yeah, I decided to nix a tradtional festival fashion round up because this year Coachella looked like the Land the Style Forgot. And as I mentioned in my day three round up—there was one trend that decimated all other trends: underbutt. I called this article "The Great Hunt For Underbutt" but that's a totally inaccurate heading because hunting suggests some kind of skill, a thrilling pursuit of what is rare. I didn't have to hunt shit: inches, or in some case acres, of underbutt was readily display. Even now, like when you stare at the sun, when I close my eyes all I can see are fleshy globes trying to escape denim. Underbutt is seared into the back of my EYELIDS. I didn't sign up for this. Does VICE's medical insurance cover post-Coachella trauma?

When did this start to be a thing? My mom always tells me that when I'm cold I should wear a scarf because the hypothalamus, which controls the temperature in your body, is found in your nape. Was she wrong all this time? Or has the hypothalamus relocated to everyone's rear end and the only way to stay cool in 100 degree heat is to let your ass flaps catch some breeze? Answers on Twitter, please.

So, much to the amusement of my two friends, I spent most of Sunday running after girls and surreptitiously snapping their tushes. #ASSCHELLA2014! Let's take a look at my findings shall we?

I was surprised by how much hungry derrière there were at Coachella. I'm not even sure my posterior's ever told me it's hungry, but evidently a lot of women out there have an excellent through-line of communication with their rumps because they are feeding their asses at every opportunity.

Frayed denim: this year's rectal delicacy.

This is a perfect example of yes, yes, WTF NO. Your friends have got this locked down, but you on the right, you're scrabbling. Even that tiger on your cheek is like *SMFH.*



Just for a moment I'm going to imagine that I am this chick's rear end. I am upset. There are certain reasons why butt cheeks separate. Some reasons are more pleasurable than others, depending on your stance. We all know what they are—let's not get unnecessarily crass. But for at least 12 sweaty hours of today, I, this chick's ass, am split uncomfortably in two by some bunched up Lycra. Chafing is real and I, this chick's ass, am experiencing it in tent-amplified desert heat. You are a cruel mistress. Good luck with the thrush boo.

Or, imagine two butt cheeks are best buddies. Why would you want to be so cruel as to split them up with a stinky piece of fabric for hours on end? Are you jealous of their friendship? Still smarting from that time your third grade gal pal gave you back that Best Friends Forever broken heart necklace because she traded you for Sally who had She Ra's crystal castle? Why are you so mean-spirited? Ass cheeks are placed next to each other for a reason. When I see perma-wedgies like these two I feel much the same way as when I saw swimsuit girl up top: sometimes you just shouldn't fuck with nature.

What's happening here? A glimpse of just one cheek! Is that supposed to be tantalizing? Are you wearing a burlap fanny pack?!

Nice over the crack handbag placement. That definitely saves this. Stay classy.

Here's another yes, NO, yes situation. (Yeah you saw a close up of the thirsty-ass in black earlier.)

What do we think about this one? Points deducted for the neon and the matching neon splattered sports socks which you clearly painted on yourself (customization is so cool). Points added for the pop of that left cheek, one point for your tan-but-not-too-tan tan. But that's still a bit too much lower-hang, up-cheek lodging to get a solid thumbs up.

Am I old fashioned to think that these girls are getting their short-shorts just right?

Anyway. While I was underbutt hunting with my shitty camera I enlisted my trusty photographer Jason to seek out and snap as much ass as possible.

Turns out our approaches to this task were toally different. I was running around like a deviant ninja, stealthily placing my camera at waist level and click, click, clicking. Jason on the other hand was actually asking girls to bend over. And they obliged! Like duh, of course they did! Why was I laboring under some misapprehension that these people were bashful or modest? They could give a shit! They dressed like this on purpose. THEY WERE BORN FOR THIS MOMENT. #asschella

So to honor his dedication to the cause and to give these ass exhibitionists some space to shine, here's Jason's underbutt extravaganza.



Bonus butts from these bros. Nice co-ordinationg of fannypack and headbands. Gotta give 'em props for commitment and booty tooching that shit out.

Oh :(

Kim loves ass, honestly. She just loves it to be tastefully encased and she's on Twitter - @theKTB


Related:


The Basic Bitches' Guide to Coachella 2014

Brit Abroad: What I'm Learning From My First Coachella

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