What Your Favourite Music Festival Says About Your Personality
This is highly scientific, of course.
As the mercury rises, music festival lovers are spoilt for choice: whatever genre you’re into, Australia has the perfect festival for you.
Of course, only the incredibly wealthy (or connected) can hit up more than two or three max, meaning that you probably have to make some tough decisions. Field Day or FOMO? Laneway or Golden Plains? And so on.
Generally speaking, everyone has an old faithful: a festival they could pretty much buy a ticket to year-in, year-out regardless of line-up and have a cracker of a time. But what does that say about you, you ask? We’re so glad you asked.
We here at Music Junkee have concocted a highly scientific and incredibly concise way to work out you’re exact personality, based off your favourite music festival.
And not just surface level — but who you are at your very core: we are revealing truths here, carving away at your icy exterior.
We’ve picked 17 festivals from around the country: if none of these are your favourite, you remain unknowable. Congrats! And now, we begin.
You just love the culture of the festival. It’s so vibrant. So freeing. Here, you can be anything. You forgot to put on deodorant, but does it matter? Does anything matter, except the music?
You’re considering getting a tattoo of Tracy Chapman on your wrist, but you’re waiting for the perfect moment in life to do it — also you need to find somewhere that has vegan ink.
In the face of a good night out, you have no consideration for your body or self. You’re prone to benders, and will regularly say things like ‘Oi, do you dare me to drink this 2 litre bottle of custard???’ to whoever is present, even if you’re halfway through a pleasant conversation.
One time, you fell asleep to an essential Mac DeMarco playlist: you dreamt of a carefree world where bucket hats and RM Williams grow from the ground, of enchanted forests filled with springs of Frosé. You awoke with a single tear sliding down your cheek upon realising perfection does not exist.
You toss and turn attempting to hijack your subconscious back to this realm: your phone keeps you awake, dinging incessantly as the several dates you planned for that night message you. You respond to none: you are too sad. Only Mac understands.
Honestly, you just want to have a good time! It’s been a massive quarter/semester. You have a tendency to put on Daft Punk’s ‘Get Lucky’ at parties, and when you are inevitably questioned, you scream ‘it still slaps!!’ and do your trademark move, a kind of ‘Thriller’-esque shuffle across the floor, except you often fall over.
You definitely have way too much disposable income. You also spent at least $500 on your festival outfits, but forgot a sleeping bag for the tent.
Wandering alone in the city, you stumble upon a small bar you’ve never seen before. Venturing inside, you ask the bartender if it’s new: they say it’s been there for five years. You laugh to yourself: you do have a tendency to not notice things that are right in front of you! The bartender is confused — you have been laughing for ten seconds.
You confuse their perplexed expression for romantic interest: you won’t look past what’s in front of you this time. You stay for three hours and read a book in the bar, trying to start a conversation about contemporary American literature.
When conversation runs dry, you talk about moving to Hobart to seriously work on your art. Just for like six months or so.
Sure, you’d get lonely, you admit, but isn’t that what all true artists need? Pain? Sometimes, on a Sunday night before you start work, you look up rental properties across the Tasman: it’s not as cheap as you think. Maybe next year.
You pride yourself on being much cooler than most of your friends. And you are, congrats! But you could really stand to make it less obvious how much you know it. It’s not very cool.
Once upon, your bedroom was covered in band posters and lyrics. You kept memorabilia from every concert you went to, from ticket stubs to beer-drenched confetti you picked up from the sticky floor — it’s been a good few years since you were a teen, but you still keep the shoebox each time you move. You know it’s all trash (quite literally, some of it is trash), but it’s hard to let go.
At the pub, you argue with friends about which Tool or Korn album has the best production, and why exactly nu-metal was a musical peak never to be reached again.
Groovin’ The Moo
Your favourite catchphrase is ‘Let’s boogie’, followed by ‘Get amongst it.’ You consistently try to organise road trips with friends but you can’t drive.
Hot Dub Wine Machine
Man, remember the ’90s? Well, not really: you were born in 1996, but still. Remember them? The Spice Girls. Chokers. Kurt Cobain. Daria. The ’90s.
Sometimes you wonder if you were born into the wrong generation, and one day leave the house without your iPhone, just to see what it would have been like. Without Google Maps, you get lost on the way to the café you visit twice weekly.
Fake-woke dudes in Brunswick out here like
😉😩 before I gaslight you 💡🤪🤞🏻 id like to acknowledge 🙏🏻👱🏼♂️ the traditional owners 🏞🏞🏞 of the land 🏝😉
— Jsztein (@JSZTN) October 1, 2018
You yell at new friends what house their rising star sign is in over a dance-floor at 3am. People are extremely into your bullshit: you secretly just check co-star religiously and regurgitate what it said.
You have recently discovered Frozen Yoghurt. It’s wonderful! You are so pumped for all your friends to visit you in Canberra for the festival: you’re going to show them all the amazing stuff there is here, like the Braddon food trucks.
Sure, you haven’t made a heap of friends yet, but you got the grad job and that’s super great for your career. You try to visit back home when you can.
Splendour In The Grass
You’re obsessed with cutting ‘toxic’ people out of your life, which actually just means people you don’t really like. You are also attempting to become an influencer but don’t want anyone to know until it actually happens, seemingly organically, so you hide from friends the hours upon hours of editing you do to each photo and flat lay. It is slowly destroying you.
(Sorry. Any excuse to share this video, really.)
Feature photo: Splendour in the Grass — Jack Toohey/inthemix