It’s entirely unclear when the last pair of raver pants were officially hung up. There are no overly nostalgic movies made about raving’s demise – unlike the romanticized purges of the last days of coke-fueled disco nights. However, it seems a new crop of ravers are being resurrected across urban dwellings. Thanks to the alt gods over at Hispter Runoff, we can definitively say that RAVERS are back, y’all! And they’re wearing beaded accessories their seven year old sister made for them at day care while sipping apple juice and eating goldfish crackers.
We’re not really sure where these new millennial ravers came from – if they evolved from frustrated My Chemical Romance fans or if they are being led by elderly ravers who have been waiting for years to finally peel off those skinny jeans in favor of the beloved and more comfortable raver pant. We also aren’t sure where the line is drawn between fucktard and raver. We do know that fucktards will suit up and go “watch” a DJ spin at a club, whereas ravers will generally dance around an entire room not really caring where the DJ is. Right, I mean, that’s how we did it back then.
More crazy pictures and PLUR after the jump!
Raving started because of the insatiable need of young suburbanites who were bored of wearing flannel shirts and vintage Levis (or AIDS clothes as some of their suburbanite moms might have called them) and fawning over serious boys playing Pearl Jam on their acoustic guitars. The rave scene promised bigger pants, Purim carnival face-paint, and music that came from nothing remotely resembling an instrument. And lots of drugs that weren’t pot. Dancing around a converted warehouse wearing clown makeup and a pacifier was a fine way to spend a Saturday night. But the scene began to taper off somewhere around 1998, when raves became known as “parties” and a merely referring to a party as a “rave” would get your amateur ass thrown back to the dorm, taking bong rips with freshman. Trying to get your friends to go to a “rave” in “‘Frisco” could have set you back years on the social acceptance scale.
Now they seem to have rallied their numbers and are beginning to feed on unsuspecting Chicanos from Simi Valley and installation artists who are need of decent coke in the Xanax flooded streets of LA. You’ve been warned.