Like many in the California festival scene I have a well developed festival persona. My persona is an authentic representation of my real self, but playfully exaggerated and broadcast in technicolor. My fabulous sparkly outfits are designed to garner attention and entice nice strangers to compliment me. I’m not stingy with sharing accolades and I send compliments right back, building relationships based on mutual admiration. In fact my festival M.O. is pretty much the exchange of validation between myself and other attention seekers.

When I went to Rainbow Serpent in Australia this year, the vibe was quite different. Everyone was friendly and kind, but there wasn’t the same ​gratuitous​ exchange of compliments. As I pranced about in my purple fur crop top jacket and matching lycra tights no one said a word about what I was wearing. When I hinted that I had recently been to a festival in a far-flung corner of the world ​for work, no one asked me what my job was. None of the tactics I used to receive validation at other festivals worked; they simply fell flat. This was the first time in my travels I had experienced such a laid back vibe in the context of a festival. Even the famously humble Shambhalovies of Canada’s Shambhala humored me in my fishing for compliments. And while the Canadians didn’t seem to require validation they way I did, they didn’t withhold the accolades I craved. Not so at Rainbow. The Aussies genuinely wanted to be my friend – they just weren’t buying my persona or my preoccupation with status.

Attendees at Rainbow Serpent don't take things too seriously and know how to have fun, which is a huge reason why the festival keeps growing. As one of the country's oldest events of its kind, it's now in its 19th year, and has grown to 16,000 punters. As the fest has grown, it's managed to maintain a reputation for an excellent vibe, akin to its peer, Shambhala in Canada. The set up is similar to alternative gatherings on the North American West Coast with vendors, camping, large art, and a lifestyle village with workshops and yoga. There were multiple themed stages showcasing an eclectic mix of dance music headliners like Opiou and Pretty Lights , and house heroes like Monkey Safari and Australia’s Uone Jack . They also had a collection of theme camps with a distinctly burner vibe. Even the dusty landscape reminded me of parched California.

Photo by: Francesco Vicenzi

Because of these features, in many ways, Rainbow felt like home. The creative doof sticks that Aussies used as a landmark for their friends were the same as the totems and rage sticks popular in North America. The costuming reminded me of an English fancy dress party with an emphasis on silly. In fact, I was quite surprised at how expressive their costuming was for a community so not preoccupied with praise. This included some master gender-bending from a culture which I assumed to adhere to a rigid idea of masculinity.

Photo by: Francesco Vicenzi

Something I appreciated most was Rainbow’s commitment to honoring Aboriginal culture — its name even comes from an Aboriginal Dreamtime story of the serpent who started the world. The festival’s opening ceremony was led by aboriginal dancers and elders who encouraged us to raise our arms and yell “woo-woo” instead of clapping (as if to say, “Good show, old chap”). Late one night on the Cocoon Stage away from the heavy thump of electronic music I came across a duo of Aboriginal folk singers. They told a story of growing up in poverty such that they had to reuse their tea bags. The joyful women turned this experience into a rousing and lively song, “I like my tea how I like my men, strong, black and two of ‘em.” It was so raw and full of life that it stayed with me more than any performance over the weekend. As I cuddled up in my unicorn onesie and listened, I felt even more humbled and grounded during this celebration of native culture, which was such a departure from the more typical vibe of rampant escapism that some festivals perpetuate.

Photo by: Francesco Vicenzi

Even discussing the success of the festival with its producers was a lesson in humility. Tim Harvey, the Marketing & Communications Director graciously accepted my compliments but insisted that Earth Frequency was another festival that I should really check out. In fact, the production team generally keeps their festival badges discreetly in their pockets rather than proudly displaying them around their necks.

Photo by: Francesco Vicenzi

The festival environments of my homeland involve a wealth of creativity, but also a whole heap of ego. When I was in Australia raving in the outback, I wanted to impress my hosts with tales of overseas adventures. The result was universally the same. They loved me, but they were disinterested in my persona. This was particularly frustrating when trying to woo a woman by talking about myself; she was simply unimpressed. “We’re all the same here. You’re no better than me and I’m no better than you. We’re all here to party and we all love each other.” The experience was educational. Perhaps the best way to woo Australian woman – or really any woman – was not to talk about myself? Over the course of the weekend amidst mounting experiences like these, I eventually had to abandon the practice of selling myself entirely and simply be present with my new friends.

Photo by: Francesco Vicenzi

Rainbow Serpent is often categorized as a “transformational festival,” a term used to categorize intentional gatherings from Symbiosis Gathering in California, Boom Festival in Portugal and Envision Festival in Costa Rica. Setting aside any issues with the term (it's really more proscriptive than descriptive) I find immersive art and music festivals to be helpful for personal growth. I enter with ideas about myself and the world around me that are challenged. There is sometimes a full catharsis and release such that by the end of the experience I’ve learned something meaningful. 

Photo by: Francesco Vicenzi

So it was with Rainbow Serpent, only not simply thanks to its immersive environment or programming. At Rainbow, it was the community that held a mirror up and allowed me to see myself in a new way. Not being able to rely on a projection of status in the festival world mellowed me out and helped me to become more aware of the insecurities existing beneath my bravado. By the end of the festival I felt like I had a new family of Australian friends who didn’t care what I did for a living or what I wore – they cared about me. I’ll still project my adventures through social media and enjoy exchanging loving validation. However, after festivaling as myself, without the aid of my festival persona, I feel much less attached to that persona I've spent years perfecting. Australians taught me that I don’t need to broadcast an ideal, exaggerated self to make new friends and still feel fabulous – and that’s pretty transformational.