The temperature is rising and crop tops are becoming shorter. Jean shorts aren’t allowed unless there’s an American flag sewn to the front and if you’re wearing a sundress longer than your mid-thigh, you’re clearly dressed for winter. Shirtless men, short shorts and body paint flood your peripherals and, right as you think you’ve had enough, you realize there are still two whole days left to endure.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen: It’s festival season. Not to be confused with the anti-commercialism celebration Festivus, festival season is the time of year when millions of people trek to the desert, state parks, large fields or any other open space that’s cleared for similar brouhaha to stand in the sun for three days straight and try not to die from heatstroke and $8 slices of pizza.

However, as unavoidable as festival season may be, I’ve compiled a list of reasons why I will never willingly attend a three-day-long sweat-fest in the desert, no matter who’s performing.

1. I will never have that kind of money.

I have a crappy part-time job in the sense that I slave away folding jeans for eight bucks an hour and am lucky if I work more than 10 hours a week. On that kind of money, spending more than $5 on a rum and diet makes me cringe. My social life has already taken a hit from this lack of work, and whenever I try to save for something, another event comes along and knocks my savings right back into my checking account. I can say with absolute certainty I will never have $300 to toss in any direction for a weekend of debauchery (this is also why I will probably never have a cliché weekend in Vegas).

2. I hate the heat.

Adding to the list of reasons why I’m probably adopted: I’m the only hot-blooded person in my family. If it’s hotter than 75 degrees and I’m not at Tourmaline Beach trying to tan my glow-in-the-dark skin, I’m probably pissed. I could not imagine trying to survive three days in the Indio (or some similar locale) sun, no matter how many desert-themed tents they’ve set up to provide shade. After a few hours at Vans Warped Tour a couple of years ago, I was done with it. And that was right off the Ventura coast. I get crabby, I get annoyed and I get sleepy: three things that make for an unpleasant experience, no matter what the surroundings are.

3. Cleanliness is next to happiness.

Now don’t get me wrong; I eat, sleep and breathe the music I love (more specifically, Coldplay). I love a good concert, I do. I feel music in a way a lot of people might not understand, and seeing some of my favorite artists live would be great. But I don’t camp. Ever. I might consider this new trend glamping, but even that’s pushing it. I need a bed with a nice down comforter, cozy jammies and a few fluffy pillows to even consider going to sleep. But even before I get to the sleeping part, a hot shower is absolutely a requirement. The thought of sweating profusely for that amount of time and not being able to take a shower makes me nauseous. I don’t do bugs, I don’t do tents and I don’t do air mattresses. So if I’m going to attempt any of these festivals a hotel room is essential, which most likely is not going to happen (see reason number one).

4. I’m not a hipster.

Sorry I don’t own a maxi skirt and my face is too round for aviators. Sorry I need more ankle support than a gladiator sandal can provide and my head is too big for a fedora. I can’t dress like a hipster, so I obviously won’t fit in with the crowd. If my ever-present need to fit in as a normal member of society continues and if I can’t fit in with the crowd at Coachella, then what is the point of my existence? I do believe, however, that with practice and hard work, I too can pull off the nonchalant, carefree ways of the modern hipster. But for now, I like my mainstream clothing just fine. Even though crop tops will never be a staple in my wardrobe and I don’t love America enough to adorn a flag on my shorts, I will say I dress super cute … just not cute enough for the festival scene.

While summer festivalgoers alike are either recovering or gearing up for weekends of fun, I find solace in knowing I don’t have an impending heatstroke-related death in my future. I take comfort in knowing a great night’s sleep in my own comfortable bed will be happening every night. And, most importantly, I know that the only time I’ll be spending in a desert surrounded by hipsters will be in my nightmares.

— Hayley Rafner is a media studies junior.