It is a warm night in Broome and the pub is packed with locals and tourists, clutching cold drinks in the palm-tree-lined beer garden.
Music is pumping and there is adrenaline in the air.
The crowd is mesmerised by half a dozen women dancing seductively on stage, plucking at wet white T-shirts while beaming men tip jugs of water over their gyrating bodies.
As the heat finishes, the emcee — a wise-cracking woman with a microphone — gets the geed-up crowd to vote for their favourite woman.
"One of these women is going home $750 richer, so this cheer is important … hands together if you're cheering for lady number one!"
The crowd erupts.
"Or are you cheering for lady number two?"
The cheers are even more deafening. A skinny blonde man in a singlet excitedly belts a palm tree, while his mates whoop up towards the starry sky.
One by one the women are eliminated until a tall, dark-haired European backpacker is confirmed the winner.
The wet T-shirt contest is finished for another week. Dance music cranks up and the bar is engulfed with thirsty revellers.
"Wow. This is full-on," a 20-year-old woman from Perth says in wonderment.
"I had no idea this kind of thing was allowed."
The wet T-shirt contest is actually the most popular weekly event in Broome and attracts as many women as men.
Fun times or a sexist relic?
It is a response many southerners have when they visit the weekly T-shirt contests still held in Broome, Darwin, and Cairns.
At a time when small bars and boutique whiskey dens dominate city nightlife, the big raunchy stage shows can feel like a throwback to another era.
And as attitudes change around the objectification of women, some find it an uncomfortable experience.
Many local women feel conflicted; is it all just a bit of fun, or is this sort of contest a sexist relic?
And what does it say about regional Australia that the events are so enduringly popular?
An American import
Wet T-shirt contests originated in the United States in the 1970s.
Over the decades, they've attracted controversy as social mores evolved but the format did not.
In 1983 an Atlanta law firm auditioned female interns for employment by asking them to participate in a wet T-shirt competition at its annual picnic. The case fuelled demands to address institutional sexism in the legal sector.
By the 1990s, such contests were most common at debaucherous 'spring break' celebrations in places like Miami and Mexico.
In 1997 one group of students started celebrations early, holding a drunken wet competition onboard an aeroplane. The two male pilots were disciplined after an FAA investigation found they'd allowed the scantily clad women into the cockpit.
Contests started popping up in northern Australia in the 1980s and early 90s, but their number has declined in recent years.
These days competitions are held on Thursday nights in Broome and Darwin, and Sunday afternoons in Cairns.
'It's not just about hotness'
One local woman, who doesn't want to be identified, says she had mixed feelings when she moved from Sydney to Broome and first heard about the event.
"I was a bit reluctant, but it was actually more of a fun, community event than I expected," she said.
"I ended up going a few times, and it did vary a bit depending on who was on stage and the crowd.
"But overall it had a bit of humour and a sense of irony to it, and a pretty non-judgemental atmosphere."
Scott, who asked for his real name not to be used, lives in Broome and attends regularly with friends.
"People might say it's derogatory for the women, but they're choosing to go in it, and it pays good money — no-one is being forced," he says.
"And you're voting for the person that's having the most fun and showing a bit of personality, so it's not just about hotness."
What does the research say?
Pia Rowe researches gender equality for the 50/50 by 2030 Foundation at the University of Canberra.
Dr Rowe says the question of whether wet T-shirt contests are exploitative or empowering for the women participating is a complex one.
"On the one hand, you can say if it's legal and it's not hurting anyone else, then people should be allowed to do whatever the heck they want with their own body," she says.
"But I don't think anyone would go as far as to call the experience empowering.
"When you're up on stage it might feel like you have power over yourself and perhaps even power over other people if they're ogling you and you're feeling on top of the world.
"But does that translate into meaningful power in other parts of your life? I would argue it does not."
No need to act 'morally superior'
It makes sense that the contests are held in locations with warm weather, lots of backpackers, and high rates of alcohol consumption.
Dr Rowe disputes the suggestion it reflects "backwards" attitudes to women in regional areas.
"Australia has traditionally had a more masculine culture, and we know cultural change can be slow, and doesn't happen simultaneously around the country," she says.
"But I'm wary of drawing a line between urban and rural here.
"A couple of years ago we did a national study on Australians' attitudes to gender equality, and it showed that often rural areas held a lot more progressive views than urban areas."
She says there's a risk of people in southern cities acting "morally superior" without considering the context of northern towns, with their different lifestyles, demographics, and more limited entertainment options.
'Wet jock comp' is a thing
An interesting social experiment played out in September when one of the venues held a wet jock contest for men.
In a rare reversal of the gender pay gap, the prize money for the winning victorious man was $500 — a third less than what the winning woman received.
Katherine Bernzen, 24, was among the crowd.
The German national, who has lived in Darwin and Broome for several years, says there was a noticeable difference in the events.
"They were both fun, but the noise from the crowd was definitely different," she says.
"When the women were on stage it felt a bit more serious … more whistling and hooting.
"But when the men were dancing, it was just so funny, I started crying with laughter … the whole thing seemed more like a comedy act."
What is to come?
According to writer Jenny Kutner, wet T-shirt contests are on the decline in the United States.
"What was once an embodiment of spring break debauchery almost seems quaint in a post-Kim Kardashian sex tape era of social media exhibitionism … like a relic from another, more cheerfully politically incorrect era," she wrote in 2016.
"As a result the wet T-shirt contest is becoming increasingly unpopular."
But the big crowds at the weekly events in northern Australia suggest they have a long and profitable future.
The stage shows are regulated via adult entertainment licences handed out by state and territory governments, which outline in blush-worthy detail the degree of bodily exposure permitted.
In Broome, the 132-year-old Roebuck Bay Hotel has been up for sale for the first time in decades, prompting speculation the Thursday night wet T-shirt ritual could be shut down.
But Western Australian licensing authorities have confirmed the permit can be transferred to the new owners.
The biggest threat appears to be the explosion of smart-phone photography and social media, which means participants can be haunted by their actions like never before.
The venues protect their privacy with a strict ban on photography, but at least one Australian woman — a teacher at a private religious school — lost her job after word got around of her onstage performance.
"I think it is like a rite of passage for some people," reflects regular attendee Katherine Bernzen.
"Young people are always going to want to have fun, even if it's not everyone else's idea of fun."
