I’m not immune to criticism. Sure, it takes a firm grip of self-awareness to share your writing on the internet. But one crack of insecurity and words like “basic” can momentarily seep through and infect everything you’ve spent years building. It’s undeniable that women are more heavily scrutinized in the digital sphere. I can’t even write a review on something I loved without beginning with a long-winded disclaimer. So, with that in mind, here goes nothing…
I never thought I’d attend Coachella.
A seasoned festival veteran, I had qualms about partaking in an event that seemingly championed everything I don’t stand for. Or, at least try not to in a futile effort to feel woke. I learned about the owner’s anti-LGBT agenda and felt waves of intense guilt. I was scared of waking up to my photo beside a Cocker Spaniel’s, both wearing flower crowns captioned, “Who wore it better?”—the kind of trepidation only found in 2018’s viral dystopia.
Coachella is also no cheap trip. And I’m a cheap bitch. I think as a half-Jew, I’m allowed to blame that, right? ~Shalom!~
Regardless, I still had this itch I couldn’t scratch that could only be relieved by finding out for myself what all the fuss was about. Glittery celeb status aside, there was something enticing about attending a festival where, for once, I could embrace my love of fashion without being mocked by my hippie friends (and stay in an Airbnb, making it a more practical endeavor), see big name acts that I love, drench myself in California sunshine, etc. So when one of my best friends, who now lives in Orange County, hit our 25-person WhatsApp with the news that she was going and laid the offer on the table for any brave East Coasters, I figured the least I could do was check the flight prices—some quick due diligence to justifiably decline immediately when I’m slapped with $600+ airfare.
Much to my surprise, I stumbled upon a $220 round-trip flight, nonstop both ways from PHL to LAX. I shed my skin of doubt and prepared for Weekend 2 in scorching Indio. I actually cried on the phone to my friend when I hit “book.” I guess I wanted to go more than I realized.
And goddamnit, I am so glad I did. This trip was everything I needed and more.
Outfits
I had months to plan my Coachella looks. But I am fiercely loyal to those I love, including myself; so as a procrastinator in the purest form, to actually prepare would have been betrayal! See, I can rationalize anything.
With the exception of a psychedelic, disco queen coordinate set from Zara, I didn’t have a single look pinned down until the night before my *6 AM* flight. But when it was all said and done, I can say I wholeheartedly loved all my outfits. Accessory-wise, I wore chunky gold hoops, layers of gold necklaces, bracelets, and rings, and purple-tinted octagon sunglasses with a different cross-body for each day.
Day 1
I paired a DARE t-shirt I had thrifted last year with a layered tulle maxi skirt from Forever 21. I bought this skirt with the intention of wearing something that didn’t quite match for an offbeat look. Badass ballerina meets Penny Lane? On it.
Day 2
Coachella is a fashion show in its own right, which calls for an all black look. I paired an off-the-shoulder crop from Forever 21 with loose, cropped black pants from UNIQLO. To give this look some edge, I wore sheer socks with a black grid pattern (also UNIQLO) that peeked out from an old pair of Michael Kors leather Chelsea boots.
Day 3
The last day, which was also my favorite day, called for serious go-with-the-flow level adaptability. We were slated for 100°+ temperatures, so I saved the outfit I planned on wearing the first day for the last knowing it showed the most skin. I paired a trippy Zara coordinate set with platform sandals. No phrase rung truer than, “you get what you pay for,” as these $20 bad boys both broke within minutes of stepping onto the festival grounds. I spent 6 PM to 4 AM barefoot, filthy, and dancing without a care in the world. Much like Jeep drivers give each other a head nod in passing, so do barefoot Coachella attendees. I am now locked into a secret tribe of shoeless festival goers.
Experience
From home friends, to undergrad friends, to grad school friends, to random roommates, our group was connected in every which way. I entered a gorgeous, 11-person Airbnb as a stranger to many. I left as a member of a new family. It’s true that the people you travel with make the experience, and this wonderful group of humans left me wondering, “ok, what’s next!?”
We stayed ~4 miles from the festival grounds in a pretty Indio development. This town is a peculiar kind of no man’s land. It took a journey each day to reach civilization for coffee. Luckily, driving and parking at the festival was no problem, so we avoided outrageous Uber prices and packed all 11 of us into Young’s Honda CRV each day. #legal
The Coachella grounds are every bit as visually stimulating as Instagram photos paint them. Palm trees that light up at night, art installations that you can walk through, string light-adorned beer gardens… it felt like a little slice of paradise, and I was fully enchanted with every step. The dry, desert air made hot temperatures and strong UV indexes, dare I say, enjoyable. It does get intolerably colder at night, so if you plan on attending, be sure to buy a locker in advance (they sell out) to store a jacket for evening.
As for acts, I caught at least part of a solid bunch. Among my favorites were:
- Rezz
- Portugal. The Man
- Barclay Crenshaw
- Miguel
As much as I’d LOVE to list Beyonce, her performance felt more like a Super Bowl halftime show. When you’re too far in the back to see or understand the theatrical components, you spend a lot of it wishing there was more fluidity and simplicity so you could just sing along. Still adore Bey and respect every ounce of expertise that went into that extraordinary show.
Coachella was a stellar time. It’s not some shiny, plastic, selfie stick meetup. It’s a real festival with real people and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. If it’s on your bucket list, make it happen, baby! There will always be some miserable dude with a keyboard to make you feel bad, but you might not always have the opportunity to get off your rocker beneath an illuminated Ferris wheel in a California desert during a Destiny’s Child reboot.
