Calling Bullshit On Coachella
I think Coachella is a music festival. I think songs are played to large audiences. I think people check schedules to find out when their favorite bands are playing and say things like, “I can’t wait to see Radiohead or Band of Horses or Crystal Stilts….” I think all of this actually does happen.
But I don’t really know because I’ve never been. My friends have though and when they return, they talk more about what drugs they took, the oppressive heat, The Ace Hotel’s swimming pool, or sneaking into the annual Jeremy Scott party at the Frank Sinatra house than they do about the actual music. This has led me to believe that Coachella is the music festival for people who don’t really care about music. Rich girls from Los Angeles who have heard a song by Fleet Foxes can pack their bags and make the easy drive to Palm Springs doing their best hippie imitation because apparently, some people are into the idea of Coachella acting as our Woodstock. This week, photos from the festival are bound to pop up on my Facebook newsfeed in which hot pristine blonde babes (Favorite band: The Fray) will be posing in headbands and floral hippie dresses. Maybe they’ll even be inexplicably blowing bubbles while laying in the grass. Other photos will include them showing off their body in swimsuits (“It was just so hot…”) and smoking weed in public. It’s like for three days they transform themselves into flower children. Everyone sort of does, and I’m OBSESSED with it. It makes me wonder what the hell Coachella actually is. It goes way beyond being a music festival. It’s a fucking lifestyle.
And don’t even get me started on the celebrities. I live for a Lindsay Lohan Coachella candid. From an outsider’s point of view, it appears that Lindsay is like, totally obsessed with the festival. The day it ends, I’m sure she becomes inconsolable and begins thrashing her body around wildly. “Coachella can’t be over….it’s never over!” Her friends will then have to give her a sedative, carry her to the BMW, put a sun bonnet over her head, and drive her back to the cold harsh reality otherwise known as her life in Los Anj. Last year, my friend tried to take a picture of her wasted at an afterparty, and Lindsay caught her, covered my friend’s lens and said, “ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED?” before storming off. (#dark)
Other celebrities that <3 Coachella are Mischa Barton, Paris Hilton, and Hilary Duff. I mean, what?! First of all, Mischa Barton doesn't even know where she is. Her frenemies probably prank called her while she was in a coke daze and told her to drive to Indio. They told her while stifling their laughter, "They're throwing a party in your honor! Isn't that amazing? Come quick!" Meanwhile, Paris Hilton will show up to the opening of envelope, and Hilary Duff is...Hilary Duff. If I ever went to Coachella, I would have to find a way to get a V.I.P. pass because those tents must house so much absurd drama.
Oh, and the tweets. Just stop. Checking in at COACHELLA. Checking in at The Ace Hotel & Swim Club! Samples: “Coachella is so insane right now. Fuck Coachella.” or “Love Coachella with my gurlz.” or “Coachella hangover. Coachella drunk. Slept through Coachella.” Aggghhh! Maybe it’s me just being a bitter Betty at my computer in 50 degree weather while my friends are LOLing it up in the desert, but there’s something about live tweeting Coachella that’s so annoying. I can’t.
My friend once asked me if I would ever go to Coachella. I told her, “I guess. But I wouldn’t kid myself. Instead of buying tickets, I would just stay with my friends in a house in Palm Desert, get drunk, go swimming, and go to the afterparties. That’s what everyone ends up doing anyway. And they have to spend hundreds of dollars first because they’re in denial about it.”
Obviously I would go if I loved a band on the bill but seeing someone perform at a festival usually sucks. Too many people, too far away, too expensive.
You should follow Thought Catalog on Twitter here.
A | A | A
3. You’ve searched Etsy or eBay for a cute and inexpensive fez.
This is the first part of a book that I am writing for Thought Catalog. This is a fiction book about young people in New York City. A lot of it is not fiction, and not made up, because I am not sure if I am very good at making things up.
The sad truth is that even if we were to invest all of our time and resources into making ourselves look like somebody else, most of us would not succeed in complying with the ridiculously unattainable beauty standard created by the media.
Don’t pay any attention to what they write about you. Just measure it in inches.