It’s been just about a month since I attended my first Coachella, and when people ask me how it was, I say it was life-changing. The thing is, though, I’m not joking. Lives were changed (mine especially), tears were shed, and I keep coming back to that feeling when whoever’s performing leaves the stage (supposedly for the last time), but then thousands anxiously await an encore. Except this time, I’m awaiting an encore that is still not coming.
What prompted me to write this article in the first place is the fact that I’m still thinking about this weekend, pretty much every day. With the month-anniversary of weekend one coming up, I feel more than a bit dramatic. But then I question: Why do I think that’s a bad thing?
Is it because we live in an age where you can’t be stuck on one thing for too long, because there’s always a newer, better thing? Is that because of our fast-paced, high-consumerism-based market and society? Or maybe too many people love Coachella and it’s so mainstream that me liking the festival makes me unoriginal and thus “uncool?” You did, after all, click on this article, so does that make you unoriginal too? I could analyze why people love to hate Coachella-lovers, but that’s not what this article is about. Rather, it’s about why, when I went home for Easter and told my mom that Coachella changed my life, it proceeded to become a recurring joke (sure, the Brussels sprouts were good, but were they life-changing?). The thing is, though, I’m not just processing Coachella. Rather, I’m processing Coachella as it relates to me and what it made me realize about myself, which, funnily enough, was quite a lot. And, I stick by my initial assertion: Coachella was life-changing, and I’m going to tell you why.
Looking back through my camera roll, I feel like Alice falling into the looking glass and being transported into a whimsical reality. I can’t believe Post Malone threw his drink into my section of the crowd, that Bernie Sanders introduced Clairo, and Charli XCX brought out the official brat avengers (Troye Sivan, Billie Eilish, and my personal favorite, Lorde). My photos, many blurry and unpostable, capture some sense of the chaotic joy I felt, but nothing can do it justice. Because even as virality shifts from subject to subject, as people move on with their lives and stop posting in front of that infamous rainbow tower (I did it too), I’m still pondering where Coachella left me when the final performance ended, when I boarded the final shuttle home, and when I cut the wristband off my wrist — reeling, re-evaluating, and processing.
I’d like to acknowledge that Coachella has been an idea in my head for as long as I can remember. I grew up in Redondo Beach (a beach suburb of the Los Angeles area) and had always heard the stories of the festival, seen my favorite influencers post about it, and generally had a sense that, where Coachella was, hazy happiness (and crazy drama) reigned supreme. Notably, Coachella felt like an idea to me — conceptual, theoretical, and unlikely to exist in my future. Why? I just never thought I would go. But then I saw Lady Gaga, Charli XCX, Clairo, and JENNIE all on the same poster, my high-school best friend called me, said this was our year, and I more or less knew: I was going to Coachella.
Whenever people who go to Coachella talk about it, it’s almost like they’re in a trance. One of my closest friends told me before going that it was like “another world” and she couldn’t describe it unless I’d experienced it. Another told me that as soon as I went once, I’d want to go every year (I laughed at this). And yet, both friends were right. I was so happy, content, and utterly burdenless. My only job at Coachella was to walk around in fun outfits, listen to music, and hang out with my friends. Academics didn’t exist, work didn’t matter, and general thoughts about anything remotely scary or stressful disappeared, to be dealt with the Monday after driving back from Indio. And yes, I left the festival feeling like I need to return annually.
If someone had told me I thought this before the festival, I wouldn’t have believed it. As the weekend that lived so long in my imagination inched closer, I was woefully underprepared; I had only scavenged two semi-respectable outfits, owned no functional portable chargers, and my planning consisted of a notes app of artists I had to see come hell or high water (included in the list were headliners, the Marías, Djo, Clairo, Japanese Breakfast, Zedd, JENNIE, Mau P, beabadoobee, and a few others).
Importantly, I didn’t want to have high expectations, because with high expectations, disappointment was bound to follow. Growing up and hearing stories, I had equated Coachella to a magical dreamscape and I never wanted to have a personal reality taint that image — and yet there I was, ready to pull the curtain back.
The curtain reveal didn’t disappoint, but not for the reasons you may think. My experience wasn’t an exposé; it wasn’t a ‘gotcha’ moment calling out the hype as being too high to match the festival’s worth. Instead, I argue, there’s a reason the myth of Coachella still lives on, even past its 2012 flower crown era and with influencers crowding the progressively more dead grass. And that’s because, even as some go for the “wrong” reasons (which is a judgment I don’t like to make), there are still so many who appreciate that the festival is more than just a photo opportunity.
Trust me, I took my photos, but I also felt so immersed in the moment and connected with my friends and the music when, before my eyes, Lady Gaga transitioned from “Abracadabra” to “Judas” and delivered one of the most stunning performances I’d ever seen. Something shifted in me hearing the Marías live, hearing beabadoobee serenade the crowd with “Beaches” and then telling us we had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen, and as I physically felt the energy shift as Clairo brought out her band Shelly to perform “Steeeam”. And those moments, intermixed with the frolicking through the DoLab and the amazing pistachio and prosciutto sandwich I bought twice (trust me it was amazing), made Coachella more than just a festival — it made it an experience with more highs than I ever thought possible and the anticipated lows being overcome by the sheer, unadulterated joy of simply being there. Coachella satisfied the high I’ve been chasing because it truly offered an escape when every other moment of my life is constantly plagued by tasks and expectations.
After this festival, I realized even more the value I place on live music. There’s something so special about seeing a performer in front of you, performing their art that is both vulnerable, raw, and utterly addictive. You can hear their breaths, see their sweat, and at the same time as you transcend with the crescendo of their songs, see that they, just like you, are human. And I think that’s really beautiful. It reminds me of the Phoebe Bridgers’ song “ICU”, where she writes “If you’re a work of art / I’m standing too close / I can see the brush strokes,” except in this case, Coachella let me see the brush strokes and it made me love my favorite artists even more. And what is love for art if not appreciating its flaws, its beauties, its depths, and everything in between? So yes, Coachella was life-changing. It was a gleaming, brilliant success and has sparked a rather concerning desire to spend all of my money on festivals, concerts, and live performances from here on out — and yes, I will be returning, ready to be thinking about it for another year, for as long as I can.
