I know. I know. I know. This is not gonna be a popular post. As the pictures of everyone’s tickets start getting posted, and excitement of my girlfriends planning their outfits builds, I have to be frank: I am not going to Coachella, and I am so friggin’ happy about it.
Do I love music? Yes. Do I think the lineup looks incredible? Duh. But, I know what I like, and I know what I’ve pretended I’ve liked in the past… and nothing about wandering through fields of young people experimenting with recreational drugs is appealing to me.
I don’t like having dirty feet.
I don’t have nearly enough clothes with tassels or feathers.
I don’t wanna walk for miles to find the stage I’m looking for.
I don’t wanna stand in line to drink beer out of a plastic cup.
I don’t wanna try to see the stage from 500m back.
I don’t wanna question the parenting of people who have brought their children.
I don’t wanna say “oh, honey” to a crop-top clad teenaged girl puking behind a tree.
I don’t wanna watch people pretend they know who Alison Wonderland, Squarepusher or Cashmere Cat are.
I don’t wanna witness drunk men peeing in public… or worse… drunk women peeing in public.
But, worse than all of that, I hate being hungover. Even in a best-case-scenario scenario where I was staying in a beautiful house with running water, snacks and someone to cuddle until it’s time for a mimosa. I don’t know if I could bear another day of the above.
Yeah, I’m a bit high maintenance – I’ve come to terms with it.
But truly, I wish you all the closest possible spot to the stage, the best flower crown you can get your hands on, and that you don’t run out of Wet Wipes.
Kisses, S x
