Coachella non-goers often ask me if it’s worth the hype. To this, I often reply, “hellzz yeah.”
Three days of dust, dancing, drinking, and dehydration isn’t for everyone however. This year was different than Coachella’s past (the first weekend). It was cold. After packing for extremely warm temperatures (I’ve seen revelers suffer from heat strokes before), I checked the weather, and discovered that it was going to be rainy (day one), and chilly. For this, I was not prepared. Sure, I had time to add warm layers, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. Big mistake. Huge. The things I would’ve done to be wrapped up in a cozy Aztec cardigan, or an oversized utility jacket (with a hood)! Was I at Glastonbury, or was I in Palm Desert?
The kimono that you see me donning was hardly sufficient once the sun went down. I learned this the hard way (I’m convinced that this floral beauty is partially responsible for the gnarly cold I am STILL nursing). Oh, the things one does in the name of fashion. Cold weather, be damned! Nothing was going to stop me from achieving the gypset aesthetic I so desired. Apparently, nothing was going to stop thousands of girls (and women) from sporting teeny, tiny trendy(ish) attire either. I saw everything from underwear-like jorts to Ziggy Stardust inspired unitards. Oy! A vast sea of females desperately trying to be noticed (or photographed). My thought bubble often looked something like this: you’re going to catch pneumonia, or you really want a heart wristband. I must say, I didn’t see much good going on this year. There was a whole lot of bad & ugly however. ☺
My crew, and I didn’t werrkkk the party circuit very ambitiously this time around. We made it to one of the Lacoste shindigs, which was entertaining. I think the boys had a better time than the girls (more eye candy). In my humble opinion, VIP was the hottest spot (will expand on this subject later).
Gifted beach towels, and Patron on ice.
Patron Popcicles. Best. Pool Party. Treat. Ever.
I heart skullz & studs (particularly bejeweled skullz, and stud adorned jorts).
The lovely (and pixie sized) Diane Kruger. You can’t tell, but that’s Pacy (nee, Joshua Jackson) in the left corner. I don’t normally pull paparazzi stunts like so, but she is one of my celeb style icons, and I couldn’t resist. Sorry.
How hot (and haute) is Kat’s neoprene bandeau? Only in dreams…
Cotton Candy. Mmmmmmm (a la Homer Simpson). Clearly, I don’t pass up on party swag… especially the edible kind.
Sharing a Zoolander moment with Patrick.
Gearing up for Guetta (Sahara tent) in the Rose Garden.
Meeting spot #2. The Lion. He looked chilly, so we gave him a sweater.