If you're thinking I want to revel in how cool I am since I spent the weekend with all of my besties in fringed hippie wear in the desert sweating out alcohol to the beat of techno dj's then you're definitely wrong.
I do want to tell you, however, that Coachella helped me realize I'm old. 22 and old.
They always say the older you get the younger "the youth" looks (as in, every time you drive past a high school you wonder why they've let preschool aged hobbits run around campus...) but I never truly realized I was a cranky old lady until this weekend.
I spent a good forty percent of my internal thought process (though it was a thought process slightly inhibited by dehydration and a generous supply of vodka) wondering how in the hell fourteen year old girls got out of the house in rave wear and decided to twirl their unable-to-see-an-R-rated-movie butts around Coachella on psychedelics.
Of course I expected to rub elbows with those on the extreme party train, but something about seeing high school freshmen in such a state had me spending half of my time wondering whether I should get them a bottle of water or a better set of parents.
Aside from this tumultuous mental preoccupation I also had a spanking good time and enjoyed myself enough to come home with a raging cold and a minimal tan despite valiant efforts (I had more important endeavors to tackle than acquiring tan lines... like mispronouncing band names, spending hundreds of dollars on frozen foods and wondering which pair of sandals would make me want to cut my feet off the least on the walk home).
I, figured, since you saw me spend enough time talking about what I wanted to wear to Coachella in this post, that I might give you a glimpse of what actually happened.
Day 1, Or "The First Day Jessica Wore A Hat."
I was nervous about this deal:
But I soon realized I was with some dude in a golf visor so I couldn't go wrong:
Day 2, Or "Fupa Inducing Denim Jorts Hit The Town."
These bad boys were a creation that long existed in my head and finally manifested the morning of Coachella as I distressed my denim on the balcony of our villa.
I had started a post on the process of how to distress denim but alas I'm a failed blogger and got more concerned with crushing the mint for my cocktail than continuing to document all of the steps.
Essentially what happened is this: I went to Salvation Army in Santa Monica; bought ugly, baggy, 80's men's jeans; cut them to my preferred length; had my tailor take them in at the waist (I need a sewing machine and the ability to do this myself... baby steps towards domesticity); cut horizontal slits; used tweezers to pull out the blue threads (which run vertically in denim, whereas white threads run horizontally); and went out looking like this. You can only see one of the distressed areas but you can use your imagination.
I was also excited about this shawl from Crossroads.
Because, of course, I felt like Stevie.
I don't have anything life altering to say about this except that Planet Blue's Precious Hands handbags are the perfect Coachella accessory. I also thought you might like the teal short shorts to my right. Contrary to what you're thinking they're not actually stolen from my closet.
Did you make it to Coachella this year and live to tell about it? Tell me about your escapades in a comment...
Day 1: Hat- Urban Outfitters; Glasses- H&M; Leotard- American Apparel; Skirt & Bag- Forever 21; Belt- Vintage.
Day 2: Shawl- Vintage (Crossroads); Sunglasses- Forever 21; Top- Thrifted; Jean Shorts- Thrifted/reconstructed; Purse- Vintage
Day 3: Tank- I forgot, but a longer top I cut into a crop top so I could be extra slutty; Skirt- American Apparel; Purse- Planet Blue; Belt- same as above