When I was in grade school, my dad thought it would be funny to pack me woodchips for a snack.
I'd be lying if I said I understood exactly what was going through his mind when he opened up the little plastic baggie and opted for garden mulch over Gardettos, but then again, when have I ever understood my parents?
Anyhow, little me, after
digging under the monkey bars for dinosaur bones a rigorous game of kickball with the cool kids, spent the better part of that day's recess gnawing on what I'd convinced myself were some version of those bland cookies my mom always dipped in coffee (biscotti - unless coated in white chocolate and sprinkles - is not child's fare).
The point of this devastatingly pathetic anecdote is to say that I imagine my sentiments upon realizing that I had been heartlessly duped were something akin to how spectators at Coachella feel every day when finding out that the "hippies" meandering through the festival's unkempt grass are more often than not hyper-conscious fashion afficianados who've researched their ensembles down to the most hippilicious pinkie ring.
Kind of takes the fun out of not showering.
Case in point: Even though we're not at Coachella, I think the true meaning of style can actually be better found outside the grounds of this strangely false phenomenon.
|Wearing: shirt, button-up, skirt: Urban Outfitters, purse: vintage Coach, boots: Nine West|
Take Kat here, a poli-sci and comm. major whose super cool outfit is an example of her real aesthetic flair - not some over-zealous imitation of an ideal.
The fact that she considers this "keeping it very simple" is a testament to just how instinctive her fashion sense must be.
Does anybody else feel like Coachella is disturbingly fake? Or is it sort of like a good-natured hippie-themed Halloween?