There’s this thing that happens every April. The desert shifts. Time becomes a suggestion. Sequins become currency. And the world turns its eyes toward a stretch of sun-bleached land in Indio, Calif., where suddenly nothing else matters.
Yes, I’m talking about the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival. Or, as I like to call it — the closest our generation will ever get to a modern myth.
If you’ve ever seen a photo of a glitter-smeared 20-something-year-old standing on one leg in front of the Ferris wheel at golden hour and felt some strange emotion crawl into your chest — equal parts “fear of missing out” and philosophical yearning — you already know what I mean. Coachella is not just a music festival. It’s the mood, a mirage, a hyper-curated hallucination of what life could be if we all just stopped pretending to care about deadlines and remembered how to dance.
How we got here: The timeline nobody asked for but kind of needed
Here’s your quick, chaotic Coachella history recap, because understanding the past makes the flower crowns and flash mobs hit harder.
1999: Coachella debuts. Blink-182 is thriving. The Y2K bug is looming. It’s hot, dry, “under-attended” and loses a bunch of money. Legend status: pending.
2000s: It’s cool in a niche way, like your older cousin who only listens to vinyl and won’t shut up about The Smiths. Tickets were $75. Ugh.
2010s: The Great Explosion. This is when Coachella got big, boasting features including but not limited to: Beyoncé. Drake kissing Madonna. Lana Del Rey floating through a fog of flower crowns. Suddenly, it’s not just a festival: It’s the festival. Instagram influencers begin migrating en masse.
2020: The pandemic hits: festival canceled, global existential crisis ensued.
2022–2024: Coachella rises from the ashes like a bedazzled phoenix. Attendance skyrockets, artists go all out, fashion grows feral. The lore deepens.
2025: Us. Right now. The precipice of something absolutely unhinged and beautiful.
Who goes there (and who we become when we do)
Let's be real: Coachella attendees are a different species. Still, that doesn't stop them from being authentically themselves; through their unabashed behavior, they actually do what we're too afraid to do. They're a little unhinged, a little too online and just absolutely desperate to feel alive.
You’ve got:
- The Fashion Archivist: Plans their outfits six months in advance. Their looks tell a story, and that story is always vaguely apocalyptic.
- The Guy Who's Really Into the Music: He’s been camped at the barricade since 9 a.m. for a band you’ve never heard of. He’s also kind of hot?
- The Spiritual Awakening Girl: Crystals. No shoes. Fully convinced she can see sound waves. Might be right.
- The TikTok Reporter: Ring light. Portable charger. Filming everything. You might be in her vlog.
And then there’s us — me, maybe you — tuning into live streams, scrolling through blurry reposts, hearts aching just a little because deep down I believe we all want to exist inside that dusty dreamscape for 72 hours of euphoric unreality.
Welcome to the land of lore
Coachella has its own folklore, its own whispered legends passed down like ancient campfire stories.
The Hologram Tupac Incident (2012): “What if Tupac was alive?” No. But also, What if?
Beychella (2018): Beyoncé didn’t just headline. She colonized the desert, built a pyramid, wore Nefertiti-inspired outfits and rehearsed for eight months. Real ones cried.
Frank Ocean (2023): Emotional rollercoaster. The set was cut short, earned mixed reviews and there were rumors he almost bailed. But hey, he showed up. In the Frank Ocean world, that’s practically a miracle.
Harry Styles in a sequined jumpsuit. Billie Eilish whisper-singing into the wind. Doja Cat arriving on stage via alien egg. There’s no pattern, only vibes.
Coachella isn’t about perfection: It’s about mythmaking. The memory you misremember on purpose. That one set you swear changed your life. Whether it did or not? Doesn’t matter.
Coachella 2025
Coachella is set to electrify the Empire Polo Club in Indio, Calif. over two weekends: April 11–13 and April 18–20, 2025. The lineup boasts an eclectic mix of artists, ensuring a diverse musical experience for attendees.
Confirmed Headliners:
- Lady Gaga: Returning to the Coachella stage, Gaga is anticipated to deliver a high-energy performance, definitely featuring tracks from her new album “MAYHEM.”
- Green Day: Making their Coachella headlining debut, the iconic punk rock band is expected to showcase classics alongside new material from their latest album.
- Post Malone: Fresh off his cowboy-themed Stagecoach Festival performance, Post is set to blend country, pop and hip-hop influences in his set.
- Travis Scott: After previous cancellations, Travis Scott is slated to headline, promising a performance that marks a "new chapter" in his career.
Speculations and Anticipations
While the lineup is impressive, Coachella is renowned for its surprise guest appearances and unexpected collaborations. Fans are abuzz with speculation about potential on-stage partnerships and unannounced performances. Could we witness a surprise duet between Lady Gaga and another pop icon? Could there be an unexpected reunion or a debut of new music from a legendary artist? The possibilities are endless, and part of Coachella's magic lies in these unforeseen moments.
It’s not just about music, though
Coachella is a paradox: You go for the music but end up talking about the strangers you met in line for overpriced tacos. Or the quiet moment lying in the grass, listening to some obscure DJ you’ve never heard of, staring up at the desert sky and thinking: Wow, I’m here. I’m really here.
There’s something weirdly spiritual about it, something almost utopian. It’s almost as if we all lived like it was Day 2 of Coachella forever — hydrated, hyped, hearts wide open — then the world might be better. Or at least more fun.
We crave that kind of aliveness. That “screw it, let’s dance” energy. That reckless freedom you only get when your phone dies and you stop caring about anything except the bass vibrating your ribs.
Why We Care So Much
In a world that feels like it could shatter at any second—climate unraveling, politics spiraling, your mental health hanging by the last bar of Wi-Fi—Coachella feels like a strange, beautiful rebellion. It’s a glitter-soaked fantasy we all agree to believe in. A collective delusion that maybe, just maybe, everything might be okay if we scream the lyrics loud enough and dance like we’ve never been hurt.
It’s not just a festival. It’s a feeling. The feeling of being sunburnt and barefoot at 22, surrounded by 125,000 strangers who somehow all get it. The feeling of locking eyes with your best friend mid-song and laughing for absolutely no reason. The feeling of freedom—raw, weird, joyful freedom—to wear what you want, move how you want, be who you are, fully and unapologetically.
We want to live inside a Polaroid. To press pause on real life. To exist, even for a moment, without the noise, the pressure, the constant next thing. We want to feel something big together. To live like a music festival: wild, loud, unfiltered, unforgettable.
So maybe we’re not all meant to go to the desert. But maybe we can take a little piece of it with us—a little more sparkle, a little more spontaneity, a little more “Let’s make tonight legendary.”
Here’s to Coachella 2025. May it be loud, legendary and absolutely unhinged. And may we all, in our own messy, glittery ways, find our way to that feeling—wherever we are.
