By LA Weekly
By Henry Rollins
By Weekly Photographers
By Shea Serrano
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Dan Weiss
By Erica E. Phillips
By Kai Flanders
There’s tired, and then there’s Coachella tired. And after just a few hours in the desert, almost all on foot (even with VIP-couch time), a delirium sets in that makes the whole experience surreal. Who needs drugs? Apparently a lot of people. The dance-happy Do Lab village seemed pretty doped out (but wonderfully so), and in the Gobi Tent during Sasha and John Digweed we actually saw one glow-stick-covered denizen get rough-cuffed by two scary-looking goons who ended up being undercover cops. Talk about a buzz kill. It was the only time we didn’t feel totally positive, groovy vibes (except for that Sunday-evening walk back to our car, when we thought our femurs might literally crumble). We’ve been to every Coachella except the first, and what we love about it most is the communal feel. It’s a place where girls can walk around half-naked and not get harassed, where you can bump booties with some freak in a ridiculous outfit (headbands and neon — just say no!) and, best of all, discover your new favorite band, the one that only the indier-than-thou types knew about before last weekend. Coachella gives everyone a chance to be cool — and, of course, hot. Very, very hot.
See the Style Council blog for a Coachella fashion report and the Nightranger slide show for pics from the parties, the pit and everywhere in between.
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