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Apr 24, 2014 4:48PM

Oyster Diary: Coachella IRL

"The woman with fake boobs is now wearing a platinum breast plate with 6 breasts on it. Green lasers shoot out of each teat..."
John Kilar is a nomadic photographer and Oyster contributor. Eleanor Wells writes, runs an online vintage store, styles and throws dance parties in LA. We made them Oyster's official Coachella Correspondents for Weekend 2 of the Palm Springs festival. We wanted an honest, IRL account of their time there. The people, the parties, the shit you hear in the bathroom, not in the official reviews. 
 
CHAPTER 1 – THE PARTIES
 
Weekend 1 Day 1
Soho House Pop-up. Nighttime party. Merv Griffin Estate. Open bar and servers constantly circulating with gourmet snacks. Mmmmm. My homie SONNS is DJing tonight. Everyone's too cool to dance until festival goers start showing up. They're all higher than high so they're down to boogie. One such friend of Molly is convinced I'm Khaleesi from Game of Thrones (I'm blond – that's where the similarities end.) She insists on introducing me to all her friends as "Khaleesi." They look confused. 
 
Weekend 1 Day 2
A Club Called Rhonda's day party. Saguaro Hotel. It's a Bacchanalian orgy with a dash of Studio 54. I'm dancing on stage with a lady boy in a Maleficent headdress and panties and a transwoman with fake bare titties. I motorboat her, and notice they're made out of stockings. Crafty.
 
Change into my nighttime attire in my car (how glamorous!) Off to Making Shapes, an underground warehouse party where Tensanke and Francois K are playing. The woman with fake boobs is now wearing a platinum breast plate with 6 breasts on it. Green lasers shoot out of each teat while she's twirling around the middle of the dancefloor. Neat. Dance 'til dawn.
 
Weekend 1 Day 3
Sleep through Sunday's day party (whoops!) Wake just in time to catch the last-chance-to-party parties. I mansion-party hop. At 6am, I end up at one of the most ridiculous mansions I've ever been to. Stupid money. Guy Gerber is playing for about 50 people while a small army of workers prepare a breakfast buffet. I wonder, "Who pays for this shit and why?" Decide I don't care. At 8am, I have the entire dance floor to myself. Guy and I lock eyes as we both dance to his jams. Life is good.
 
CHAPTER 2 – THE FESTIVAL
 
The Coachella Music Fest may well be one of the most hyped festivals on the planet. As I drive towards the desert, I'm excited but anxious about how much fun I'm supposed to have this weekend. 
 
Weekend 2 Day 1
Walk into the festival at sun down to see The Knife. As they begin, I overhear, "I feel it in my face." Blast off! The singer asks the crowd if we’re, "Ready for some pussy?" The crowd erupts. Who doesn’t love pussy? Their performance reminds me of why the world adored boy bands. Choreographed dance is fun to watch. Add jumpsuits and glitter and you’ve got magic. 
 
Head to the Yuma Tent to see Dixon. The enclosed, air conditioned tent feels like a club complete with a shark-shaped disco ball. My friend remarks that this feels like "the slutty tent." It’s dark inside and everybody is feeling the love. I wonder how many people banged in the crevasses of the tent. 
 
We end the night at The Do Lab. DJ Tennis and Thugfucker kill it. Paris Hilton dances next to me. As does Dita Von Teese. Wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for the four photographers with big ass cameras standing around me. At first, I think that must suck for Paris, then I think: never will I waste pity on Paris Hilton. 
 
After the fest, I head to another warehouse party, Lights Down Low, where Lee Foss and French Express are playing. My friend doing a pop up shop out of his van has to get security to escort a sloppy Andy Dick out of his whip. Mr. Dick calls another one of my friends "ratchet" on the way out. Cute. 
 
Weekend 2 Day 2 
Walk in and head to Fatboy Slim. Not the biggest Fatboy Slim fan but I feel like being nostalgic. It's great. The ceiling is made out of lasers and a giant astronaut float pulls up at the end of the tent. I'm in a space disco. A young father standing next to me holds up his 10-year-old son so he can view all the madness. The boy has earplugs in – way to be responsible Dad. Ready for a change. Head to Queens of the Stone Age. This is what a rock concert is like. I'm squished and inebriated. I wander. 
 
I twerk at Pharell. He's playing all the hits. Walking by a charging station, I hear a wasted fellow charging his phone adamantly shout, "The struggle is real." Yessir, at a music fest with a dead phone. Life is hard. Darkside is groovy and sexy. All the "cool" kids are there. I again end the night at the Do Lab. This is where the vibes reside at Coachella. There's a hint of Burning Man here.
 
Weekend 2 Day 3
Walk in and head straight to the slutty Yuma tent to see Lee Burridge and Art Department. Sure enough, upon entering, a girl asks my friend if he feels, "like being touched." She doesn’t wait for a response. She then tells me that she thinks she met me a few times before but I'm always wearing something different. 
 
After getting our dance on, we head to the Craft Beer tent constructed of unfinished wood. I'm in hipster heaven. We head to Little Dragon. Again, all the "cool" kids are there. Catch a little bit of Beck. He covers Billie Jean. I could die happy. End the night at Bicep in the Yuma tent. It seems like everybody just took all the drugs they had leftover. Everyone's about to foam at the mouth. It's a crazy fun mess. 
 
I stumble back to the merch tent that resembles an Urban Outfitters. It's the designated meeting point amongst my friends. One by one, they stumbled up and collapse on the ground. It's goes unspoken. It was grand but I'm relieved it's over.
 
Words: Eleanor Wells
Photos: John Kilar