An open letter to everyone on Instagram who is about to go to Coachella this weekend:
SHUT UP!!! SHUT UP!!! I DO NOT CARE!!!
I’m gonna get carpal tunnel speed-tapping through your story about Every Single Goddamn Artist you saw. Ohhhhh, womp womp, you had to sit through Yo Gabba Gabba to get barricade for Ed Sheeran? You’ve truly lived such a hard, hard life. And if I wanted to see Lady Gaga’s set, I could watch it online. I don’t need to see a low-quality video of your gay ass shrieking over every line.
Don’t you even dare put a post on your feed about Coachella. I’ll say it right now so others don’t have to later: your outfits are butt-ugly. We don’t need a photo dump showing off every angle. You are NOT Stella McCartney, you just tied a scarf over your miniskirt. That pashmina will not block out how absolutely RANK the Clairo crowd will smell, and boy, I sure can’t wait to see twenty different people post the same braid pigtail hairstyle. Originality wouldn’t kill you guys, would it?
And God forbid – if you post a reel, you’re getting blocked. Just because you have 4,000 followers doesn’t mean everybody and their mom will be lining up for autographs. You must be either delusional or on molly if you think people will recognize you from your UCLA microinfluencer account. (Sidebar: if you are on molly, can you slide some over? I’ll need something to take the edge off scrolling social media this weekend.) The world is a better place without your 3,000 likes, 10,000 shares video about how your feet hurt after sprinting in cowboy boots from beabadoobee to JENNIE. Get a pair of New Balances or cry about it.
Listen to Tyler the Creator: put your goddamn phones away for Coachella, and please, please, PLEASE don’t post about your experience on Instagram. A girl just wants to rot in bed and watch chicken jockey reels in peace.
