I Tried Being an Influencer at Coachella for 48 Hours—and Accidentally Liked Myself More
I lasted exactly twelve minutes before I realized I had made a terrible mistake. Not the kind of mistake where you forget sunscreen and spend the weekend slowly roasting like a gas station hot dog. No, this was worse. This was existential. This was the kind of mistake that sneaks up on you wearing a linen set, holding a $19 iced lavender matcha, and smiling like it knows something you don’t. I had come to Coachella with a plan. A stupid plan, in hindsight. I was going to masquerade as an influencer for 48 hours. Not observe them. Not study them like some detached anthropologist taking notes in the shade. No, I was going to become one. Fully commit. Live the life. Post the content. Smile through the sunburn. Speak exclusively in captions. Exist, if possible, only through angles. And most importantly, I was going to hate every second of it. That was the thesis. That was the expectation. That was the comforting lie I told myself as I stood in my Airbnb mirror practicing a face th...
