When I went to Coachella for the first time in 2022, I was only 34 but I felt ancient. The average attendee is 25 years old, which is glaringly apparent when you meander through a sea of 125,000 drunk people and see multiple thongs worn as outerwear. (I now do this every year, as my husband works for the legendary desert music festival.) My friend, a music journalist in his early 40s who has been attending Coachella since the year when Jurassic 5 first played, says, “Nothing and no one above 30 should be there.” (Ironically, he insists on staying anonymous so he can still get press passes.)
While the scene at Coachella is far more diverse than it’s usually given credit for, there’s no doubt many of its attendees don’t remember a world without social media—and that’s reflected in what they choose to wear. As a rookie struggling with blisters in my Doc Martens, I wondered about the girl who was able to traverse 642 acres in 90-degree heat wearing seven-inch platform boots. How does one sit down and rest in a dress made of soda cans? Did the guy in a gimp mask consider the risk of heat stroke?
To make content, it seems, one must dress like—and for—content. Even the less extreme looks feel like they’re plucked from the algorithm. Imagine all the TikTok fashion trends from the past couple of years (cow print, checkers, tiny sunglasses, oversized pants) jumbled together, and you’ll have a fairly accurate picture of what you might see. There’s often a confusing mixture of boho, Western, early aughts, and rave influences—probably inspired by a myriad of “’Chella fits” Pinterest boards.
Being an aging millennial who doesn’t know how to make a reel, I’m baffled by the idea of prioritizing a fit pic over comfort—and yet I’d still like to feel somewhat cool. For help on avoiding a “How do you do, fellow kids?” moment on the field, I reached out to some seasoned Coachella elders on how to do festival fashion when your body demands arch support.
All ages can appreciate an event that inspires people to take sartorial risks, but the Coachella elder has accrued enough festival wisdom to ask: What for? “Originally, a lot of [festival fashion] was informed by European festivals, which tend to be more about necessities—the sandals and the [CamelBak hydration backpacks] and cargo shorts,” says James Allen, a 50-year-old dad who worked as Coachella’s director of merchandise for 10 years and has missed only two of the festivals in his life. “People looked a little touristy, for lack of a better term,” Allen says. “But then the fashion and the show in general really took off when Instagram did. People started dressing not just for themselves but for the lens of social media.”
Sophie Strauss, 30, an LA-based stylist, says she’s noticed a self-surveillance or -consciousness in her clients that didn’t exist when she went to Coachella in high school, blissfully iPhone-free. “There’s this idea that your outfit will be seen and then posted and that, in a lot of ways, is more important than the experience of being there,” says Strauss. (Last year an influencer went viral for admitting that many of her fellow influencers don’t actually go to Coachella—they just get an Airbnb in the desert and pretend they’re going.)
“Enjoy yourself—you’re not going to compete with high schoolers,” she continues. “You’re not going through what they’re going through. You know yourself. Try to detach from worrying about what the youths will think of you because you have something so much better than being cool—you are free.”
A benefit to being 30-plus: You’re probably less impacted by digital trends and the insane content marketing that happens around festival season. Londyn Douglas, 36, a stylist, attests that “weeks prior to Coachella, your inbox is flooded with targeted ads and emails for looks for the occasion.” Strauss agrees: “It’s always eerie when you can sense the way inventory and merchandising, especially in Los Angeles, is doing its annual Coachella shift. There are ‘festival edit’ racks, and driving up and down Melrose is like driving down a Coachella-themed mall.”
Older festivalgoers often have the luxury of more disposable income, which matters when general-admission tickets go for $500, not including lodging, food, or transportation. As such, they are less likely to get pulled into the fast-fashion vortex than a first-timer blowing all their money just to get there. Though many remember Coachella as the home of problematic Native American headdresses in the 2010s, the main ethical problem with the fashion now is how much of it is made by people working in slave-labor conditions and then thrown away. A study from 2019 found that festivals account for 7.5 million single-use outfits a year.
“There’s so much money being spent on the festival that you can’t necessarily buy a full-price outfit from a high-end designer,” says Allen. “If you’re getting dirty or spilling things on yourself, it isn’t as much of a problem if you only spent $20 on your outfit.”
Coachella elders, meanwhile, are more likely to find their outfits at the thrift store. “Everything in fashion comes back around and the thrift shop is a literal fashion playground,” says Douglas. “You can find the best quality pieces in the thrift store, and you can wear these vintage pieces more than just one time.”
Sarah Scheideman, 39, runs the Coachella Art Studios, an interactive craft installation that has been a staple experience in the campground for more than a decade. The fashion station—which sources materials entirely from Goodwill bins—is their most popular craft, with thousands of people each weekend altering old articles of clothing. Last weekend two senior citizens attending the festival for the first time stopped by. “We loved it,” Scheideman says. “They seemed to just fit right in and were so unbothered.”
Of course, it’s not just the youthful fits that make Coachella difficult. Partying in desert temperatures—not to mention the dust storms that can cause the so-called Coachella cough—gets harder as you age. Being comfortable was a foremost priority for nearly every Coachella elder I spoke to. “I’m often really thinking about what makes sense for being on a big, dusty, hot field for hours on end with no access to your belongings except what fits in a bag—what footwear is reasonable, what clothes will offer sun protection,” says Strauss. “My concerns are less sexy.”
Terry, a 45-year-old postproduction executive, has been to the festival nine times and thinks anything ironic or flashy should be avoided. “People will less likely ask you for drugs if you look like a narc,” he says. His foremost concern now is practicality: Put Dr Scholl’s inserts into your shoes, and wear cheap sunglasses so you don’t care if you lose them.
Being comfy doesn’t always have to be boring. Real-estate agent Nicole Reber, 34, is a designer-clothes junkie who last year paired her Tevas with a Jeremy Scott leather two-piece and a backless Jacquemus dress. “No matter the era, I have always sworn by Teva flatforms at Coachella,” she says. “They give you that extra height you need during a concert, but they are so comfortable and breathable in the heat.”
Ultimately, the best part of being a Coachella elder isn’t fighting with very newly minted adults on Reddit about Weekend Two being better— though that’s its own brand of fun too. “The people with incredible style are the ones who tend to be really in tune with who they are,” says Allen. The older you get, the easier that becomes. So if your ideal Coachella outfit is a loose linen sack and orthopedic sandals, go with God. I heard that not giving a shit is coming back into style.