“COACHELLA OR BUST” painted in neon on nearly car in parked in Palm Springs. We made it, and have so far, survived the first 2 days of what I like to call: COACHZILLA. Because Palm Springs really becomes a monster weekend one. 90 degree weather. Jack White slaying on stage. Bohemian brunches to last a lifetime. I’ve surprisingly been donning a ton of black. My straw bolero perfectly weathered under the desert sun. As the day goes on, the less and less clothes I find myself wearing. Suddenly I’m in the crowds in nothing but a bikini top and the shortest denim shorts I own. I have officially gave in to grungy Coachella attire. I can’t wait to sit under a palm tree come 2pm.