My Instagram and TikTok feeds are packed. Phrases like “worst FOMO ever” are everywhere. Especially after Justin Bieber’s performance, the reactions felt way bigger than the music itself. What is actually happening there?
The more we scroll, the clearer it becomes: Coachella is no longer about music. At least not in the way it once was. When the festival launched in 1999, it stood for alternative culture and a sense of artistic rebellion. Today, that identity has been hollowed out. Coachella has evolved into a global stage for lifestyle marketing and digital performance. It’s a shift from subculture to content-culture. We aren’t watching a festival:
We are watching the world's most expensive photo shoot.
What happens to art when the music moves into the background and the brand takes center stage? Influencers arrive not just as guests, but as vital organs in a larger corporate ecosystem. Brand trips, curated villas and exclusive lounges are the real Coachella experience for the few. It’s not just about attending, it’s about the labor of documenting.
Missed the latest pimple patch activation from Hailey Bieber or a chance to sip 818 Tequila in a VIP garden? That’s content you didn’t create—a missed opportunity for engagement. This represents a new era of identity where our experiences are only “real” if they are monetizable. For many, attending Coachella means expenses reaching €6,000, all for a handful of songs and a gallery of proof.
Take Justin Bieber’s presence as a case study. Seeing a childhood crush perform and talk about his struggles creates a moment of high emotion. But in this environment, the music is a secondary tool to trigger a viral reaction.
The hysteria around such short appearances proves that the “spectacle” has officially overtaken the substance. In the Coachella ecosystem, it doesn’t matter if the performance is fleeting, just 30 mins long or imperfect. What matters is the scale of the reaction and how it dominates the feed. We are witnessing the death of the “concert” and the birth of the “live-streamed moment.”
The digital world reinforces this illusion with endless highlight reels of golden sunsets over the artificially green lawns of the Empire Polo Club. This oasis is in the middle of a desert, requiring staggering amounts of water in a region defined by drought. When you add private jets and massive luxury infrastructures, the environmental cost becomes impossible to ignore. Yet, we rarely talk about the ethics; we talk about the appearances.
When did private jet arrivals become desirable again? Maybe we’re just overwhelmed. In a world of global crisis, the performative vanity of a desert festival feels like another drop in an already boiling pot.
We feel the phantom itch of FOMO, but we are only seeing the polished side. Behind the filters lie long lines, heavy security, overpriced food and many who cares more about the 9:16 frame than the soul of the music.
So, yes—worst FOMO ever. But also: Maybe not. Perhaps the real question isn’t whether Coachella is still worth the price tag. It’s this: What are we actually missing out on?