Crossed happened. Two days. I blacked out, lost my boots at security, cried about something small (hot dog related, moving on), and somehow made it back for Dom Dolla who absolutely redeemed the whole weekend.
But what I actually need to talk about is what people were wearing.
I'm rating festival fits from the weekend — the pashminas, the braids, the thrifted tops, the Jaded London pieces, the Amazon pink boots that had no business being there. Some looks were giving. Some looks were a threat. All of them are getting a verdict.
We also get into my Morocco camel moment, a storytime about a girl who called my ex the wrong name to my face and then I found out why she knew him, and why I'm leaving for Hawaii despite everything while somehow also not having processed that I'm graduating.
Basically: the fashion was unhinged, the festival was chaotic, and I have a lot of feelings about both.
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