Engulfed in the smoke of American Spirit cigarettes and the melodies of indie bands, I realized I had stumbled upon a hip Los Angeles scene. Fuck Yeah Festival–or its more media-friendly acronym, FYF–is an LA based music festival. The festival was a quintessentially LA experience and a microcosm of my life at home, but after consuming an entire summer’s worth of LA culture, I began to miss my other home–the good ole PVD. As I attended the festival on one of my last summer weekends at home, I felt ready to say goodbye to LA and retreat back to wholesome Providence.
Whenever I tell people from LA that I attend Brown, they never fail to ask, “Where is that again?” My Angeleno-bred superiority complex often induces me to quip that Rhode Island sounds more like the punchline to a joke than an actual place. Although Rhode Island’s entire population is about one-tenth of the size of Los Angeles county, I find its small size endearing and have grown to love it. Everyone knows that mini M&M’s inexplicably taste better than regular M&M’s; maybe the same logic applies here. There’s something nice about Providence’s relative anonymity compared to the negative connotations associated with a well-known (or infamous) destination like Los Angeles.
LA is particularly difficult to defend because many of the stereotypical jokes targeting the city are based in truth. At FYF, the vast majority of the food options were vegan, gluten-free, and ridiculously silly. Foodies and bloggers alike were in an absolute frenzy over the “Stinky Tofu” bleu cheese dip paired with Korean wings. Gourmet popsicle stands boasted ultra-complicated flavors including “Coffee-infused Mint Mojito.” The trendy donut stand offered punny treats, such as the marshmallow filled “S’Morrissey” or the lemony “Kanye Zest.” Vegan masterminds somehow pulled off the seemingly contradictory wizardry of vegan barbeque and vegan mac n’ cheese. And, of course, there were poke bowls in case you wanted to eat raw fish in the blistering summer sun. Overwhelmed by the culinary Frankenstein-eque creations, I wound up with an old-fashioned grilled cheese sandwich (made with gourmet sharp cheddar, of course). I never thought I would say it, but I almost longed for the simplicity of dining hall food. Sometimes a girl just wants plain chicken fingers from the Vdub.
FYF, and LA in general, admittedly outpaces Providence’s music scene. When Bobby Shmurda failed to come to his own show at Lupo’s, I was left with a frigid, disappointing walk back to my dorm room. When Frank Ocean pulled the same move in LA, FYF replaced him with Yeezus. As if that wasn’t enough, Kanye’s pinch-hitting set featured special, unannounced guest Rihanna for “FourFiveSeconds” and “All of the Lights.” Yet despite the adrenaline-inducing celebrity sightings and top-tier performances, I started to feel nostalgic for a different two-day music festival close to my heart. I missed the intimacy of Spring Weekend, a festival put on by Brown students for Brown students. I missed walking out of class in Sayles and onto the Main Green swarming with wasted Brunonians. I missed the strange solidarity of drunk binge-eating dining hall gourmet during Fratty in the Ratty.
At the FYF everyone dressed almost as if there was a uniform instated. Twenty-somethings and teens arrived by the thousands in American Apparel high-waisted jeans (cuffed, of course), normcore white Adidas sneakers, pastel-dyed hair, translucent glasses, Fjallraven Kanken backpacks, with flourishing Tumblr accounts to boot. It reminded me of dark days lost in a sea of winter coats; the homogeneity broken only by the infamous Canada Goose. I missed the diversity of (occasionally) witty Spring Weekend tank tops. The tanks clearly made for no other reason than club funding, not-so-subtle weed references, and Brown-related inside jokes all add to the unique Spring Weekend experience. Furthermore, Cookie Monster and Elmo were very present at SW2015, but nowhere to be found at FYF.
I found it ironic that a blog-worthy festival packed with renowned headlining acts, celebrities and Kardashians (there is a difference between the two), and foodie wet dreams made me nostalgic for my much less glamorous life atop College Hill. I’ll certainly miss LA staples like SoulCycle and In-N-Out Burger, but right now even stationary bikes in the Nelson and veggie burgers from the Ratty don’t sound so bad.