Flowy skirts trailing across bike paths. Crochet tops paired with low-rise jeans and worn-in leather belts. Layered gold necklaces and beaded chokers catching the sun between classes. Someone walks past in a sheer blouse and knee-high boots and for a second, it feels less like a Thursday afternoon and more like the desert in April.
It’s Coachella season — in Indio, California and on our campus.
Over the years, Coachella has become less about the music and more about the outfits. What started as an indie music festival slowly evolved into a fashion spectacle, where getting dressed is part of the performance. The looks are documented, curated and uploaded before the first set even starts.
Somehow, those bohemian outfits don’t stay on Instagram. They make their way into our daily lives.
Coachella style, as we know it, has a very specific origin story. In the early 2010s, it leaned into indie sleaze and Tumblr-era effortlessness — cutoffs, band tees and messy hair. But by the mid-2010s, something shifted.
Around 2014 to 2016, Coachella fashion hit its peak identity. Think Vanessa Hudgens in layered jewelry and flowing skirts, Kendall Jenner in crochet and bralettes, the Hadids in mini shorts, boots and body chains. Flower crowns, fringe, coin belts and kimono layers became the unofficial uniform.
It was carefree, chaotic and effortlessly feminine in a way that felt both styled and spontaneous. That sun-soaked, bohemian version of Coachella is what people still picture.
And now, a decade later, it’s back.
The 2016 revival is everywhere, but it looks a little different this time. Low-rise shorts have returned, but they’re paired with fitted tube tops and cleaner silhouettes. Sheer tops and bralettes are still in rotation, but paired with simple bottoms. Maxi skirts flow the same way, but in soft neutrals and without quite as many layers competing for attention.
If 2016 Coachella was about throwing everything on at once, 2026 Coachella is about editing.
That shift has a lot to do with the way trends move now. TikTok has turned festival dressing into its own genre of content. “Get ready with me” videos, outfit mood boards and hyper-specific aesthetics —“desert fairy,” “boho clean girl,” “model off-duty” — have replaced the illusion of effortlessness.
Outfits aren’t accidental anymore. They’re planned, filmed, posted and repeated.
At the same time, high fashion has been quietly feeding into this revival. At Chloé, recent collections have leaned into flowing chiffon dresses, low-slung belts and soft, romantic layering that feels it was pulled straight from a festival wardrobe. Isabel Marant continues to build on her signature effortless aesthetic — think slouchy boots, embroidered tops and barely-there blouses that feel undone in a calculated way.
What’s interesting is how these influences meet in the middle, somewhere between runway refinement and TikTok spontaneity. What once felt carefree is reframed into something more controlled.
But Coachella style has always come with a more complicated layer, too.
The “boho” aesthetic that defines festival dressing doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Many of its most recognizable elements — stacked jewelry, ornate textiles and pashminas — draw from South Asian, Indigenous and other global traditions. Over time, these pieces have been repackaged into something vague and aesthetic, often stripped of their original cultural meaning.
In the context of Coachella, that flattening can feel especially prominent. What once held cultural significance becomes part of a reproducible outfit formula.
That doesn’t mean people shouldn’t engage with these styles, but it does raise a question: What does it mean to wear something rooted in culture as a trend?
On our campus, that question feels a little more immediate.
The reality is, most students aren’t buying full festival wardrobes. They’re remixing what they already have. A thrifted skirt. A hand-me-down piece of jewelry. A crochet top made by a friend. The “Coachella look” becomes something smaller, more personal and less performative.
You see it in subtle ways, like layered necklaces over a basic tank or a sheer blouse thrown over jeans instead of bikini bottoms. It’s festival-inspired, but still grounded in everyday life.
Coachella style is no longer about dressing for a specific place. It’s about capturing a feeling — something a little romantic, a little undone and a little free — and translating it into daily life.
Of course, there’s a fine line between inspired and overdone. The difference often comes down to restraint.
Instead of layering five statement pieces, pick one. Let a single accessory carry the outfit. Balance something soft and flowy with something structured. Keep the base simple, and let the details do the work. Even something as small as a silk scarf tied in your hair or around your bag can shift the entire look.
That’s what makes the current revival feel different from its 2016 predecessor. It’s more self-aware. Less about excess, more about editing. Less about escaping into a fantasy, more about incorporating pieces of it into real life.
There’s something about Coachella style that feels inherently escapist, even filtered through trends and time. It feels like a version of life that’s slower, warmer and more spontaneous, where getting dressed is playful again.
Maybe that’s why it keeps coming back. Even if the flower crowns stay in the past, the feeling doesn’t.
And while the desert is just a Pinterest mood board away, that feeling is easy to slip into — no wristband required.
Arna Churiwala believes festival style shouldn’t be confined to the desert.
