Lifestyle
Word of the Week: Coachella began as a typo. Here's what happened next
The Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival has been a tradition since 1999. But it’s not actually held in the city of Coachella.
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Each April, tens of thousands of people flock to the heart of the Coachella Valley to camp, dance and let loose at the music festival by that same name.
The Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival features hundreds of performers on some half a dozen stages, spread out across two consecutive three-day weekends. This year, performances by the likes of Lady Gaga, Charli XCX, Post Malone, Benson Boone and even an appearance by Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vt., instantly went viral.
Coachella’s diverse lineup, celebrity-studded audience, and ample commercial opportunities for brands and social media influencers make it one of the most popular and profitable music festivals in the world. The event — combined with the country music festival Stagecoach, which is always the following weekend — sold about 250,000 tickets in 2024.
The catch?
Coachella the festival does not actually take place in Coachella the city. Since its founding in 1999, it’s been held in nearby Indio. Both are part of the Coachella Valley, which is located in Southern California’s Colorado Desert and is also home to cities like Palm Springs and Indian Wells.
“I think a lot of people who come to this area from other places aren’t really sure what’s what, and I don’t think they really care,” says Jeff Crider, a freelance writer and historian who has written a book about the Coachella Valley. “I think they just come and want to have a good time.”
But it’s worth learning about Coachella, both the place and the festival. The Coachella Valley’s two primary industries, agriculture and entertainment, have rich histories that intertwine in fascinating ways.
The Coachella Valley is synonymous with wealth and celebrity, given its long list of famous visitors and winter residents, including many former U.S. presidents and Hollywood stars. But the region — which is also known for its agricultural production, particularly dates — is also home to a large population of farmworkers, many of whom are immigrants
“Yes, the rich and famous have winter homes here. Yes, we have some of the most famous entertainment events in the world taking place here,” Crider says. “But the majority of the people who live and work out here year round are not rich and famous. Many, many, many of them are struggling to make it.”
Where did the word come from?
Celebrities including Zeppo and Harpo Marx play backgammon in Palm Springs, California, in this undated photo.
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Coachella itself was a product of the country’s railroad system — and a typo.
As the City of Coachella’s website explains, the Southern Pacific Railroad laid the first tracks throughout the valley in 1876, linking it to a growing network of railways across California. A secondary track, called a side spur, was built in present-day Coachella.
“It was literally just like an offramp from the railroad,” Crider explains.
A railroad employee named Jason Rector was tasked with clearing the trees in that area, which became known as Woodspur. Rector is credited with becoming the town’s first permanent resident and “unofficial mayor” for the rest of his life. He also helped name it.
According to the city’s website, during the process of laying out the townsite in 1901, Rector proposed “Conchilla,” which means “little shell” in Spanish and references the fossils that were found in the area.
The developers, in agreement, designed a prospectus that would announce the opening of the new town. But the product they got back from the printer misspelled “Conchilla” as “Coachella.” Rather than delay the announcement, the founders decided to roll with the name — which the valley itself went on to adopt. The town, however, didn’t become a city until 1946.
“‘Coachella’ was a mistake,” Crider says. “They decided just to keep the name, even though ‘Coachella’ itself does not mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything in Spanish, it doesn’t mean anything in English, other than the place that we know as Coachella.”
In the decades that followed, the region’s dry, sunny climate and fertile soil began to attract both farmers and celebrities.
Early growers realized their crops could be ready to harvest long before other regions, and started planting dates and other types of produce to sell without competition. It has an important place in the labor movement too: The first significant farm labor strike — against table grape growers — took place in the Coachella Valley in 1965, led in part by Cesar Chavez.
At the same time, grand hotels like Palm Springs’ El Mirador began drawing high-profile visitors from Los Angeles, about 100 miles away. The 1960’s further boosted tourism, Crider says, thanks to the interstate and air conditioning.
In other words, Coachella Valley was a prominent venue for golf, tennis and other forms of entertainment long before the music festival came on the scene. Crider says it’s been “an escape for the elite literally for a century” — and the Coachella festival has only made the area more famous since then.
“Because just like in the 1920’s and ’30s, when you had the photos of the Hollywood stars lounging by the swimming pool that made this place famous 100 years ago, today what makes this place famous is having pictures of the latest celebrities, Lady Gaga, for example, and others who are at Coachella right now,” Crider adds. “They’re making this place famous, but they’re making the whole valley famous.”
How has the word been used over time?
It took a few years for the Coachella festival — pictured in April 2001 — to grow into the phenomenon it is today.
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The Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival made its debut in early October 1999, with headliners including Beck and Rage Against the Machine and tickets costing $50 per day.
It was the brainchild of concert promoters Rick Van Santen and Paul Tollett, organized by Tollett’s company Goldenvoice — which made its name in the 1980s booking punk rock acts that other promoters wouldn’t.
Tollett also helped the band Pearl Jam book alternate venues during its boycott of Ticketmaster after a dispute in the early 1990s. One of their gigs ended up at the Empire Polo Club — and showed Tollett how prime the venue could be for the large-scale festival of his dreams.
Coachella’s organizers hoped to emulate the multi-act, days-long music festivals that were so popular overseas, such as those in Reading and Glastonbury in the United Kingdom.
“For Southern California, this could be the start of something really special,” Tollett told the Los Angeles Times in 1999.
But that first year wasn’t a huge success, in part because of the intentional lack of corporate sponsors, blazing triple-digit temperatures and a drop in advance ticket sales after Woodstock ’99 descended into violence. Tollett revealed much later that the festival’s first year cost the company $750,000.
Coachella took a break in 2000 and returned in 2001, this time scaled back to a single day and scheduled for the milder weather of April. Its lineups, ticket prices and crowd sizes kept growing.
“The desert town of Indio has become the unlikely location of one of the hottest music festivals in the country,” NPR’s Stacey Bond reported in 2004.
That was the year tickets sold out for the first time, drawing a crowd of 120,000 to see acts including Radiohead and The Cure, as well the reunited Pixies (the first of many reunions on the Coachella stage).
Coachella has expanded and evolved over the years: It eliminated single-day tickets in favor of three-day passes in 2010, added a second weekend starting in 2012 and increasingly broke attendance records until the city increased its cap to 125,000 in 2017.
These days, general admission passes start around $600, not including extra fees for camping and parking. The festival that originally resisted sponsorship deals now boasts dozens of corporate partners, including food, beverage and cosmetic companies.
And while it still showcases dozens of the moment’s biggest artists (144 acts this year), it’s about much more than just music, especially in the era of social media and influencers.
“The word ‘Coachella’ itself has become shorthand for a tastemaker event,” the Los Angeles Times declared in 2019, the festival’s 20th anniversary.
Why does the word matter today?
Festivalgoers enjoy the first weekend of the 2025 Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival at the Empire Polo Club on Sunday.
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Amy Harris/Invision/AP
Crider says the local economy is dependent on events like Coachella to draw people in, calling the influx of festival goers “a huge shot in the arm for our economy.”
“As someone who has lived in this valley for half of my lifetime, I love seeing the kids come in, come into our stores, buying alcohol, sunscreen, whatever else they need, souvenirs,” Crider says. “And then they line up at grocery stores and they go on buses that take them down to … the polo grounds, where they’re going to see all the music performed. And it’s just a great time.”
That said, the reality of life in the region — and the huge discrepancies in wealth — are not necessarily apparent to people who associate Coachella simply with the festival that bears its name.
He says festival goers who complain about the Coachella heat likely don’t realize that there are farmworkers harvesting produce in that same sun just miles away, or that many of the people putting the food on their restaurant tables rely on food banks themselves.
“That is something that people might not realize when they’re out here spending a gazillion dollars to attend a music festival and being overcharged for drinks and whatnot, as we know that happens,” Crider says. “You wouldn’t think that there would be so much poverty out here at the same time.”
Crider says a lot of young people leave the area for college and don’t return because of a lack of jobs, which is something business interests in the valley are trying to change.
“There have been efforts to try to diversify the economy … so that we don’t remain forever dependent on just agriculture or tourism,” he adds. “But that’s how this area was really created — and it works.”
When John Lantigua, a retired journalist in Miami Beach, checked his email one recent morning, he was glad to see an invitation.
“It was like, ‘Come and share an evening with me. Click here for details,’” Mr. Lantigua said.
It appeared to be a Paperless Post invitation from someone he once worked with at The Palm Beach Post, a man who had left Florida for Mississippi and liked to arrange dinners when he was back in town.
Mr. Lantigua, 78, clicked the link. It didn’t open.
He clicked a second time. Still nothing.
He didn’t realize what was going on until a mutual friend who had received the same email told him it wasn’t an invitation at all. It was a scam.
Phishing scams have long tried to frighten people into clicking on links with emails claiming that their bank accounts have been hacked, or that they owe thousands of dollars in fines, or that their pornography viewing habits have been tracked.
The invitation scam is a little more subtle: It preys on the all-too-human desire to be included in social gatherings.
The phishy invitations mimic emails from Paperless Post, Evite and Punchbowl. What appears to be a friendly overture from someone you know is really a digital Trojan horse that gives scammers access to your personal information.
“I thought it was diabolical that they would choose somebody who has sent me a legitimate invitation before,” Mr. Lantigua said. “He’s a friend of mine. If he’s coming to town, I want to see him.”
Rachel Tobac, the chief executive of SocialProof Security, a cybersecurity firm, said she noticed the scam last holiday season.
“Phishing emails are not a new thing,” Ms. Tobac said, “but every six months, we get a new lure that hijacks our amygdala in new ways. There’s such a desire for folks to get together that this lure is interesting to people. They want to go to a party.”
Phishing scams involve “two distinct paths,” Ms. Tobac added. In one, the recipient is served a link that turns out to be dead, or so it seems. A click activates malware that runs silently as it gleans passwords and other bits of personal information. In all likelihood, this is what happened when Mr. Lantigua clicked on the ersatz invitation link.
Another scam offers a working link. Potential victims who click on it are asked to provide a password. Those who take that next step are a boon to hackers.
“They have complete control of your email and, in turn, your entire digital life,” Ms. Tobac said. “They can reset your password for your dog’s Instagram account. They can take over your bank account. Change your health insurance.”
Digital invitation platforms are trying to combat the scam by publishing guides on how to spot fake invitations. Paperless Post has also set up an email account — phishing@paperlesspost.com — for users to submit messages for verification. The company sends suspicious links to the Anti-Phishing Working Group, a nonprofit that maintains a database monitored by cybersecurity firms. Flagged links are rendered ineffective.
The scammers’ new strategy of exploiting the desire for connection is infuriating, said Alexa Hirschfeld, a founder of Paperless Post. “Life can be isolating,” Ms. Hirschfeld said. “When it looks like you’re getting an invitation from someone you know, your first instinct is excitement, not skepticism.”
Olivia Pollock, the vice president of brand for Evite, said that fake invitations tended to be generic, promising a birthday party or a celebration of life. Most invitations these days tend to have a specific focus — mahjong gatherings or book club talks, for instance. “The devil is in the details,” Ms. Pollock said.
Because scammers don’t know how close you are with the people in your contact list, fake invitations may also seem random. “They could be from your business school roommate you haven’t spoken to in 10 years,” Ms. Hirschfeld said.
Alyssa Williamson, who works in public relations in New York, was leaving a yoga class recently when she checked her phone and saw an invitation from a college classmate.
“I assumed it was an alumni event,” Ms. Williamson, 30, said. “I clicked on it, and it was like, ‘Enter your email.’ I didn’t even think about it.”
Later that day, she received texts from friends asking her about the party invitation she had just sent out. Her response: What party?
“The thing is, I host a lot of events,” she said. “Some knew it was fake. Others were like, ‘What’s this? I can’t open it.’”
Andrew Smith, a graduate student in finance who lives in Manhattan, received what looked like a Punchbowl invitation to “a memory making celebration.” It appeared to have come from a woman he had dated in college. He received it when he was having drinks at a bar on a Friday night — “a pretty insidious piece of timing,” he said.
“The choice of sender was super clever,” Mr. Smith, 29, noted. “This was somebody that would probably get a reaction from me.”
Mr. Smith seized on the phrase “memory making celebration” and filled in the blanks. He imagined that someone in his ex-girlfriend’s immediate family had died. Perhaps she wanted to restart contact at this difficult moment.
Something saved him when he clicked a link and tried to tap out his personal information — his inability to remember the password to his email account. The next day, he reached out to his ex, who confirmed that the invitation was fake.
“It didn’t trigger any alarm bells,” Mr. Smith said. “I went right for the click. I went completely animal brain.”
The new scam comes with an unfortunate side effect, a suspicion of invitations altogether. It’s enough to make a person antisocial.
“Don’t invite me to anything,” Mr. Lantigua, the retired journalist, said, only half-joking. “I’m not coming.”
You want to know where men’s fashion is heading? Follow the geeks.
These are the obsessives, fixated, with a NASA technician’s precision, on how their pants fit or on which pair of Paraboot shoes is the correct pair. These are the obsessives who in the aughts were early to selvage denim (now available at a Uniqlo near you!) and soft-shouldered Italian tailoring in the mode that, eventually, trickled down to your local J. Crew.
And where has the attention of this cohort landed now? On a vanguard of newish-to-the-West labels from Japan, like A.Presse, Comoli, Auralee and T.T.
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A.Presse is probably the most hyped of this cohort. What other label is worn by the French soccer player Pierre Kalulu and the actor Cooper Hoffman and has men paying a premium for a hoodie on the resale market? Kazuma Shigematsu, the founder, is not into attention. When we spoke, he wouldn’t allow me to record the conversation. Notes only.
“You mean a better-fitting denim jacket that’s based on an old Levi’s thing? Yeah, OK, sold,” said Jeremy Kirkland, host of the “Blamo!” podcast and the textbook definition of a latter-day Japanese men’s wear guy. Mr. Kirkland, once someone who would allocate his budget to Italian suits, admitted that, recently, over the course of two weeks, he bought four (yes, four) jackets from A.Presse1.
“I’m not really experimenting with my style anymore,” Mr. Kirkland said. “I’m just wanting really good, basic stuff.”
Basic though these clothes appear, their hook is that they’re opulent to the touch, elevated in their fabrication.
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Over the years, the designer Ryota Iwai has told me repeatedly that he is inspired by nothing more than the people he sees on his commute to the Auralee offices in Tokyo. When asked recently if he collected anything, he said nothing — just his bicycle.
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The true somber tale of this wave. The brand’s founder, Taiga Takahashi, died of an arrhythmia in 2022 at 27. The label has continued to plumb history for inspiration. The latest collection had pieces that drew on bygone American postal-worker uniforms.
An Auralee2 bomber looks pedestrian until you touch it and realize its silk. Labels like T.T3 make clothes that echo the specs of a vintage relic yet come factory fresh, notched up, made … well, better. They bestow upon the wearer a certain in-the-know authority.
And so there is a hobbyist giddiness present on Discord channels where 30- and 40-something men trade tips on how to size moleskin trousers by the Japanese label Comoli; at boutiques like Neighbour in Vancouver, British Columbia, where items like a $628 dusty pink trucker jacket from Yoko Sakamoto and an $820 T.T sweater sell out soon after hitting the sales floor.
What’s notable is how swiftly these geeky preferences have wiggled into the broader fashion community. While I was in Paris for the men’s fashion shows a year ago January, all anyone wanted to talk about were things with a “Made in Japan” tag. I would speak with editors who were carving out room in their suitcases for Auralee’s $3,000 leather jackets.
But these were clothes being shown away from the fashion week hordes. The A.Presse showroom was on a Marais side street in a space about as long as a bowling lane and scarcely wider that was crammed with racks of canvas, silk and denim jackets with Pollock-like paint splatters. There were leather jackets as plush as Roche Bobois sofas and hoodies based on sweatshirts made in America a half-century ago.
I got the hype. After 10 days of puzzling over newfangled stuff on the runways, the display of simple, understandable shapes we’ve known our whole lives, but redone with extra care, couldn’t have felt more welcome.
Kazuma Shigematsu, the A.Presse designer, said he had collected a trove of vintage pieces that he housed in a separate space to plumb for inspiration. He made new clothes based on old clothes that benefited from a century of small design tweaks.
By this January, A.Presse had upgraded to a regal maison facing the Place des Vosges, with giant windows and even more reverent hoodies, even more tender leathers. Back in America, I asked an online department store executive what his favorite thing from Paris was. He took out his phone to show me photos of himself trying on a zip-up leather jacket in A.Presse’s high-ceilinged showroom.
On Their Own Terms
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“We never think about trendiness or popular design details,” Ms. Sakamoto said through a translator. “It’s more like functionality, everyday use.” The label has a thing for natural dyes: pants stained with persimmon tannin, yellow ochre and sumi ink, shirts colored with mugwort and adzuki beans.
The sudden popularity of these labels outside Japan can make it feel as if they are new. Yet each label has built a respectable business within Japan, some for more than a decade. Auralee was founded in 2015. A year later, Yoko Sakamoto4 started its line. A.Presse is the relative baby of this cohort at five years old.
“A couple years ago, we would have to buy off the line sheet or go to Japan and see everything,” said Saager Dilawri, the owner of Neighbour, who has an instinct for what spendy, creative types lust after. “Now I think everyone from Japan is trying to go to Paris to get into the international market.”
This movement’s “Beatles on Ed Sullivan” moment occurred in 2018, when Auralee won the Fashion Prize of Tokyo, granting the designer, Ryota Iwai, financial support. Soon after, Auralee was given a slot on the Paris Fashion Week calendar.
“I had never seen a show before, never thought to do it,” Mr. Iwai said through a translator in February, days after his latest runway show. He has now done five.
As we talked, buyers speaking different languages entered his storefront showroom and ventured upstairs to scrutinize items like a trench coat that looked as if it was made of corduroy but was actually made from cashmere and wool and an MA-1 bomber jacket with a feathery merino wool lining peeking out along the placket.
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The Cale designer Yuki Sato travels throughout Japan to find textiles. Unusually, the company manufactures everything, including leather and denim, in one factory.
At Cale’s5 display off Place Vendôme, the designer Yuki Sato described denim trousers and pocketed work jackets as “modest, but perfectionist.” On the other side of the city, at Soshi Otsuki, whose 11-year-old label Soshiotsuki has gained attention for its warped vision of salary-man suits, I encountered buyers from Kith, a New York streetwear emporium better known for selling logoed hoodies and sell-out sneakers than for tailoring.
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Nearly a decade into its existence, Soshiotsuki has hit a hot streak. Soshi Otsuki won the LVMH Prize in 2025, and he already has a Zara collaboration under his belt. An Asics collaboration is set to arrive in stores soon.
Talking through translators with these designers, I began to worry that it might be unfair to group them together simply because they were all from Japan. Auralee simmers with colors as lush as a Matisse canvas, while Comoli’s brightest shade is brown. Soshiotsuki6 has mastered tailoring, while Orslow is known for its faded-at-the-knee jeans channeling decades-old Levi’s.
Rather, as with the Antwerp Six design clique that sprung out of Belgium in the early 1980s, it is these labels’ origin stories that thread them together.
“They’re being encountered on their own terms and respected on their own account, and they happen to be Japanese,” said W. David Marx, the author of “Ametora: How Japan Saved American Style” and a cultural critic who has lived in Tokyo for more than two decades.
“It is a new era of Japanese fashion on the global stage,” Mr. Marx said.
A Love Affair With Japan
Western shoppers have a history of falling hard for clothes from Japan. In 1981, when Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garçons and Yohji Yamamoto crashed onto the Paris fashion scene, buyers swooned for their brainy, body-shrouding creations.
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Recently reintroduced as Number(N)ine by Takahiro Miyashita.
Years later, Number(N)ine7 and A Bathing Ape synthesized trends we would call American — grunge, streetwear and hip-hop — polished them up and sold them back to the West.
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Years before American men were trawling the internet for A.Presse, they would scour forums for deals on Visvim’s jeans and sneakers. Today, Visvim has stores in Santa Fe, N.M.; Carmel, Calif.; and Los Angeles.
Into the 2000s, clothing geeks were swapping tips on forums like Superfuture and Hypebeast about how to use a Japanese proxy service to buy Visvim’s8 seven-eyelet leather work boots or SugarCane’s brick-thick jeans.
Along the way, “Made in Japan” became a shorthand for “made well.” This was more than fetishization. As America’s clothing factories became empty carcasses pockmarking the heartland, Japan’s apparel industry grew steroidal.
“Japan still has an incredible manufacturing base for apparel that goes all the way from the textiles to the sewing to the postproduction,” Mr. Marx said.
Today, many Japanese labels produce most of their garments and, crucially, their textiles in Japan. When I first met Mr. Iwai years ago, I asked how he managed to create such lush colors. He answered, as if noting that the sky was blue, that he worked with the factories that developed his fabrics. As I spoke with Mr. Sato in January, he shared that Cale’s factory had been in his family for generations and also produced for other Japanese brands that I would know.
Chris Green, the owner of Ven. Space, a boutique in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood of Brooklyn that has helped to introduce a number of these labels to an American market, suggested that because Japan is a small country with a fervent fashion culture, a competitive spirit has been stoked.
“They have to be able to cut through the noise,” Mr. Green said, with brands trying to prove that their cashmere sweater can outclass their peers’, that their silks are sourced from finer factories. What’s more, he said, once these brands have nailed a design, they stick with it. That is something that is important to men, in particular, who hate when a brand abandons its favored pants after a season.
Before he opened Ven. Space in 2024, Mr. Green was an admirer of many of these labels, purchasing them during trips to Japan. As we spoke, he was wearing a pair of Comoli belted jeans that he bought five or so years ago. A similar style is still available.
Primed for What They Were Pitching
At the close of the 2010s, streetwear was running on fumes. Quiet luxury was entering at stage left. If the Row and Loro Piana were expert at subtle, fine-to-the-touch clothes, so, too, were the likes of T.T, Graphpaper and Yoko Sakamoto.
“I went from this guy that wears pear-shaped pants to just wearing, like, a denim jacket,” said Chris Maradiaga, a tech worker and freelance writer in Vancouver. His wardrobe today consists of Comoli’s black-as-night trousers and a purple-tinged coat by Ssstein. His kaleidoscopic Bode jackets gather dust.
That Ssstein clothes have landed in the closets of men on the other side of the world defies the early guidance relayed to Kiichiro Asakawa, the label’s bushy-haired designer. His “senpais,” or mentors, warned him that his reduced designs might leave Western audiences cold. “You need something powerful,” they told him.
He tried, but it wasn’t necessary. It’s the most minimal designs — his cotton gabardine zip-ups, his “easy” pleated trousers — that people are most interested in now. “It actually makes me very happy,” he said through a translator. “My instincts were right.” Mr. Asakawa won the Fashion Prize of Tokyo in 2024.
Adapting to North American Markets (and Men)
Several Japanese designers noted that they had modified their sizing to accommodate larger, American bodies.
“I’ll ask them, Can you lengthen the pants by three centimeters? Because you need that for the Western market,” Mr. Dilawri of Neighbour said, noting that the designers were receptive to those requests.
A number of labels, like Comoli and Soshiotsuki, are already oversize. That’s the look.
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Kiichiro Asakawa ran a Tokyo boutique, Carol, before starting Ssstein in 2016. It’s still there. He, too, said he found inspiration in the everyday, for example when watching an elderly couple have dinner across a restaurant.
There is also the matter of price. On the whole, these clothes are not cheap. See Auralee’s silk bomber jacket, which could be military surplus but feels stolen from a sultan’s palace. It’s roughly $1,700. Ssstein’s9 Carhartt cousin chore jacket with a cowhide collar and a factory-massaged fade? About $1,000. Anyone who has traveled recently in Japan, where the yen is tantalizingly weak, will tell you that these Japanese-made clothes, after being imported, are far pricier in North America.
Yet, as luxury fashion labels continue to price out the aspirational middle-class shopper, many of those same shoppers have convinced themselves that the Japanese labels are a better value. A cashmere coat at Prada is $10,000, and you’ll need $1,690 to own a cotton-blend cardigan from Margiela. Similar pieces from Japanese labels can be half that price, or less.
“Brands like Bottega, Balenciaga, the Row — all that stuff — are so unobtainable,” said Mr. Kirkland, whose clothing budget has shifted to A.Presse. “I will never be in that price bracket,” he added, “but I’m wealthy enough to buy a chore coat for $800.”
Of course, Mr. Kirkland and all of the fans of these labels could own a chore coat for far less — but then it wouldn’t be “Made in Japan.”
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