April in Palm Springs

April in Palm Springs always smells like sunscreen and desperation. The Levi’s pool party at the Colony Palms landed right on the Coachella weekend, which meant everyone had already filled the desert into their plans and was just waiting for an excuse to show up. Snoop Dogg and Heron Preston handled the music—the kind of celebrity DJ energy that doesn’t require your attention, everyone too busy with phones and drinks to really listen anyway.

The guest list was what you’d expect: the LA rotation, the beautiful people who show up at every poolside event between April and September. Artists and athletes and models and everyone in between, faces you recognize and faces you don’t. Eventually it all blurs. Brunch happened, drinks were free, the Levi’s branding sat somewhere in the middle, but mostly it was a pool and tan skin and that particular California light that makes everything feel temporary.

It’s the moment when the year actually starts here, not January. The festival circuit opens up, and for a couple months everyone moves into the desert doing the same party over and over—same beats, different sponsors. You know by September you’ll be tired of it. You know it’s not sustainable. But that’s the deal, the one you make when you live somewhere this absurd.