As I embark upon my trek back to the lovely city of Pittsburgh, my diaphanous chiffon dress offering no protection against the bus’ scratchy polyester-tufted seats, I cannot help but reminisce about the wonderful nine hours I spent at Sweetlife just a day ago. Sweetlife, a Music and Food Festival stationed at Maryland’s outdoor concert venue, Merriweather Post Pavilion, was started in 2008 by THE salad spot in DC, Sweetgreen. Sweetlife mirrors the quintessential music festival, attracting girls effortlessly clothed in flowing maxi-skirts and boho crop tops, and offering young men an opportunity to sport shirts splashed with absurd prints (my favorite of the day being one covered in bright red lobsters). Further, and most notably, it draws a select sampling of the chillest and most coveted bands who individually hold membership to a variety of diverse genres, including pop, alternative, rock and rap. Yet, beyond providing the most incredible sound waves to ever hit one’s ears, Sweetlife acts as a magnet for the best restaurants in all of D.C., each of whom meticulously craft a panoply of gourmet post-rage snacks for the concert-goers.
Adorned in high-waisted jean shorts and lacy bandeaus, my friends and I meandered down a winding gravel path, the progressively growing volume of psychedelic tunes serving as the only indication that we were rapidly approaching the indie festival. Upon reaching the check-in gate, we were absorbed by a lush forest, sheltered from the sun by a thick canopy of vibrant green leaves. It was absolutely magical. Viewing my surroundings through my oversized sunnies, I couldn’t help but feel as though I was in an old 8mm movie, where each frame ticks by, the moments suspended in a golden haze.
The concert grounds looked like a Free People catalogue. Giant oversized dream catchers, woven with yarn and saturated by a vast spectrum of vibrant hues, swayed in the breeze. With the desire to explore every inch of the concert grounds, we skipped along the dirt paths, squeezing by hipsters adorned in ocre tinted Karen Walker shades and gawking at the fact that we were members of such a cool crowd. All the while, whimsical music filtered through the trees offering a dreamy soundtrack to our sun-soaked adventures. Guided by the little posts that dotted the landscape, we were led to the farmers’ market-style food area. Each restaurant inhabited a small slate-blue gabled roof stand and offered a variety of treats ranging from angus beef burgers, to hand-whipped gelato, to oysters, to beer-battered fish tacos.
Sitting cross-legged at a picnic table and munching on kale, mint and carrot salads from Sweetgreen, we quickly became infatuated with the tribal prints splashed across many people arms, legs and even faces. Eager to embrace this festival trend, we covered each others’ bodies in stripes of pink, gold, violet and cobalt paint. This is when my typically J. Crew and Anthropologie totting group truly departed from our day-to-day personas and evolved into glamorous festival flower children.
Throughout the day we drank copious samples of Honest Tea, lounged while listening to Bastille, posed for countless disposable shots and exuberantly twirled and hopped to mellow bands ASTR, Capital Cities and St. Lucia. As 2 Chainz came on stage, a rapper who appeared to be relatively out of place in relation to the otherwise Indie-oriented crowd, the sun began to fade away and the night truly began. His opening line “Hello…. And sh*t” truly set the tone of the rest of the laughter-filled evening. Within each vulgar lyric we jokingly bellowed in each other’s faces, and each ‘gangsta’ move our flailing limbs attempted to emulate, we counted down the rapidly diminishing moments until we would be in the presence of the Goddess herself, Lana del Rey.
Flying from the stage where 2 Chainz performed – our overwhelming excitement allowing for our hand-in-hand skipping to increase to such a pace that we nearly collided with a group of daisy-chain-gilded girls – we eagerly joined in the massive crowd’s ‘pilgrimage to Mecca’ a.k.a. Lana. As soon as her tragically beautiful voice filtered through the speakers, everyone went silent, as collectively we realized that we were in the presence of someone truly extraordinary. Lana’s messages impacted some of the audience so deeply that tears dripped down their faces as they silently mouthed the words to her songs. My friends and I were in awe, truly speechless, as we finally stood in immediate proximity of a woman whose songs were connected to our most profound and cherished memories. Effortlessly dressed in jean shorts, cow boy boots and a long sleeved black tee, her midnight black waves tumbling across her shoulders and black eyeliner streaked heavily underneath her eyes, Lana radiated songs that had become our anthems, ones we resorted to in every occasion and every emotion. As Lana cautiously voiced her lyrics to us, it was apparent that she was just as dependent upon her fans as we were on her, ending each song with a voice that sounded like that of a sad child, as she shakily implored if we had enjoyed her songs. Her performance ended far too prematurely, as in one moment, we were swaying “West Coast” and in the next she had disappeared, invisible to us forever.
The night ended in a rain dance, but actually. Immediately after Foster the People entered the stage, their set exploding in bursts of light corresponding to the electronic sounds that wafted from their various stations, the skies opened above and we were bombarded with a sudden serge of water unmatched by any other. Overcome by a sense of spontaneity that the festival had inspired within us, my friend and I continued dancing, immune to the rain that drenched every inch of our bodies and the fact that every individual who surrounded us had buried their head deep inside of the rain jackets, securely protecting themselves from the weather. In our endless twirling, laughter, and hopping, we both fell in the mud countless times, yet unfazed we continued to rage. This kind of ‘whimsical carelessness’ seemed to characterize the entire day, as every moment was divorced of self-imposed limitations and instead saturated by the desire to simply experience and live. Every moment at Sweetlife was drenched with happiness.
