INDIO, Calif. — I’m from New Jersey — home of the Jonas Brothers and “gym, tan, laundry.” Like every other zillennial, I grew up singing along to LeAnn Rimes and early Taylor Swift, but I wasn’t what you’d call a country music fan. I’d never even heard of Stagecoach — the three-day country music festival held in the Southern California desert after Coachella clears out — until it became the center of Bachelor in Paradise hookup scandals.
So how’d I end up in the desert last weekend wearing a bandana and boots and singing my heart out to Cody Johnson’s “‘Til You Can’t”? The short answer: Post Malone. The longer version: The shift that the genre is navigating in the TikTok era — new sounds, new algorithms and new superstars like Ella Langley — and how it’s luring in “anything but country” folks like me.
Ella Langley commanded big crowds — and lots of cowgirl core.
I arrived as an outsider in an Amazon bolo tie. Three days, one dust storm and a Diplo DJ set (complete with line dancing) later, I left feeling like I’d found my people — or, at least, a newfound appreciation for twang and the fans willing to share it with me.
The lineup: A little bit country, a little bit rock ‘n’ roll, a little bit Mr. Worldwide
Though Stagecoach is the country counterpart to Coachella — where, ahem, many festivalgoers told my colleague Kelsey Weekman that they were sick of Morgan Wallen & Co. ruling the charts — its 2026 lineup blurred the lines between Nashville and … everywhere else. Sure, there were belt buckle belters like Wynonna Judd and Little Big Town — but also Pitbull and Ludacris. Meanwhile, Third Eye Blind, Counting Crows, the Wallflowers and Hootie & the Blowfish scratched that ‘90s nostalgia itch.
I didn’t have a nostalgia itch; what I did have was a raging case of Post Malone-itis. Thanks to his 2024 album F-1 Trillion (and the Wallen collab those Coachella attendees were complaining about), the tattooed rapper had built up enough country cred to be named one of three Stagecoach headliners, alongside Cody Johnson and Lainey Wilson. As a true-blue Posty, I had to be there.
I also had to see Diplo’s Honky Tonk stage — where Marshmello, Loud Luxury, Two Friends and even my fellow New Jerseyian, DJ Pauly D, turned country staples into bass-heavy remixes, complete with line dancers moving in sync under a mirrored disco horse — with my own eyes. The electro-meets-Amarillo mashup shouldn’t have worked, but it did, pulling some of the weekend’s biggest, most unexpected crowds.
Diplo’s Honky Tonk was where DJs including Slim McGraw and Two Friends performed EDM sets throughout the weekend. Line dancers on stage kept it feeling country.
Even the more traditional country hitmakers weren’t afraid to veer out of their Grand Ole Opry lane. Bailey Zimmerman did a cover of Miley Cyrus’s “The Climb,” and Brett Young sang Justin Bieber’s “Yukon.” As a pop music girlie, I lived for these crossover moments, but I wasn’t alone — the denim-clad folks around me were cheering just as loud.
It wasn’t always this way; Stagecoach’s roots are very much country or bust. The first lineup, in 2007, boasted George Strait, Kenny Chesney, Alan Jackson, Willie Nelson and not a DJ in sight; its “activations” included saddle making and lasso seminars. While those pillars of country haven’t been erased (multiple artists covered honky-tonk classics, and there were horses, haystacks and line dancers galore on the festival grounds), what counts as country these days isn’t so easy to define in the era of Cowboy Carter, “Old Town Road” and Luke Combs’s spin on “Fast Car.” And then there’s the influence of social media platforms like TikTok, where viral hits from Langley, Zimmerman and BigXthaPlug reach people who wouldn’t otherwise be tuning into country radio. People like me.
Some of the festival attendees I spoke to prefer those classic country vibes, telling me they skipped out on the stages featuring newer or non-country acts. Others were rolling with the times.
“My husband was an old-time country fan, like Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings, and I kind of progressed with the newer [artists] while he stayed in the past,” Candy, 78, told me. “I love the lineup this year.”
“Country music has definitely changed,” Levi, 48, agreed. “There are a lot of new artists, but it’s amazing.”
Jorts, bandanas and failing the cowboy boot test
If I wanted to feel like I belonged at Stagecoach — where Daisy Dukes, cow print, fringe and corsets reign supreme — I had to look like I belonged.
I figured the two fringe jackets and three Western belts I already owned would help me blend in with the crowd. A fedora? Good enough. (Reader, I’ve worn a cowboy hat once, and it was for a friend’s bachelorette in Austin.)
But I needed more. I snagged some real-deal cowboy boots from Lainey Wilson’s Golden West brand and bought a bolo tie off Amazon. Another must: a bandana, which I packed after festival regulars on TikTok told me the accessory was less of a fashion statement and more of a survival tool against the desert dust. (This would prove to be correct.) I was also advised that heel guards were the secret to walking miles across the festival grounds without feeling like I’d stomped barefoot over some cactus.
My best attempt to dress the part.
I was proud of the jorts and boots I paired for the first day, and relieved that I fit in with the majority of attendees in their best country-core outfits: suede jackets, leather shorts, denim vests and the occasional splash of patriotic red, white and blue. There were some outliers in the all-ages-and-vibes-welcome crowd: A group of women who looked to be in their 70s wore head-to-toe sequins as they made a beeline for Dan + Shay, and some Pitbull fans sweated it out in bald caps in a nod to Mr. Worldwide himself.
Of course, my own personal cowgirl cosplay didn’t fool everyone. Chris, 55, told me the real test of an authentic country fan was in how worn the soles of their cowboy boots were. I glanced down at mine. Stiff, spotless, unmistakably new and screaming, “As a matter of fact, this is my first rodeo.” Chris didn’t judge. “That’s all right,” he said. “I’m just happy you’re here, whatever the draw is.”
Sydney Sweeney, Guy Fieri and zero pretense
By the end of each day, I’d logged nearly 19,000 steps — about nine miles — weaving through crowds. At times, it felt less like a festival and more like the Fourth of July in a small town: kids tagged alongside their parents, who were half-watching them and half-watching the stage, groups of friends spanning generations and the mouthwatering smell of barbecue — much of it courtesy of Guy Fieri himself — hanging in the air.
The presence of kids threw me. At 10:50 p.m., strollers still rolled by. Families posted up on picnic blankets in general admission, unfazed by the hour. During Ludacris’s set, I turned to see a child sitting in a stroller beside me, fighting sleep as his mom bopped to “Money Maker.”
During Cody Johnson’s night one headlining show, I noticed something else: not a lot of phones. No sea of screens, no scramble to capture the perfect clip. People stood in groups, dancing, singing, fully in it. At one point, Johnson mentioned walking through the campgrounds and seeing people from all walks of life — with different backgrounds and tastes in music — all ending up in the same place.
That included some famous folks too — but this was a far cry from the influencer Olympics that is Coachella. Anyone who belonged to the network could enter T-Mobile’s Club Magenta, which hosted Teddy Swims, Madelyn Cline, Dylan Efron and Bachelor Nation stars like Blake Horstmann and Joey Graziadei — no guest list or exclusive RSVP required. A-listers Sydney Sweeney, Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis could also be spied soaking up tunes along with the normies.
The brand activations, including Sweeney’s own Syrn Saloon for her lingerie company, were refreshingly low-key. The Euphoria actress made headlines for doing karaoke in a plunging minidress with celebrity pals. When I walked through the swinging doors, I found a random duo of Stagecoachers on the mic while others played darts. It felt more like a chill bar than a brand experience — albeit one decorated with Syrn panties and bras. Again and again, I was reminded of something I’d read on Reddit threads ahead of my trip: “This isn’t Coachella.”
The desert was giving full Western vibes — including Sydney Sweeney’s SYRN Saloon.
And then came the dust storm
The only time the weekend felt like it might unravel was when the desert reminded everyone where we were. On Saturday, a dust storm rolled in fast, sending festivalgoers running for cover.
I was among the hundreds of people in line for Diplo’s Honky Tonk, when the winds started knocking cowboy hats loose. Palm trees were swaying and the sky went dark, but Marshmello’s set was still going strong, and from what I could tell, Little Big Town was still singing. This must be that desert wind people talk about, I thought.
Turns out, 40 mph winds aren’t normal. An emergency evacuation was prompted. Luckily, I was with a friend, plus one girl who asked to join us after she got stranded from her group. Cell service worked just enough for her to reunite with them before we made it to the exit, shuffling our way out to the parking lot with thousands of others.
Thousands of us were clearing out of the festival as screens prompted an emergency evacuation.
Despite the drama, the festival’s chill spirit prevailed; nobody seemed all that agitated. If anything, people were bummed that they’d be missing Riley Green, Journey and maybe even Lainey Wilson — though her set was ultimately just delayed. By the time we got the green light that the show would go on, I had stripped off my dirty clothes, put on pajamas and was ready to hit the hay. (That would be the proverbial hay — not the actual hay all over the festival grounds.)
Gone country(ish)
Thanks to the dust storm, I missed Wilson — who headlined in ab-baring brown leather — and Pitbull. But there was no way I was missing Post Malone’s night three set, bringing the festival — and my Stagecoach adventure — to an end. As expected, the Texan leaned into his new country sound, covering Hank Williams Jr. and Toby Keith and welcoming Shaboozey onto the stage. I didn’t know the lyrics — or even, I’ll be honest, the song titles — of those covers, but I found myself swaying along anyway. It wasn’t familiar … but it no longer felt foreign.
Over three days, this Jersey girl found herself singing along to “Neon Moon,” finding new appreciation for country artists old (Brooks & Dunn, on their farewell tour) and new (reigning “it” girl Ella Langley) and feasting on pulled pork in Western wear. I learned what country music fans mean when they gush about storytelling in the songs they love most — and how that storytelling doesn’t have to sound the same way. And I discovered that the long flight home to New York City is sweeter with Noah Rinker’s folk-pop-country tunes playing in my AirPods.
It’s too early to say if I’m a country convert — but I’ve got more scuff on my boots.
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