Social Distancing in the VIP

People often act surprised when I share my increasingly severe introverted tendencies with them. How I can quite happily spend an entire workday inside my 160-square-foot domicile or at a nearby cafe with minimal human contact — if any at all. The uncountable amounts of evenings I’ve found comfort by just watching queer dramas, sans a man; when time around me appears to collapse in on itself as I ebb and flow between flow states writing God knows what.

You don’t need a million friends, just a handful of comrades who can fill your cup up.

Life in my developing old age has evolved into a blessedly simple affair, socially speaking. I now, rather comfortably, have seated myself in the knowledge that my “batteries,” if you will, aren’t filled by extroverted activities. (That’s not to say I don’t need and appreciate and crave human connection. It’s part of our innate qualities that define us as a species; it’s just that I don’t need all that much to feel completely content.)

You don’t need a million friends, just a handful of comrades who can fill your cup up. The quality times that make up your social calendars should always take precedence over the quantity of them. That kind, soft interaction with a gentle stranger can be just as rewarding as coffee with a dear friend. And that’s OK.

In a world organized around extroversion, it’s becoming harder for us introverts to find social respite when engaging with the world outside of our bedrooms.

This is especially the case at music festivals where human beings are packed tighter than albacore tuna in tin cans — settings that are now set in a world defined by an airborne pathogen that’s led to the deadliest pandemic in American history. We introverts crave those bouts of situational solitude at such happenings.

But when in doubt (and if your checking account is sufficiently plump) there’s always VIP.

“Where have you been for the past like two hours?” a fellow colleague questions when I finally return to the press tent at Outside Lands having left two hours earlier. In typical music festival fashion, OSL featured no less than ten types of color-coded wristbands for 2021. Most of them featured a baby-blue hue, allowing holders to access the festival grounds — and not much else.

You had the odious pleasure of suffering through long lines for uncleaned Porta-Potties. Wait times for hot food — $14 individual pizzas, $13 burgers, $8 fries — that left otherwise warm sustenance to sit at room temperature. Festival-goers (and a few media journalists) who were given general admission passes were, more or less, treated like factory-farmed cattle.

It’s estimated that between 25 to 40% of the world’s population are either introverts or ambiverts, the latter quality of being defined as existing somewhere in between extroversion and introversion.

I, by some blessing from a higher power, managed to secure a “VIP Media” pass. Thus, it allowed me to reap the benefits of what would’ve been a three-times more expensive ticket than general admission, had I paid for it myself.

As for the main benefit VIP provided for me personally? Blissful space away from your fellow man or woman or non-binary entity.

“Oh…. honestly, I was just vibing at VIP and very much chilling by myself,” I replied.

I’m not one for hyperbole or frivolity. That said: The VIP experience at Outside Lands this year was worth every penny — if for no other reason than for the ability it gave me to be slightly by myself. Granted, when one attends a music festival, you throw the ability to be entirely alone out the window. But it’s not to say, however, that you can’t find a pocket or corner or vacant bathroom stall to just be with general admission access, even if only for a bit; VIP just makes that search much less cumbersome and far more conducive to having an agreeable introverted experience.

As with most introverts, this is one of the pivotal learnings in any wallflowers blossoming: to understand that your boundary setting, if established too firmly or too urgently, can come across as rude and cold, so finding that epithermal balance is crucial.

OSL’s VIP lounge established itself as my anecdote, my respite, my literal ticket to being able to survive three days defined by an excessive amount of extroverted activities.

When the sociability afforded by consumed liquor would wear off, I would make a beeline to the oasis of sweet, well-spaced solitude that my wristband. My colleagues back at the media tent continue nursing the free beer with ease; they seemed conflicted about the muted experience of what entails covering a music festival in a time where journalism is hanging on by dental floss. I took my ambivalence elsewhere… to a lone corner on the first floor of OSL’s VIP lounge.

In soft overhead lighting, I found situational rest ignoring the sideways flirting from a handsome man. I found solace in sprawling out on the bleachers, at times more than six feet away in either direction from the nearest biped. I found cool-calm laid flat-out on an empty couch, unbothered by the passerby. I happily drained my AirPods’ battery by activating the active noise canceling feature in the bathroom — by the bar, on a chair, underneath a cabana.

When kind strangers waved and said “hi,” I politely reciprocated. But I didn’t, however, fane interest in wanting to socialize any further after said exchange and smiled as I continued walking my own way before breaking eye contact. As with most introverts, this is one of the pivotal learnings in any wallflowers blossoming: to understand that your boundary setting, if established too firmly or too urgently, can come across as rude and cold, so finding that epithermal balance is crucial.

And yes, you’ll spectacularly fumble and fall and have more than a few awkward interactions in that unfurling of petals. That’s completely fine. It’s expected, honestly.

Those hours I spent discovering solitude inside the various corners and creases in VIP was indispensable. One could even say essential.

The social distancing I found amid this music festival — an OSL that was defined by hours-long waits to attend tents-turned-nightclubs — allowed me to both pay homage to my innate character and find joy in the concerts, the people, the tiny beautiful things all around me. It’s not too much of a stretch to admit that had I not been granted VIP access, which by proxy allowed me to introvert the fuck out when I felt overwhelmed, my relationship with Outside Lands 2021 wouldn’t be so glowing.

Though, that very admission speaks to volumes. It adds a personal anecdote to the fact that we need to accommodate introverts more encompassing in all aspects of modern-day life. It’s estimated that between 25 to 40% of the world’s population are either introverts or ambiverts, the latter quality of being defined as existing somewhere in between extroversion and introversion. With such data known, maybe it wouldn’t behoove festival organizers to create more accessible (read: affordable) ways to accommodate concert attendees who, say, need to find some semblance of peace and quiet outside the chaotic fray.

But until that occurs, you can find me socially distancing alone in the VIP.

Sign up for The Bold Italic newsletter to get the best of the Bay Area in your inbox every week.