Tinseltown treat / Puzzle pro
Today: Diana Moskovitz, investigations editor, writer, and co-owner of Defector; and Carrie Frye, writer and book editor at Black Cardigan Edit.
Issue No. 437
Pink Pony World
Diana Moskovitz
Game Theories
Carrie Frye
Pink Pony World
by Diana Moskovitz
I wasn’t expecting so many kids at the Chappell Roan concert. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of adults there too—girls in glitter, guys in glitter, it was a very sparkle-forward affair—but it hadn’t occurred to me that the vibe would be so giggly and fun that kids would seem like such a natural addition to the mix. But on a recent evening, an all-ages crowd gathered on the grassy grounds surrounding the Rose Bowl, and after a while it made a certain sense. The family that sat behind us for a bit explained that “Pink Pony Club” was their 3-year-old daughter’s favorite song, and I couldn’t blame her. It’s a banger, it features ponies and the color pink. She can figure out the rest of the song’s meaning when she’s older (it’s about a queer kid from Tennessee coming out and enjoying the nightlife in West Hollywood, a city with an iconic queer night life where more than 40 percent of residents identify as LGBTQ.)
My friend who is somehow a heat-seeking missile for fun had invited me to attend. Had I listened to much Chappell Roan beforehand? No. I listened in the way you ambiently listen to whatever has broken through our increasingly fractured culture into what little is left of “the mainstream” (aka, the NFL, a handful of pop songs everyone learned before the pandemic shut down the world, and whatever is trending on Netflix). I knew a few of Roan’s hits from bumping up against them in stores, coffeeshops, and playlists; they seemed catchy, but I couldn’t tell you anything else. The tickets were under $200, practically a bargain in our Ticketmaster monopoly era, and it seemed like a great excuse to do two of my favorite things, feel happy and wear a tiara.
With my tiara I wore a sparkling pink skirt, black shirt, combat boots, and a few strands of very fake pearls. I had been hoping to toss on some press-on nails, but ran out of time.
The show was set up like a highly organized mini-festival. There were booths selling food, alcoholic beverages, nonalcoholic beverages, and whatever you might have forgotten to bring in your clear plastic bag. There were water stations, charging stations, and, of course, merch, plus various opportunities for social-media-perfect photos, including the centerpiece of it all, a giant pink pony. There were lines to pose at other picture-ready setups, but the giant pink pony, complete with purple hooves, giant lashes, and a mane of golden curls, was impossible to restrict or cordon off. It was exactly the type of set piece you expect at a marquee event in 2025; visually striking, easy to photograph, even easier to pose with for selfies. We took so many photos with it.
We arrived about 30 minutes after the doors opened at 4:30 p.m., but Roan wouldn’t take the stage for several hours. We split bao buns and garlic noodles from a food truck, took a swing through the eBay booth (which had more pony-themed photo opportunities inside), and surveyed the merch. Feeling complete in our quest to “take it all in,” we settled in on a patch of grass to catch some of the DJ set by Trixie Mattel, accompanied by two dancers who wore tiny white shorts and giant plastic heads molded and painted to look just like Mattel’s face. They shook their tighty-whities while the setting sun turned the clouds rosé pink against the San Gabriel Mountains, the kind of Southern California scene that always feels like magic. Next came hemlocke springs, we snuck in some churros for a nice dose of late-night sugar, and at last, a little after 9 p.m., green light flooded the stage, followed by red, some dramatic music played, and Roan appeared.
Keep us breathing fire!
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