This wasn’t the scene I expected in Austin. I show her the drink already in my hand, smile passive aggressively, and decide I’m ready to leave. But they’re not: one girl asks me how I “got on the list,” and another one slaps me with her fan when she thinks I’m cutting her in line at the bar. and can’t believe how much nicer everyone is here.

I leave the closet and strike up a conversation with the glitterati waiting to take photos in front of an indoor tree. It’s empty in here-too dark for pictures. When I catch a glimpse beyond the other guests’ phone cameras and into each room, I see people posing on a throne of fake flowers, a teal piano that doesn’t work, and a neon pink sign that says, “I NEED SPACE.” I like the “black hole room,” a pitch-black closet with stars projected onto the ceiling. The exhibit, branded as an “immersive art experience,” feels like a glorified Instagram photoshoot. The scene is painfully trendy: loud house music, people wearing sunglasses indoors, and an open bar with four types of exotically flavored tequila to wash it all down. on a Tuesday, and I’m with my friend Grace at the closing party for an exhibit at a hostel turned bar/art museum/tattoo studio/thrift store under the highway near downtown Austin.

Which city says keep it weird