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DISPATCH FROM THE YEEZY PLANE

It started with an invite to Wyoming. Any Kanye fan worth her salt knows Yeezy’s had a studio set up there for months; who’s sayin’ no? Not I.

But full disclosure: I was nervous about the trip from jump. This was a Def Jam event organized by Team Kanye in the building at the last millisecond. Reports about exactly how many tastemakers were going ranged from just 50 to 500. No one could say for sure. I started getting paranoid pings that this could easily morph into The Rihanna Plane, the disastrous 777 promotion that trapped 200 music journalists for a full week on a jet flying to multiple stops internationally. Meanwhile no one at Def Jam—the staff of which was clearly overwhelmed with the challenge of accomplishing this last-minute Yeezy brainstorm— could even tell me for sure when we were returning. Do I pack an overnight bag or not? Even heading to the actual plane, after the takeoff destination changed from Van Nuys to LAX (a considerable travel difference if you’re based in Hollywood) within the last hour before takeoff, there was no information, at all, about what was gonna happen.

Total and complete Kanye mystery. Erring on the side of preparedness, I packed a small suitcase. Maybe if I need a change of clothes I can luck up on some Yeezy gear. Imagine my horror when I show up to Atlantic aviation and see a 727—which carries 100+ people— and started clenching. That’s a big-ass plane.

Arriving at the private terminal, it’s mad easy to spot the group: Every single person has brand new, fresh-out-the-box kicks on, including myself. I even had to powwow with my homegirls to decide which shoes, and once the fashions were decided, if it was disrespectful in any way to Ye to rock Nike. One thing is clear: Ain’t nobody getting caught DEAD looking busted in front of Yeezy himself. The style and vibe is on high.

My first Kardashian spotting happens almost immediately, as Scott Disick from the fam is lingering with the group of not more than 20 in the terminal. I’m trying to figure out who the hipster crew of young white girls are; all carrying Yeezy Boost boxes. I don’t see any people I recognize yet.

A coordinator from the label asks my name and when she pulls out the five-page list It’s at least 300 people long. OMG, RihannaPlane! The flight that was supposed to leave at 12:15 hasn’t even completed boarding at 12:30. As we walk out on the tarmac, a pilot assistant grabs my suitcase. No ticket, no voucher… he’s like, you’ll pick it up on the other side. Except what if my bag looks like 12 others (hint: it does). I’m starting to get anxiety. When we finally get on— at 12:40—I realize why that terminal was empty. EVERYONE IS ALREADY ON THE PLANE. I’m literally the last to board.

There are only middle seats left. Def Jam’s Noah Sheer is in the first row, and greets me with a hug. “It’s gonna be an adventure,” he says, and I’m genuinely wishing very badly I was stoned. This is so many goddamn people. A couple aisles later, I walk past Lil Yachty, who’s sitting quietly hoping not to be noticed by the other 120 on this plane. Except those bright red braids yo, recognizable instantly.

SUP, LIL BOAT, I say. 90 minutes later, as were descending into Jackson Hole, I begin to understand why Kanye comes here: It’s a devastatingly beautiful place. The mountain ranges are beyond comprehension. Pictures do it no justice; you just can’t experience the scale through your lens. All 120 of us pile out of the plane and everyone is just standing on the tarmac, staring at the nature. They quickly sort us into various departing buses to about five different hotels in the area. We’re given a black wristband “for the party tonight.” At 6pm the bus to take us North shows up...

TO BE CONTINUED

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