The Museum of Ice Cream just made its debut in Los Angeles last Saturday. It opened for a short time in New York last year, and it pained me to know I would not be able to see it. So you can imagine my excitement to find out it was coming to LA, set to open on my birthday, and is walking distance from my apartment.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Located in a quiet part of the Arts District, the exterior of the museum is completely pink. Think the Paul Smith Wall on Melrose, but with (slightly) fewer people lined up taking photos. (All the photo-taking happens inside.)

In case you don't know, the Museum of Ice Cream is a wonderland of frozen treat-themed art installations, including a sprinkle pool.

I repeat: a sprinkle pool. As in, a pool that is filled with sprinkles.

Check this out. I got my pool floaty and everything.

But is the Museum of Ice Cream really a museum? I'm not so sure.

Once you get inside, you're greeted by many aspiring actors who guide you on your journey. You learn a few tidbits here and there, but I wouldn't really call it an informational lesson on ice cream. The art installations are beautiful, if not a little gimmicky (but that's to be expected), yet there is no description of the artwork or the artists behind the pieces.

That's what really bothered me.

As someone who loves art museums, has worked on large-scale art installations, and knows how much work goes into creating something like this, I was a little frustrated that I was unable to appreciate those who actually conceptualized these giant popsicles and banana swings.

What's more, rather than really appreciating the moment, all I saw was iPhones in front of every single person's face. This is an Instagram exhibit, not a real museum, I thought to myself, as I waited behind a little girl whose mom made her retake a video approximately 5 million times.

It was a strange experience, to say the least. I'm glad I went, but it's times like these that I really wish I were an Instagram influencer -- that way I could get to see the exhibit by myself without screaming kids and phones in my face the whole time. Maybe I'd be able to appreciate the art a little bit more. . .  but at least get that perfect InstaPic.