Los Angeles, a byword for the shallow, the plastic, the ephemeral- has long been cast as the antithesis to all things New York. It is the duty and arguably birthright of every self-respecting city girl, properly cask-aged in vodka martinis, sarcasm and Seinfeld reruns, to abhor the west coast. I was warned by nearly everyone that the sun can’t possibly shine as brightly as it had in those Red Hot Chili Peppers videos, that I would loathe the Hailey Bieber knockoffs and their Erewhon smoothies, that my fast-talking Brooklyn ass would be repulsed by LA traffic, smog and what it tried to pass off as pizza.
Being the kind of girl who could fall for a man she’d never met, my love for Los Angeles was firmly cemented long before I’d get to bask in her warm embrace. Bewitched by the Pacific from an early age, I’d force my sisters to play Baywatch in our living room, throwing all the couch cushions on the floor, our makeshift Raymour & Flanigan ocean, where they’d take turns drowning as I dove in to save them. Swear to all the gods, they learned to swim this way.
Those first few steps along the Venice boardwalk, a place where toe rings were still in and shirts were out, felt like a spiritual homecoming for this summer child. I packed my favorite kitten heels and platform boots only to spend most of the week in my Birkenstocks instead. My hair washed by the ocean. Combed by the breeze. Giddily tracked sand into the apartment. Carelessly got sunscreen on my naked lashes. Walked into a bar to catch a Dodgers game like the Yankees never happened. Found breakfast burritos and forgot all about bagels.
It was the first city other than my own I began to find solace and familiarity in. The salty air affirming that it did not, in fact, always have to be the way it always was.
Thank you to the city of Los Angeles for showing me it is possible to be inspired, feel alive and like myself outside of a 212 area code.
Thank you to Rudy the bartender, who didn’t cast any judgement when I had my own Hank Moody moment at 10am, ordering a pitcher with my coffee. He just poured the Pacifico and jokingly wondered about the dive bar named after him in Hell’s Kitchen.
Thank you to the Los Angeleno who didn’t hesitate to help when I got off trail a second time during a particularly arduous hike. Turns out the same way I looked forward to the California views was the same way Meg yearned for ones of Central Park. I owe her a guided bike tour when she visits in the fall.
Thank you to the Getty’s check-in staff member, Janet, who let me off the hook for just showing up to the museum without making a reservation ahead of time. With a wink and nod, my absentmindedness would be our little secret.
Thank you to the salon receptionist who gifted me a single yellow rose after having her team repair my chipped nail in 7 minutes flat. Thinking back, I’m sure they give one of those to all of their clients. For now I’m going to believe the roses are reserved for the ones who say “fuggedaboudit” real loud and tip 30%.
Thank you to California for just… being easy. Easy to love. Easy to reinvent yourself in. Easy to shed your winter coat for. Maybe they’re thinner over there because they’ve learned it pays to walk around weightless, unburdened and deserving of year-long damn near perfect weather. Sure there’s beauty in the struggle but must we always struggle for struggles sake?
Perhaps that is the root of all the disdain towards Los Angeles. The majority of the people I met there just seemed happy to exist, seemed to crack the code that was pretty fucking simple all along. Bunch of goddamn hippies but maybe they’re right. Back here on the east coast we cling to the idea that just barely getting by is some badge of honor. Like the scars still look cool this late in the game.
If you’re still holding on to California hate, fueled by a weird mixture of envy and snobbery, I’m beginning to think maybe you’re just incapable of getting a sick tan. Or can’t swim. If you humbled yourself, asked nicely enough, there’s a local more than willing to teach you.
Sis!!!! This was such a beautiful post!! 🥹
LA is really lucky to be described by you. ❤️
I almost cried 😭 it was so refreshing to read something beautiful about my state that is positive! I’ve lived here all my life- and back four generations- and I deeply, deeply love this land. I’m in Sonoma county not LA but still! This place is so special. Thanks for seeing her 😭