Ok, I’m sorry for singling out these tragic un-hipsters but somebody had to do it. I have been tormented by having to watch as my beloved hometown of L.A. is slowly but surely transformed into Vegas. That’s right, the tacky, kitschy, oiled up, cheesey, tasteless, classless capital of all that is wrong with America. I’m not saying L.A. has a rep for being the bastion of class and pedigree, but what I’ve seen lately is for me akin to a horror movie. I know SoCal has always traditionally had a hip art scene. There are rustic enclaves in canyons and by the sea that make us marvel. There is subtle style and taste in this town, I swear! But at some point through the years, the turnip truck began making regular stops in L.A. (surely including Las Vegas in its route).
It’s like L.A. just got a cultural case of crabs!
Tanning salons–formerly the mainstays of cold places that didn’t boast our moderate climate–seem ubiquitious if one is to judge by the young woman on the far left. The poor little transplant to her right seems to have learned makeup skills from the “Tammy Faye School of Cosmotology.” But let’s not pick on the ladies. There are plenty of examples of the Vegasication of L.A. at my gym in West Hollywood where ’straight’ guys who look like Sigfried and Roy walk around fondling their carrot-hued man teets in front of the mirror. I swear there must be some radiocative waste in those protein shakes they heartily consume because their skin is not of human tone or texture…nor are the fibers of their clothing even close to natural.
I know I’m the ultimate snob–I’m not going to deny it. I like educated, subtle, sophisticated, cultured nuanced people. But I also like earthiness–explorations of nature, the salt of the earth, roughing it, etc. And I’m sure Vegas is a swell place. I loved Showgirls…but not as a genuinely great film; as a kitsch masterpiece…one that was easily escapable by switching off the TV.
blog feed
podcast feed
