The 10 People Who Won't Make It in Los Angeles
You know what this guy at the Brass Monkey is thinking? "You're never gonna make it, lady."
We've said it so many times, it's a wonder that it bears any more repeating: L.A. is the greatest city on the planet. Hands down. Fact. People come here every day on buses, trains, planes and hand-made art cars just to bask in our sunshine, taste our tacos, stare at our beautiful people, and turn their creative pursuits into dollars.
But not everyone is going to last in our fair burg. Many people will self-select out of here, self-absorb up their own assholes, or simply self-destruct. Here are the ten types of those folks who won't make it:
10 . The People Who Claim Everything is Better Back Home
These are usually Midwesterners, frequently New Yorkers, and sometimes Bostonians. The “I hate everything but the weather here” people who tend not to make friends because they spend all their time talking about their hometown and crying under a blanket. They go to the beach and take solo selfies sometimes, but that's about it. Sure, where they come from, there's decent pizza, sausages shaped like footballs and leaves that turn colors once a year — but none of those places are THIS place. L.A. is more than just a parking lot on the beach, dude, and you're going to miss it if you're hung-up on your hometown's shitty donuts and the like. We don't need to explain why again, do we?
A donkey doing drugs.
Bachelor Party screengrab
9. The Party Animal
This homeboy/homegirl usually wakes up on weekdays half-hanging out of a pool, crusted over with drugs the average person hasn't even heard of, reeking of lube and Fireball shots. They’re just here to genuflect before the pantheon of party gods or whatever, man. They’ll get their shit together as soon as they “wanna be boring” and “whatever, old man.” Not. Going. To. Happen. Even Mötley Crüe put in some semblance of an effort before they earned the right to mainline Jack Daniels on a weeknight, friend.
8. The L.A. Nativist
“I’m an L.A. Native, I’m so rare / there are so few of us / I’m like a four-headed unicorn-chupacabra that glows in the dark…” Uh. Yeah. With more than 2 million babies born in Los Angeles County in the past decade, you are mathematically, scientifically, sociologically and emphatically not special. Sure, you come from a truly great city, but if all you've got is that your mother’s vagina ejected you within these politically defined boundaries, you, sir/madam, are not going to make it here. Sorry. (Not sorry.)
"Water hitting rocks!? EPIC!"
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7. “Everything Is Epic” Person
A sandwich with bacon on it? "So fucking epic!" A differently colored car? "OMG epic-as-fuck, bro!" This person has a problem with quintiles, superlatives and being easily impressed (and classic literature, frankly) — all things that don't bode well in a city full of above-normal and decidedly off-kilter experiences. And, while we're at it, The Ramayana, Gilgamesh, The Iliad, Beowulf — those are epics. They are about a hero or heroes on an unbelievable and arduous journey, specifically one that exemplifies the values of the respective cultures that wrote them, often involving supernatural occurrences. A two-foot wave you cruised? An app sampler you and another assistant scarfed at happy hour? Not epic. Not epic at all. Here in L.A., the bar is a bit higher.
Guys “just telling it like it is” can often be found among the L.A. Sheriff's Department, shooting unarmed black people and arresting brown folks for walking down the street. But they're in every profession, really — telling mean jokes about people from Micronesia and such. Here in the land of the ethnic mash-up, the capital of human diversity, treating people like they’re less than people just isn't going to cut it.
Ozzie, Harriet and family.
5. Aspirants to the Middle Class
“I just want to plug in, settle down, and contribute to my 401(k),” says this kind of asshole. Get over yourself, Ozzie and/or Harriet. This is the city to succeed wildly, or fail spectacularly — often both. There is no warm center, no extra helpings of milquetoast, and certainly no khakis with blue blazers here. You want to be all staunchly middle-class and middle America and what-not? Take that shit to San Diego. There are only bridge-sheltered hovels or 20-room mansions here, nothing in between.
This guy isn't going to make it here at all. Come on: Just look at him.
Turn the page for more Angelenos who aren't going to make it, including a particular type of artist
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