You're a douche. You drive a leased German car you can't afford, because it's certainly not a Volkswagen. Your hair has more product than Costco. You constantly post about your models-and-bottles nightclub exploits on Facebook.
There are a lot of you in L.A. And here's where you live:
Echo Park. The hipster as douche? You bet. Especially the one who slums it in a Mini Cooper and only wears American Apparel gear that has been roughed up so as to appear “vintage.” You're a recent arrival from the rural Great Plains who can often be found holding court at the Little Joy bar, lamenting about how much cooler “the Eastside” used to be before all these new people showed up.
North of Montana. Santa Monica's toniest neighborhood, located, as its name would suggest, north of Montana Avenue, is douchy only for its genuine display of wealth. It is the home of those people who really can afford bottle service and German cars. And it's those douches we hate the most. Just recall last year's story of a North of Montana CEO who had not only $10 million worth of precious art stolen (a Jasper Johns and more) but also lost high-end watches (a Patek Philippe, a Lange & Söhne and a Breitling) and a 2010 Porsche Carrera 4S. (He got most of it back.) Douche! (No, really, we're jealous.)
Downtown. Enough with the art walks and pub crawls and the whisky tastings. Is there life along Seventh Street besides booze? What was once a total shithole is now the hippest place on the planet because it has a Ralph's and a few watering holes where the bartenders wear arm garters. Lord. Make it stop.
Listen downtowners, we're glad you found your place in the sun, but stop bragging about how cool it is. It still smells like downtown. And if you claim you're not afraid to walk around after midnight, you're lying.
See also: The Six Types of Transplants Ruining L.A.
The Entire South Bay. All of it. Except Torrance and Gardena. Well, mostly just Manhattan Beach and the beachside bar scenes (Hermosa and Redondo, especially) where everyone's your bro, bro, and the only black guy around is Dennis Rodman, except he's not around.
Actually, douche is an upgrade for the kind of neon-beachwear-sporting meathead-and-Barbie couples who spit beer in the South Bay night scene. Fifty-year-old, orange-tanned guys with frosted-blonde hair? You'll find them here.
Fine, you say, you'll retire to Manhattan Beach, where a decent house costs a couple mil. That'll keep the douches at bay. Nope. That's still the land of the brown-fearing, Whole Foods-embracing, plastic-surgery-having real housewife. It's what Beverly Hills used to be before the Iranians took over and classed the place up.
Last but not least …
Abbot Kinney. Oh boy. Don't get us started. First, a special exception will be granted for all the O.G. Venice people who for so long tried to foster an artistic sense of community along Abbot Kinney Boulevard: Joe's, Hal's & Grill, Sarlo Realty, even The Brig and resident Robert Downey Jr. All of you and more get passes. We are not even worthy.
And let's be clear here: Much of the rest of Abbot Kinney is not so much a neighborhood as an exception to any concept of Venice as a place where artists, surfers, African Americans and Latinos used to rule. As such, any new “vintage” boutique, high-end jewelry seller, “locavore” eatery or “beach lifestyle” knick-knack shop where surfboards and skate decks are used as decor get one of our Douche of the Neighborhood awards. Really. You vegan, sustainable, yuppie-ass, sponge-longboard-toting newcomers should all be taken over to Sixth Avenue in the still-gritty Oakwood neighborhood and made to camp out for one hot summer night just to see how long you'd survive.