Whenever my friends in New York or Paris complain about the dating scenes in their respective cities, I can’t help but throw my head back in an unapologetic fit of patronizing laughter. Ça n’a rien à voir avec my hometown of Los Angeles, chéries.
Imagine all the all the mean girls (and boys) in high school who decided compensate for their parents routinely ignoring them (and/or bribing their way into top tier universities) by obtaining worldwide adoration. Now, stick them all in one kale-and-oat-milk-fueled city, and make them compete with one another for entertainment jobs and Instagram likes. That’s Los Angeles for you.
Please keep in mind that the self-important, navel-gazing nature of Hollywood is not industry-specific – everyone in Los Angeles is a celebrity of some sort, if only in their own mind. So, unless pathological narcissism turns you on, I suggest you look elsewhere if it’s love that you’re after.
With all that said, if you do find yourself looking for love in the City of Angels (LOL), here are some of the characters you may encounter.
The IMDb Idiot
This is the most common L.A. specimen, the L.A. Starter Boyfriend, if you may. His “occupation” varies from pseudo-producer (of what, is anyone’s guess), to trust-fund-kid-cum-auteur, to that guy you bonded with in improv class over headshot recommendations. His IMDb profile boasts a laundry list of credits (and subsequent “awards”) most of which have yet to grace any screen, big or small. In reality, he either subsidizes his life with his trust, or is some multi-hyphenate of the bartender-waiter-Lyft driver variety. He lives in Hollywood/Beachwood-adjacent, Burbank, or Koreatown.
The Famous Fuckboy
If you live in L.A. for long enough, you will, at some point, find yourself dating somebody with a certain amount of clout. You will probably meet him on Raya or in line at Erewhon (think a more-expensive, CBD-infused Whole Foods). He will probably have a girlfriend or a wife, about whom you will know nothing (okay, maybe something, it’s 2019). As for you? You will become the latest addition to his revolving door of maitresses and experience the novelty of dining at NOBU three nights a week (it’s a miracle this man doesn’t have mercury poisoning). Enjoy the Tesla ride while it lasts, because it is bound to get dull and/or messy fast.
The West of the 405 Bro
The Westside of L.A. is quickly becoming a slightly better dressed version of Silicon Valley. Slightly. Venice and Santa Monica are crawling with tech industry dude-bros who will attempt to woo you with tales of their cryptocurrency investments and Burning Man escapades. If you’re familiar with the Murray Hill finance guy, just picture his hotter, yoga-practicing equivalent. He probably won’t travel east of Beverly Hills to see you, so bonne chance if you live east of Doheny.
The Eastside Hipster
The Eastside of Los Angeles, which, for the purposes of this guide, will include everything east of Western Avenue (think Silverlake, Echo Park, Eagle Rock, Highland Park, etc.), is somewhat of a socio-economic mixed bag. If the the men who inhabit these newly-gentrified areas have one thing in common, it’s that they want you to think they are cooler than you, if only by virtue of zip code. They listen to too much NPR and have a healthy wardrobe of ironic neon hues from the 80s, carefully curated from Goodwill. They drive Priuses and probably voted for Bernie. Their vintage frames may or may not be prescription. They are in dire need of personalities. You get the idea.
The East Coast Divorcé
After being taken for a ride by his alimony-hungry wife, this man began to run…and didn’t stop until he hit another coast. His Stage 4 PTSD dictates that he dates, at minimum, ten years younger, focusing his efforts on arm candy that he can drag along to charity events and the odd premier of some B-movie that “producer buddy” invited him to. He may or may not have a Seeking Arrangements profile. Oh, and he has weird sexual quirks from being married for so long – and don’t you dare hope this old dog is going to learn new tricks. He won’t. Pas possible.
The Non-Industry Dude
After having endured your fair share of Hollywood types, you will tell yourself that you need to date someone who never has, or will, walk down a red carpet, like a doctor or lawyer. Enter the Non-Industry dude, dangerous for the very fact that he appears so unassuming. He probably stems from the Midwest and opted to plant his heels somewhere completely inconvenient, like Pasadena or Downtown. He brags about his “historic L.A. building” and the hot tub on the roof. He’s unattractive by your now obliterated physical standards (ah yes, when you’ve lived in L.A. long enough, Bella Hadid is an 8 at best), and yet he still seems like a good idea. That is, until you realize this psycho is in L.A. by choice. It’s not his half-baked dreams of stardom that brought him there — no, he actually likes this city, and that is the biggest red flag of them all.
The L.A. Native
The best kind of L.A. guy, if there is such a thing, is the one who was born and raised here. (And no, being from the Valley, beach towns like Hermosa and Manhattan, and surrounding suburbs of L.A. county doesn’t count.) The L.A. Native is a rare breed of delightfully jaded human who cannot be impressed by any of the glitzy Hollywood stuff, despite his father being on the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (or, most likely, as a result of it). The L.A. Native may also work in the entertainment industry, but it is more a matter of continuing the family trade than satisfying some delusional dream of stardom. He doesn’t take himself or his ambitions too seriously, and yes, he eats both dairy and gluten, and expects you to do the same. And, perhaps best of all, he appreciates getting out of L.A. from time to time.
To wrap up this guide (rant?), let me remind you that I’m biased in my hometown hatred, so you best take my minor exaggerations with a generous handful of pink Himalayan sea salt. I have friends with boyfriends and even husbands here, and my parents are still married after nearly 40 years of living here (they met in New York). There’s hope.
And, if not, the weather’s nice.
