The sun glows a burned orange as it sinks behind a skyscraper, a car horn screeches irritably, the wind whistles through the acres of trees on the Hollywood Hills: Los Angeles, the most offbeat and eccentric city in America, is my new home. I love it here. I live with my ex-boyfriend turned BFF, Axel and malti-poo Lala, in West Hollywood (Weho), home of the leather hot pants and LA’s Gay Mecca. America is a strange place, a place of contradictions, but a place that never fails to change one’s world view. I am constantly surprised by this huge country—each state tells a different tale: It’s like a never-ending novel with each page more exciting and bizarre than the last.
I settled on LA because lets face it to make it as an actress, there is no other city in the world to live in.
First of all, I’ll tell you what LA’s NOT like: It's not like anything on TV. People watch shows on TV and think that’s what it’s like out here. The “Real Housewives of LA”, 90210, The Hills, etc. Ever wonder why people in those shows never have to pay bills, do laundry, and are NEVER stuck in traffic? Because it’s FAKE. And the news doesn’t help either, since they know that sex and sensationalism sells. News flash: There aren’t running gun battles in the street. There aren’t shootouts every day. Also, you don’t see celebrities just walking down the street, all glammed up, or sipping a cappuccino at Starbucks waiting to sign autographs. We don't go surfing during lunch hour.
My days here are spent going on numerous TV and film auditions, writing articles, drama class and listening to Axel regale me with tales of his life in France, which are always ludicrous and funny. His high-pitched hyena laugh filling our studio apartment as Lala lies on her pillow and dreams up ideas to ruin my next pair of Choos. The variety of food here is incredible. New Yorkers come here and complain that the pizza is terrible (it’s not as good as NY Pizza), but the Mexican food is GREAT here. That more than makes up for it.
Don’t get me wrong, I have always loved my second home that is Johannesburg. It’s a city where being unusual is accepted-the norm, even. The music scene is so strong that you can’t walk through certain areas without being compelled to duck into some bar to see a band playing music unlike anything you’ve heard before. I may not have grown up there, but most of my family lives there. I have walked its cobbled streets a thousand times, and frequented its infamous haunts. The place is alive, an epicenter of art, and vibrant with culture. The decision to leave my homeland was difficult, but I’m happy I made it.
I traveled across America in a packed Yukon and experienced parts of the U.S. not many people see unless they go off the beaten path. The days passed by in a haze of truck stops, fast food restaurants, and palm trees. Highlights included buying a sequined flannel shirt in Colorado for a dollar off an old Mexican woman, who told me it was a family heirloom; Axel purchasing a James Dean printed metal lunchbox and using it as a makeshift handbag; being chased by a homeless man wearing a Slipknot T-shirt in Iowa; and going vintage shopping in a Pittsburgh store where a 10-year-old kid in a 1970s flared pantsuit and fedora sold us the entire stock of clothes for fifty bucks. In Indiana I joined some locals in a chewing tobacco competition. My Jack Kerouac adventure led me to Los Angeles, where I fell in love with the place all over again.
It’s a city where there is always something exciting to do. Girls here look like Barbie dolls: the Beverly Hills society queens are dressed to the nines in McQueen and Prada, and the Echo Park hipsters look like extras from The Virgin Suicides. My best friend here is a boy named Sean. We spend our days traipsing around Weho—him in skin-tight jeans, huge geek glasses, and cute mini afro. We buy gelato from the Farmer's market in Silver lake, run through The Hollywood walk of fame marveling at the stars of yesteryears, and source new vintage boutiques. Nights involve dancing at Soho House or The Abby, watching Steve Aoki spin some tunes, or catching one of the amazing go-go dancers Mickey's has to offer.
Los Angeles is a place where I finally feel at home. Driving down Mulholland Drive at night in a Ford convertible (the novelty still hasn’t worn off!) gazing out at the spectacular views of Griffith Park and the Hollywood Sign—there’s no place I’d rather be.
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Simone
First time reading this. So sweet.