Los Angeles I love you, Los Angeles I hate you
Los Angeles, I love you. I feel so lucky to have grown up in such an incredible melting pot of a city where I’ve met people from all different backgrounds, orientations and faiths. I love your supermarkets, your farmers’ markets, your vegetarian-friendly eateries and your diverse little suburbs and ethnic conclaves that enrich your corners. I love that if I need something, whether it’s a place that will repair luggage or supplies to make a model airplane - you have a store for it. I love your public radio stations and public channels and all the people working for them who are clearly passionate about where they live.
I love that you’re a pretty clean city, for the most part anyway. I love that I have access to mountains and beaches all within a 35-mile radius. I love your rich albeit short history. I can forever look at nostalgic photos of a 1950s Los Angeles and never get tired. I love your bustling and vibrant arts community and that there is never an end to finding something you can do within your borders. I love that there’s everything for everyone. Perhaps most of all, I love your swap meet scene. If you know me, you know that the idea of a perfect afternoon involves digging through all the treasures that swap meets can bring and Los Angeles, I am proud to say that you have the best swap meets I have ever been to. I’ve tried New York, I’ve even tried Europe but none can surpass the quality of the swap meets you have to offer. You might say my view is skewed having grown up an Angeleno, but this thought is backed up by the swap meet loving Englishman that is my boyfriend, so there.
In many ways, you’re an amazing city, but Los Angeles, I also hate you. I don’t mean that with spite. I mean that like a big sister who cares. I hate your sorry excuse for public transportation that forces me to be in traffic for more than two hours a day as I make my way across your landscape. I hate that you don’t have any seasonality in your weather patterns. I don’t want to be subjected to the blistering sun every single day of my life. I want rain and I want some snow and wind. I want to make use of the scarves and hats and (gasp) even gloves I have in my closet that are collecting dust. I want to wear a winter coat, do you understand? You don’t understand the pain I feel when I walk into stores and I can’t justify spending money because I will die of heat exhaustion if I wear that beautifully crafted beige wool sweater even for 2 minutes in L.A.
I hate that we have been branded as the “gang capital of the nation.” I hate that I have to wake up every day and read stories like this. I hate that there are thousands upon thousands of homeless people on your streets and people treat themselves lavishly to shopping sprees without thinking twice. I hate that you’re so disjointed and spread out because this completely deters a real sense of community. Everyone is fending for themselves, no one seems to care for anyone else. I hate your grandiose celebrity worship, and your paparazzi and your overwhelming sense of materialism that reeks the air. I hate that the streets leading up to Beverly Hills are dilapidated and in need of funding. I hate that people hate you, and I hate that people love you for all the wrong reasons.
Both photos by amazing Los Angeles street art photographer, Lord Jim


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