A lot of dudes in LA have this really disgusting voice that combines vocal fry with a permanently inflamed sinus. Sometimes, when you’re waiting in line for the bathroom, a woman will stop and take a dozen photos of herself in the mirror. I only take my BeReals when I’m out on a run, and I haven’t updated my Instagram story in months. I am addicted to TikTok but I’m wary of doing anything that suggests I’m living life through a screen instead of going out and doing things.
Lately the internet is very preoccupied with Quiet Luxury, which is when rich people wear really expensive clothes that look like nothing special. The smart (and miserable) people discourse has moved into the realm of the class implications – how the aesthetics of the elite will change in response to the whims of the aspirational middling classes – while the algorithms that promote consumption curate shopping lists for the proles, which in a sense completely ruins the point of quiet luxury when you’re buying “old money” cardigans from Abercrombie.
Every gay man I know had a cardigan phase. A cardigan phase is when you wear a lot of cardigans. I think this is partially because a cardigan gives off “classy” vibes but also because it makes you feel covered up when you’re self conscious and feel awkward. I personally do not love showing my arms unless you can also see my nipple (nothing interesting is left to the imagination when all you can focus on are my rickety elbows. If you can see my boob, you will know that I have a slim, boyish figure and that I can pull off doing things like wearing a merino cardigan as a shirt, or wearing some kind of t shirt with the sleeves cut off – but this look is best worn with long pants. For balance.).
Anyway, I was recently reminded about some gossip I heard about myself from the woman who cleans my house. She was working at a family member’s house with another housekeeper. The other housekeeper, who works for a cousin, said she had seen us together at a party and that we were acting inappropriately – kissing, sneaking off into dark corners. The most egregious part is that I was wearing sexy women’s clothing and lingerie.
I’m not sure what kind of Persian Beverly Hills party I could get away wearing sexy women’s clothing. The story has a lot of plot holes. And when we actually did see this cousin, I was wearing a turtleneck sweater, and she said, “I know you’re not from here because nobody here wears turtlenecks.” As if I would want to be from here!
In any case, I’m always worried I’ll run into these family members while I’m out running. For most of the year, I run wearing long sleeve shirts, to offset the tiniest shorts imaginable, but now it’s just too hot and I’m forced into skimpy singlets and cut-offs. Thankfully, any sex appeal I might have from dressing like a hussy is balanced out by the fact that I’m running extremely slow and covered in sweat. But I feel like if these people saw me, they’d zip straight from my voluptuous knees into a WhatsApp thread.
We all know the saying that every family has a gay cousin. My gay cousin worked in local theatre and flipped houses with his Brazilian husband. My boyfriend’s gay cousin was exiled to Orange County so he could live his truth without anyone seeing it. That’s not an option for us because there are no Jews in Orange County and the ones that I do know, I dislike immensely. I don’t even watch the Real Housewives of Orange County. We’re blazing a new trail by staying in BH.
Back to what I said at the beginning about how a lot of LA dudes with the horrible voice. I was sitting next to one who was orating at his table, a captive audience, while I sipped on kombucha. For context, I had just finished a long run in the sun, so I went to a cafe and asked if they had lemonade. The barista said, “no, but we have kombucha,” so that’s what I took. I was already feeling a little sour when I heard the man talking, with his very familiar voice. He seemed to personally know Timothee Chalamet. I have a psychic ability to tell when somebody is an alcoholic or snorts a lot of blow. I can also diagnose nearly anybody as autistic (if you have to ask, they are). I looked at this man, who was clearly suffering from coke bloat, and I thought to myself, “this feels like a podcast and I can’t skip ahead.”
I was so disgusted! And also I was thrilled, because now I had something to complain about and felt like I made a very clever observation. And maybe I could spin the observation into content.
The point I wanted to make, besides that some men have an ugly voice, is that I have no tolerance for people who live their entire lives through screens. This goes for the people we refer to as “chronically online” to people like my parents, who are physically attached to fake news on Facebook and speak knowingly about the government’s plan to initiate “climate lockdowns” and mandatory drag queen storytimes.
Encountering people who are like this is gives me a feeling similar to growing up in the most boring suburb imaginable. It’s like nothing is really happening and you’re watching it unfold elsewhere. I want to be where the people are, like the Little Mermaid. I want to do fun things and attend events. I’m all about an occasion. So the idea of curating moments for photos and aesthetics for a wardrobe makes me feel bleak. Like, why would you want people to think you’re “old money” if you’ve never even had a mediocre lunch at a country club?
This feeling carries into a profound sadness when I think about public spaces in LA. My brain is wired around hanging out in parks and walking everywhere. I talk about it all the time. I moved here, stopped walking, and gained 15 pounds. So when I go to a mall that is designed to look like a charming town square, crowded with the slowest people ambling about with nowhere to go, I am not a happy camper! This is not real life! This is not nice! This is Disneyland! And then I think of the Disney adults, who are so burned out and alienated by the real world that they build their lives around a theme park, which others have also remarked is probably the only time many people experience the feeling of being in a walkable community. It makes me want to cry!
It’s almost the time of the week where I put my phone away and practice the ancient tradition of drinking wine at a friend’s house. If nothing else, shabbos is a cure for the alienation brought on by my phone, its contents, and the places my feet can’t take me. If not for shabbos, I would have totally uninterrupted screen time and live far away from my friends. Today I’m glad to be accountable for the day that takes TikTok away from me, and I feel sorry for everyone who will spend the day droning on about nothing on Twitter.
Last thing – just a thought I need to get out there because I stopped tweeting. A lot of people got upset at Canadian jewelry brand Mejuri because their gold vermeil pieces tarnish. That’s not surprising because all gold plated jewelry is actual garbage. Mejuri also sells 14k gold, which doesn’t tarnish, and it’s fine. It’s not the best bang for your buck, but it’s a Canadian business and I will support them. Anyway, a store in Toronto opened up across the street from Mejuri and they put up a sign that says “IF YOU WANT JEWELRY THAT DOESN’T TARNISH, COME HERE INSTEAD”. I did a little research, expecting them to sell solid gold jewelry (which would be stupid because so does Mejuri), but guess what! It’s “tarnish proof” gold plated stainless steel! And they advise that you do not wear the jewelry in the shower, while exercising, or washing your hands. Because it will tarnish. So I just wanted to get that off my chest. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve seen in ages. If you go to Toronto, don’t shop there. Buy your shitty jewelry at H&M if that’s what you’re about.