Glossy Boredom

Jul 9, 2012 by     No Comments    Posted under: art, Consume, food, shopping


I may be jaded, but I just wasn’t feeling Beverly Hills today.  Don’t get me wrong, I love a good shop as much as the next metrosexual guy, and OMG, the 60% off sale at Barneys did drag me in the door, but it was, like, totally boring.  I went with my camera, looking for something interesting to shoot, but there just wasn’t anything there.  The weather was perfect, high 70s, clear blue skies, palm fronds swaying in a slight breeze, and with all the beautiful people out.  But it just felt all so….manufactured.  I mean, how many hair salons, coloring studios, make up fixers, eye brow threaders, and bikini line waxers can a square mile support?  I enjoy looking at Hollywood starlets, or future starlets, or wannabe starlets as much as the next guy, and I can admire the work of a good cosmetic surgeon when displayed to the world at large like a mammographic version of a Roman Empire feast.  And I like fashion.  But it just all felt like a sea of commercial and brand sameness.

If I’d gone to look at cars, it would have been interesting, especially standing alongside a million dollar Bugatti Veyron (vulgarly defaced with a racing stripe), but how many Bentleys, Cayennes and Astons can one take in an hour?  And I just ended up feeling sorry for the middle aged guy circling blocks for 2 hours in his long, yellow hot rod, clearly looking for someone, anyone, to admire his motorized phallic symbol.

Even the back alleys were bare, devoid of any dark artistic secrets.  The only piece of graffiti I could find was representative of the town – an image of pristine fashionability.

In the end, I consoled myself with a fine chocolate brownie from the Bouchon bakery, which I devoured while serenaded by the fountain of the oasis known as the Beverly Hills gardens.

It was there that I saw the most fascinating image of the day – an octogenarian in a wheelchair reading the action and extreme sports magazine put out by Red Bull, no doubt dreaming of strapping a rocket to her chair and leaping the Grand Canyon like a wrinkly Evil Knevil.

On this day I would have preferred to be perusing some graffiti and urine covered walls in North Richmond, Melbourne, or subjecting my future to strange psychics in Sedona, or watching Balinese villagers toiling in a rice paddy, or doing yoga with hippies in Joshua Tree.  Those experiences are real.  Although I do need to do something about those smile lines around my eyes – perhaps I should come back next week.

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