Image via Complex Original
You’ve probably already lost it. When you find yourself reading an article about holding onto it, there’s a serious chance it’s already gone. I’m talking about your authentic, passionate snowflake of a soul.
Because L.A. melts snowflakes. They blow in and drip out by the thousands every year. But you have a choice. You can have your $16 salad and eat it too. Of the 10 million people who live within Los Angeles’s sprawling limits, literally thousands of them still retain vestiges of their humanity. Many of them are even successful in the industries most notorious for soul-snatching (entertainment, fashion, even law!). The following ten tips are for anyone in the nominal City of Angels who wants to keep their superbadness intact on their quest for recognition. And for those of you who have already passed that Faustian fork in the road somewhere off Mulholland, there may even be a chance to get it back. Probably not, though.
Jed Goldstein is an actor and writer living in Los Angeles. You can follow him on Twitter.
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Don’t call it "The Industry."
Yes, it’s cool that Los Angeles is a town governed by stories people want to tell. But it's also completely silly and different from places where the industry is, say, fertilizer manufacturing. I mean, it's entertainment!—the things that lull you to sleep after the real work is done. The moment you forget how ridiculous the whole setup is, is the moment your soul searches Craigslist for a new home in Oregon. So instead of saying, “she’s industry” or “I need to check with my team,” take a moment to try not sounding like an evil, human-sorting robot. There are also people in L.A. whose job has nothing to do with narrative arcs and casting choices, and that doesn’t mean they’re boring. Make it a point to befriend “non-industry people.” Or, as they’re called outside L.A., “people.”
Maintain standards.
Remember college when it seemed viable to give a shit about things other than yourself? L.A. is a ninja assassin for those kinds of inclinations. Recycling? Don’t they sift through it all anyway? Pollution? What difference does one more Maserati make? Earnest, professionally-useless relationships? Those are for boring people. It’s easy to excuse yourself into the slippery slope toward soullessness. So tap those bygone days of high self-expectations and resist the urge to buy a case of bottled water when you can just rinse out your old Nalgene instead. And remember, volunteering is still legal in L.A. Just because most people don’t, doesn’t mean it isn’t a great thing to do. These standards go for social graces as well. Just because half the people who RSVP’d won’t show up to the average L.A. party doesn’t mean you too should give into the dark forces of flakiness. Keep your word, or call to cancel, and then enjoy the sweet relief of flaking, soul fully intact.
Beware the fad.
Any town with an excess of desperate social climbers and disposable incomes is going to be a breeding ground for awful lifestyle trends. And Los Angeles is in California, which really tips things into the realm of the absurd. Alkalized water, Scientology, and juice (so much juice!). Keeping healthy is great, and by all means, take every opportunity to enjoy L.A.’s highly-trafficked outdoor epicenters of zen. But forgetting that you love steak four days into a chia seed-inclusive Master Cleanse is a sign that you’re replacing your cholesterol with bullshit. So don’t feel like a monster for thinking those people paying CrossFit for the privilege to run around your block look ridiculous. You’re not. And they do.
Never get comfortable at a rooftop bar.
Don’t get it twisted: go to the rooftop bar. Go to the smoky afterhours drug den whose only rule is NO PICTURES. L.A. is teeming with bizarre, awe-inspiring establishments, some of which don’t even charge a cover. But it also has some of the most jaded, affected clientele, who can impose an air of casual disinterest on even the most viscerally exhilarating of venues. So pinch yourself every now and then. Sure, everyone looks bored (why are they here?), but deep inside, their 12-year-old selves are screaming, “I can see everything from here! I really feel like I’ve ‘made it.’ Is that a fire pit in a pool?! Ohmygoshsocoolwooo!” No need to go overboard with it or anything, but being a giddy, gawky dummy every now and then helps keep you honest.
Contact the outside.
You’re in a bubble—a biodome, if you will. Pauly Shore’s even in it with you. Leave. Pop that bubble regularly or risk losing sight of its edges. Facebook, its own bubble, doesn’t count. Call your aunt in Albuquerque. FaceTime that friend in rural China. Literally just visit the Valley. Anything to remind you there’s a great, big un-botoxed world out there, where people care about things like high school sports, real weather, and family. Read the news. Then sure, use that to help write your pilot.
Don’t call celebrities by their first names.
It doesn't count if you mistook them for someone you knew in the Whole Foods parking lot. If the person you’re talking to about (why are you talking about them, again?) doesn’t know your own name, you look like a tool. As a fun alternative, try giving the celeb you’re gumming about a cheeky pet name that mocks casual name dropping while subtly allowing you to continue dropping those names. Try a few: Matty M., Judy the Dame, Jiggy William, Lil Mo Streep, Captain Hanksy, Clooney Tunes, Angel Jojobeans, Wacky Phoens, Cathy Keens, Franny McDorable… err, maybe just try using a person's first and last name for once.
Ride a bus.
Take a break from driving. You’ll just end up trying a new craft brew, letting off some steam, and forgetting you ever wanted to leave your sterile desert sanctuary. Get where you need to go with a dollar fifty and an ounce of tolerance for your fellow man/woman/transgender breakdancing busker. The whole endeavor may even afford you some time for other soul-reviving activities like gazing blankly at the passing cityscape or reading something other than a script (still called “books,” I believe). Lyft and Uber don’t count, though they're slightly more soulful than driving alone.
Love first, hate later.
The rate at which Americans are inundated with media and image—15.5 hours a day per person by next year—is enough to make a Nebraskan tween a discerning consumer of entertainment. When added to the ownership Angelinos take over the media their peers create, a potent and prevalent strain of haterdom is born. Never let your passion for entertainment hinder your ability to enjoy it. No one wants to hear you quibble about Frozen’s second act slump before you’ve returned your 3D glasses. Surrender yourself to whatever you’re watching before you decide to pick it apart like the well-fed culture vulture you were bred to be. And whatever your drug of choice may be (TV, film, YouTube) don’t forget to go see a live performance every once in awhile. L.A. has some of the best stand-up, improv, theater and music in the world. HBO GO will probably still work when you get home.
Be bamboo.
Let a small part of yourself die to save the whole. If you try to fully resist the pace and lifestyle of Los Angeles you will wind up slowly crushed under its smoggy, Mediterranean haze. In fact, you’ll end up more hateful and jaded than that commercial producer who hasn’t landed a job since ’02 (poor Brian…) and likely retreat to wherever you came from with nothing but a bad taste in your mouth and a weirdly uneven résumé. So recognize where you are, laugh about it, and have fun making it your own. Go to Dodger Stadium even though you hate the Dodgers. Yes, holding yourself to standards is important, but no one likes a wet blanket.
Don’t move to L.A.
It’s true: abstinence is the only guaranteed solution. And no matter how you slice it, Los Angeles is a challenging city, whether you’re a Super Producer (real job title, btw) or a mechanic. So the easiest way to maintain your humanity is probably to stay the hell out of L.A. county.
Then again, there’s more than one reason why 10 million people from all walks of life ended up here—and it's not just money and nice weather. It's for the chance to tell stories you can’t tell anywhere else. And to meet other rare dreamers who lunge forward at their silly dreams, even if they end up with a fistful of sour grapes. But to tell you the truth, you can lose your soul in lots of ways—and not just in L.A. In fact, you can lose your soul pretty much anywhere! So scratch what I said before: why not roll the dice and see what all the fuss is about? A deal with the devil is only collected when you’re dead, so living a little before then may not be such a bad idea after all.