Where do all the pretty people go when they want to die? Some say LA, some say New York. I’ve even heard they just disappear altogether because you have to be ugly to die the way ugly humans do.
I’ve seen enough pretty faces in this city to know that maybe some people are right. This City of Angels is where the closest thing to heavenly beings come to find the end because there’s no place like it to torture your soul towards it.
Sitting in hours of traffic and paying way too much money for real estate can drive any sane human being to the brink of existence, but pretty people even more so. They could go anywhere in the world and be beautiful, but instead they find themselves in a sea of people that look just like them or nothing like them. Without even knowing it, they drove themselves right to the source of pain and comparison that will probably be their downfall because pretty people don’t live in LA. They just die here.
Maybe not physically at first, but emotionally and mentally. Maybe not even all at once, but slowly slowly slowly they realize that this city of lights and glamour and Hollywood feeds off of people like them, people that only exist to be pretty.
It’s like a curse we’re all too aware of, but don’t care enough to move away from. Oh, but us ugly people are safe from harm. We don’t have to worry about dying in this city because this city is ours and it loves us. We built it with our hands and we carved its meaning with our voices. Ugly people may die here eventually, but they die cradled in the arms of mother Los Angeles. Our souls flow down the San Gabriel River to the horizon stretched out before Long Beach. This city knows who has loved her well and who has loved her dearly.
But to my beautiful friends in my beautiful city, don’t worry about the dying. Even in death, my city is sweet. She will treat you to a wonderful downward spiral. No, you many never be ugly and you may never survive within her borders, but you will never feel death creeping into your pores. It will not be painful. One day, if you’re smart, you’ll realize you weren’t made for her and you will choose to leave, only to visit when you miss the feeling of her arms wrapped around your neck. But even if you choose to stay, do not be afraid. Life will be wild and lovely despite the torture. It’s a love so toxic and so sweet, like the scent of almonds wafting up from cyanide.
Don’t try to understand. There is no understanding why the ugly will always prevail here, not if you’re beautiful. But here’s a taste, for torture’s sake: Beautiful people come to this city and think they deserve her love more than those who have come before them, more than the ugly people who have been here all along. LA knows who has been good to her. LA knows who truly loves her for all that she has been, is, and can be. To live and die in LA is a privilege only she can grant you. Welcome.