Versace on Sundays

I've come to learn that Los Angeles isn't your typical chaotic city. The people here are their own breed of human. I kid you not! Folks here don't have the harsh cynicism of New Yorkers, the political savviness of our Nation's capital, and definitely don't have the pizazz of the people of Chicago. Instead, Los Angeles is a microcosm of something completely unreal. It's not exactly a "city", as it is Ken and Barbie's expanded dream house. Everywhere I turn, I'm bombarded by walking mannequins carrying their well-groomed Chihuahuas and traveling cappuccinos. Which, if you think about it, comes to no surprise seeing how a Bally's Fitness, tanning salon, and dental reconstruction office comes standard in every neighborhood.

Last Sunday, this epiphany became magnetized when I peered around the room of my Santa Monica church. Ordinarily, you'd expect God's house to be filled with yuppity, suited geriatrics and their middle-aged wives. Instead, the church was seated with undeniably gorgeous divorcees and their well-coiffed, 3rd fiances. It wasn't so much a Mass as it was a casting call for America's Next Top Model. Even the children obtained an air of youthful beauty. I glanced down at my brandless hoodie sweatshirt and my discounted Target jeans and became flooded with insecurities. I looked as though I stumbled out of Auschwitz. With sincere trepidation, I decided to stare straight ahead and focus solely on the Priest -- who, incidentally, was equally as stylish.

Once Church let out, I was left wondering if this realization was, in fact, fueled by my own uneasiness. Or was everyone in this city struggling with their own tailored insecurities? As I scanned the parking lot, I noticed these fashionistas/churchgoers cramming themselves into their Mercedes and BMW sedans. Why was this so intriguing to me? Was it jealousy that irked me? Perhaps. (Which is ironically a deadly sin...) Or was it something else? In the end, I decided to label this epiphany as an awakening. A much-needed slap in the face from my overly-analytical daze. As cheesy as it sounds, instead of focusing way too much on Los Angeles' designer exterior, I decided to concentrate on my own interior and perhaps dial down the judgements (especially in Church, right?).

In the end, as this California dissection faded, I came to one conclusion... Maybe this type of crowd isn't restricted only to Los Angeles. Maybe it's not even geographical. Maybe... just maybe, in a city so perfectly translated to "The City of Angels", I should just let go, let God, and as I walk through the streets filled with these perfectly walking mannequins.... simply enjoy the view.