1. The Laguna Beach girl.
In this case, only the words of Fran Lebowitz will suffice. She once did a spectacular job at describing someone from Los Angeles, which I will not botch by attempting to recapitulate here. She wrote,
“Today is a perfect example, for my caller is an agent from Los Angeles who informs me that I don’t know him. True, and not without reason. He is audibly tan.”
There’s no better way to describe a Laguna Beach transplant in LA than as “audibly tan.” Although it must also be said that these girls help shed light on the true meaning of “bubbly.”
2. The girl who is not one but many.
Her interests are trite—often times it’s even a stretch to call them interests. She, by her very nature, is not a “she” but a “they” – a bevvy of girls or bosom buddies, if you will. Their reasons for staying so tight-knit are unclear – it’s sort of a chicken-and-egg quandary: Are they insecure because they never leave each other’s sides? Or do they never leave each other’s sides because they’re insecure? They love a good mobile upload and make sure to rep each other hard – birthday party and graduation photos of the others are encouraged.
3. The bro who is down for shots.
This bro is always ready for some day drinking. Probably at his house. That he shares with 13 other guys. A house that has a giant American flag backdrop – it looks cool in photos, especially when you put the “x-pro” filter on it.
This guy isn’t very cultured; his taste is abhorrently basic. When he came back from his “epic” time studying abroad, he realized that all of his photos were just of buildings, sites, and plaques, and conspicuously missing any people.
4. The poseur.
An embarrassing, contemptible fellow, the poseur is not limited to a specific style or even gender – they can’t be, they’re chameleons. I had the misfortune of having dinner with a group of acquaintances when I lived in LA, one of whom was an undeniable poseur. At dinner he was tolerable, not too invasive, and actually dressed pretty conservatively. But when we left dinner and were driving to the club Teddy’s, this man changed out of a blazer and into a vest, put on a fedora, and topped himself off with a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses.
Crucial to the poseur is that he thinks it’s more important to be able to see clearly in a dark, smoky club than in an intimate dinner setting.
5. The funny guy.
One in every group of, say, 17 guys in LA “makes” it. this guy is typically the funny guy; he’s always been good at making his friends laugh at his expense. When I lived in LA, the token funny guy I hung around with took to tucking his penis between his legs in public.
6. The one who most resembles a New Yorker.
New Yorkers will find at least one kindred spirit in LA – they’re scarce, but they do exist. Perhaps you’ll bump into him on line at CVS as you’re both trying to pick up your anxiety medications. Maybe she’s the girl who everyone on the freeway is honking at. Whomever and wherever this person is, latch onto them and don’t let go.
7. The child actor.
Oh, the horror!! The child actor is that deplorable creature so singular in every part of the world, except for LA where they run rampant. They were given undue attention and adulation as a kid – and just to get him to remember his three lines. He’s not an actor so much as he’s a douchebag, or a walking example of vapidity. He’s the reason raves that kill people continue to exist, he’s why base and truly offensive marketing techniques continue to thrive, and he’s a huge advocate of board shorts.
8. The mariwater diet girls.
They typically resemble Kendall Jenner. They subsist on water and weed, which means they’re SUPER chill, have raspy voices and no butts. They will never leave LA.
9. The sober guy.
Don’t ask me why, but whenever I picture this guy he’s bald. He says he’s sober, but curiously always seems to be under some influence. But he loves to talk about his sobriety to anyone who will listen in a pedantic, preach-y way. And since he “doesn’t drink,” he takes out his energy in the challenges – the Real World/Road Rules challenge.
10. The actual NYC transplant.
Similar to the kindred spirit, the actual NYC transplant differs from him in that he’s usually not fit. He’s a city guy – used to walking around – and, unlike most people who move to LA to get healthy, he’s only getting fatter. He has no idea how to dress casually and so whenever he goes out he sports a button-down and a suit jacket. He gets uncomfortable in heat and is sweating 93% of the time.
11. The eclipse.
Like the name, this person is dangerous – look at them too long and you might go blind. While some of the other types of people on this list dress poorly, it’s only peripheral to their foremost concern. Eclipses, on the other hand, are defined solely by their heinous style and nothing else. Think fedoras and slouchy beanies – lots and lots of them sauntering about the movie theaters in Century City.
12. The actual b- or c-list actor.
You don’t recognize him. You don’t even “think” you recognize him, but boy foes he think you do. “It’s What About Bob. I played the little boy, the nephew…” he’ll say to you in an aside, thinking he’s helping you out. His shame knows no limits and he is rejected profusely.
13. The DJ who makes you want to pull your hair out.
I say this because, if he doesn’t make you yearn to inflict pain on yourself, then he’s not a DJ…and vise versa. They’re the guys who like to stand outside of clubs, smoke cigarettes in an invasive way that screams I-don’t-like-cigarettes-at-all! He’ll bang on and on about his life as a DJ, but you’ll never actually see him DJing. You almost start to feel bad for him, until he acts like he’s too cool for you and ignores you.
14. Jeremy Sisto.
You just will, okay? In LA it’s as if he’s omniscient. Any time a silence washes over, listen closely and you’ll be able to hear a faint, “Cher! Get back in the cah!”
15. The girls whose sole life dream is to be a playmate.
I’ve watched many an episode of The Girls Next Door and so I can say with full confidence that these girls do exist in LA and in large number too. I tried really hard to think of an insult for them, but frankly I can’t. If I had boobs, I’d be right there with them too, licking a 90-year-old man’s toes just to procure the greatest sugar daddy of all time. So girls, you keep doing you. 
