With The Legal Alien – Monthly Musings from an Englishman in LA
By Darren Darnborough
Being a PartyBoy™ in Los Angeles is a lot like being homeless.
You eat and drink what you’re given, when you’re given it. Meal times go out the window.
You wear whatever combination of clothes you received that week in goody bags – kind of a glamorous version of unworn hand-me-downs. You often turn up uninvited and could quite easily end up sleeping in the doorway after too much sponsored drink. And in my case, with my “designer” stubble, and far-from-neat haircut, people often point and wonder who the scruffy guy in the corner is.
I didn’t plan or intend to become a full-time PartyBoy™. It just happened, sort of crept up on me slowly, until one-day I realised that my day consisted of waking up (late, from a fuzzy night), discussing the evening before with my PartyBoy™ housemates, switching on the laptop, checking the press pictures from the red carpet, before downloading emails, swapping invites, and co-ordinating the crew for that night’s complimentary antics.
My landlord is to blame. As a celebrity stylist in Hollywood, he has styled everyone, (and I mean literally everyone). Thus, his name appears high on the guestlist of various fashion shows, parties, screenings, launches, dinners – you name it – with all the organisers clearly hoping he will mutter words of appreciation about their product/bar/restaurant/ facelift to the relevant starlets. As part of my rent deal, I was his plus-one at parties when I arrived in LA, and as a consquence I have now learned the ropes and am getting invited myself. I shall be looking for a protégé of my very own soon.
I realised how silly it had become when I picked up my friend from the airport the other day.
“Nice T-shirt” he exclaimed.
“Gift bag” I replied.
He then asked about the jeans.
“Launch party”.
I took a moment to look down myself and realised that from sunglasses to socks, I was dressed entirely in goody bags. The only thing that was missing was footwear. That evening, we attended a Reebok launch party, where we got free sneakers.
Put it out there, and the universe will answer.
The party circuit here is addictive though and very easy to get sucked in. Supermarkets are fairly expensive, even by English standards. The weather is hot, so who wants to stand in front of a cooker at night? Why not just make your way to a function, fill up on canapés and free drinks, and head home satisfied, maybe with some free produce that is great for birthday gifts (sorry friends and family!)
Add that to the fact that whenever you invite someone to an event with you, etiquette demands they invite you back, so go to a couple of things a week, and your diary’s full.
Even if someone isn’t throwing a function, there is such a friendly vibe in LA, that you very quickly get to know the bartenders and managers of all your favourite spots. Twenty percent off here, complimentary desserts there, it all adds up. One bartender I know is so generous that whenever I go in, my friends and I pay nothing. It’s now at a level where even if my friends go without me, she recognises them, so they and their friends pay nothing. I’m slightly confused how the bar is still in business since it only fits about forty people anyhow.
The real skill comes with trying to co-ordinate several events in an evening. It really is a hi-tech crack mission, all of us around the dining table with the various invites spread out, planning which function starts first; ends last; the time it says the hors d’oeuvres are served; the time we think they actually will be.
Planning for travel time to maximise the gain is what I bring to the table. It’s little wonder why I am now the friend of a friend that everyone asks to meet for a quick coffee when they are
new to LA.
It’s all starting to take its toll now though.
Whilst you can effectively exist for free here, I have yet to find a party or a product that will pay my rent, and since all my landlord does is party too, then I’m sure he needs it. It’s very difficult to say no when you have friends visiting – they want to see all the glitz and glamour of the Hollywood nightlife. And Paris Hilton. However, when I pack the latest visitor off to the airport, I shall be announcing my resignation as a PartyBoy™ and get back to cracking on with work….. Until the next visitor, no doubt.
I often wonder who justifies spending all this money to keep us entertained. It seems very strange when you look around a room, and spot Z-listers from some early 90’s British docusoap gorging on canapés – you can’t help but wonder if their attendance is actually going to do any goodfor the exposure or the business of whichever product is being spotlighted. Where does all this expense come from?
But in the end, who cares? As long as I’m being fed and watered, it beats eating KFC on my own in a shopping mall.
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