LA is not a person, but a goddess. She is the daughter of Apollo and Lilith, forever chic, eternally young, phone glued to her ear as she veers down the freeway in an SUV for one. Like all gods, she goes by many names: Hollywood and Tinseltown, she is the American Idol.
She is terrifying, this goddess. Those lucky few who bask in her glory often get too close to her divine flames, burning up, enraptured by all that she offers. Those who lose her interest are the wash outs; has-beens who frequently debase themselves on game shows and reality TV in acts of public self-flagellation, all in the vain hope of regaining her approval.
Within six months most who come to LA realize she doesn't exist, no more real then a mirage, no more edible than a bowl of Renoir fruit.
Reach out to touch her and your hands won't come away with an apple but a bruised canvas, coated with oil and paint.
She is untouchable, but her captivating splendor remains.
It is because of this goddess, this siren of desire, that dating is impossible in LA. No one wants to date who they are with - they want her. She is the collective consciousness of the modern world's dreams, a broadcast perversion of mass marketed fantasy. LA is lust and passion, wealth and romance, ecstasy and bliss. No mere mortal can match up to the promise of LA; no one person can fulfill all the dreams and endless possibilities with which she provides.
For true initiates of Hollywood the image is the person, what you look like is who you are. They accept that when you are in a relationship, you aren't just a boyfriend or a girlfriend, you're an accessory.
To date in LA you have to find your niche, you need to have a look.