Rose, Red Flags, and the Real LA
Behind the velvet ropes and $30 cocktails lies a city full of curated connection and empty conversation
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The lighting is always just right. The people? Beautiful. The vibes? Impeccable. But don’t let the ambiance fool you
By Nefertiti Thomas
When I was younger, I wanted so badly to be liked. I remember being an outsider — never cool enough to be invited, not traditionally pretty enough to feel seen. I didn’t own designer duds or wear the latest trends. My mom could barely afford to keep a roof over our heads, let alone splurge on the latest fashion. I looked in awe at the groups of popular kids and wondered if one day I would measure up enough to be included.
Fast forward to today: I’ve had the opportunity to be around the so-called “cool kids” of LA — sipping cocktails at Baltaire, eavesdropping at Craig’s in West Hollywood, dancing under the dim lights at Sunset Tower, brunching at the Waldorf Rooftop, and watching the Super Bowl with celebrities at Soho House. On the surface, it sounds like a dream. But the truth? It’s high school with a dress code.
The older I get, the more obvious it becomes — most of these people haven’t evolved past the cafeteria cliques of 11th grade. The girls are still catty. The men still think they’re players. And the drama? The blatant substance abuse, unprotected sex, backstabbing, and gossip would give my teenage years a run for their money.
It’s wild how surface everything is. You can spend night after night with the same group of people and realize you don’t know a thing about who they really are. There are too many distractions — the live music, the men initiating conversation, the perfectly curated ambiance, signature cocktails. It’s all so intoxicating that anything can feel like chemistry. But the second you step outside that curated chaos, the illusion crumbles.
Case in point: The Napa trip.
I met a gal who I thought would end up being a great friend. We met through a mutual acquaintance and eventually started hanging out regularly — Thanksgiving dinner, Sunday brunch at my place, long discussions on literature, art, and the stories of our lives. It seemed like we had so many of the same values. In an attempt to grow the friendship, I invited her on a weekend trip to Napa.
I always say: if you really want to know someone, take them on vacation. Extended time with anyone will reveal exactly who they are. And this trip? It slapped me in the face with a double dose of reality.
From the moment we hit the road, the tension went from zero to one hundred. It wasn’t the carefree, windows-down kind of road trip I had envisioned. Instead, it felt like being trapped in a car with someone who needed to control every aspect of the day — from where we stopped to eat to the itinerary — all while being dismissive and dissatisfied with every experience.
I watched her grimace in line for a freshly baked cookie while others smiled in anticipation. She complained about the artists, the food, the crowd, and especially the cold — despite packing poorly in the name of fashion. Her passive-aggressive responses and disdain for joy were impossible to miss. She snapped when I offered suggestions and rolled her eyes at any sign of optimism. It was as if any optimism was a thorn in her side.
here we were, in Napa — perfect weather, incredible music, wine in hand, and a gentle breeze brushing across our faces. Yet, the only thing she could seem to focus on were the lines for alcohol, the typical festival-style food, and her disgust for the outfits she deemed unfit for the event. Her career was solid, head-to-toe she was always wearing designer, a brand new Range Rover, and the flexibility to take off on a any given weekend. Yet in spite of the obvious abundance, she couldn’t seem to find joy in a single moment.
That’s when it hit me: many of the connections I’d made in recent months weren’t rooted in values — they were built on ambiance. Not character. Not alignment. Just shared settings and curated aesthetics.
Even before this trip, I had been sensing it — the hollowness beneath the surface. I thought about the women I’d met who were on the hunt for a sugar daddy, the trust fund babies performing existential crises over martinis, the surgery addicts who look like they just walked off the Bravo reunion, the bartenders who knew everyone’s secrets, the lonely married men, the desperate-for-attention divorced ones, the women who secretly hate men but still seek their validation, and the regulars who are always drunk, always loud, and always full of stories that don’t quite add up.
All of it plays out under soft lighting, overpriced drinks, and the illusion of closeness.
When I started going out again, I wasn’t looking for validation — I was looking for community. I wanted to meet people who were diverse, grounded, and stable. I wanted good conversation, good music, and a few nights of laughter that didn’t leave me feeling emptier than I came.
I’d heard that your success is often tied to the five people you spend the most time with — so I thought, maybe if I stepped up my circle, I’d step up my game.
But what I found instead was a city full of beautiful people still stuck in emotional detention. The girls were still mean. The boys were still trying to be cool. And nearly everyone was hiding behind curated selfies and Casamigos.
Many of them have nothing outside the scene. No passions. No pursuits. No depth. Just weekend regulars. Always at the bar. Always at the next party. Always escaping something.
That’s the thing about LA — it’s seductive. The lighting is always just right. The champagne always cold. The people? Beautiful, magnetic, fascinating… until you actually spend time with them.
It’s easy to mistake shared cocktails for connection. To believe someone is your friend because you’ve laughed together under string lights with a band in the background. But real connection takes presence — not pretense. And that’s something this scene rarely offers.
So while I may still enjoy a nice meal at Steak 48 or an impromptu night at Craig’s, I do it differently now.
I’m not looking to be chosen. I’m not auditioning for anyone’s approval. And I’m no longer mistaking aesthetic proximity for emotional intimacy.
Sometimes the best thing you can do in this city is leave the table — even if the rosé is flowing and the vibes are good — and remember who you are when no one’s watching.
Originally published on Medium https://medium.com/@nefertitithomas1/rose-red-flags-and-the-real-la-40f74e9eb879