Fall Culture Diet
For those in need of change
Fall is here and that means it’s time to eschew any wearable item that isn’t brown, gray, or black. ‘Tis the season to don trench coats and knitwear and straight-legged trousers while imbibing copious amounts of apple cider. Alas, such festivities are lacking in Los Angeles, where Fall brings no tangible change, but a continuation of the blistering heat that plagues July, August, and early September.
As a New York native, I feel bereft of my cherished autumnal traditions. Gone are the mornings of slipping into a black turtleneck while nursing a scalding hot coffee, the heat rising from the ceramic mug and offering a pleasant juxtaposition to the chilled air. Gone is the satisfactory crunch of leaves beneath my boots and the tranquil acquiescence of a dying landscape.
What I present to you is my Fall Culture Diet, a list of things I’ve been pursuing to get into the Fall spirit and alleviate my seasonal yearnings.
1. Turtlenecks
You heard me. I don’t care how hot it is, I’ll still be wearing my goddamn turtlenecks. The other day, in fact, I sported a thin turtleneck, gym shorts, and a cross-body purse while running errands at Home Depot and Target. I snapped a pic of my outfit and sent it to one of my friends in New York. “Is it cold there?” she asked. “No. Not at all. It’s just vibes,” I responded.
People who wear turtlenecks look so much more sophisticated. Back in my early twenties, these sweaters were my sartorial go-to. It didn’t matter the occasion: studying in the library, out at a restaurant, taking shots with my friends in a gross dive bar. I was, more often than not, wearing a turtleneck. They lent me an air of refinement that hid what a mess I really was. It was the perfect disguise. People would see me passing by and think, “Now there’s a young man who’s doing something with his life.”
For me, turtlenecks are a staple of Fall insomuch as Halloween and Thanksgiving. They signal a change not just in the weather, but in the general mood, too. Gone are the care-free, libidinous energies of the Summer months. Instead, a more industrious, brooding aura starts to materialize—one categorized by somber restraint and acerbic intellectualism.
2. No Sun!!!
Nothing screams Fall like a pallid countenance.
Fall in New York affords a much needed respite from an oppressive sun. The sunlight becomes diffident, softening into a haze that strokes rather than lashes. Though in LA, where the sun is glaringly bright all year, I have to take matters into my own hands.
I’ve been going for runs in the early hours, when the light is still muted, and returning to my studio apartment for the remainder of the morning. I’ll leave my apartment complex around noon-ish, lathered up with SPF-70, and take a quick walk through the streets of Hollywood. Then it’s back to my coffin.
Thankfully, my apartment doesn’t receive any direct sunlight. Meaning that, if I position my blinds in the right way, I can make the outside world appear darker than it actually is.
3. Vampires (you might have guessed it)
If my reverence for turtlenecks and avoidance of the sun didn’t tip you off, then let me spell it out for you: I love vampires.
There was once a time, when I was living in London, that I inadvertently adopted the vampiric lifestyle. I was working as a bartender in the Winter months, when the sun set at 4pm and the sky was afflicted by an invariable gray. I’d get home from work around 2 or 3am and wouldn’t wake until 11am or noon. Subtracting the hour I spent on the tube to get to work, that left me around 3-4 hours of daylight.
At first, I leaned into it, thinking myself a modern iteration of Count Dracula, albeit a lot poorer. But then the unforgiving weeks of January and February hit and I wanted to, well, die. I had outgrown the lifestyle and saw it as suffocating. It’s one thing to appreciate vampires from afar, romanticizing their dress and morose mannerisms; but to actually live like one?! I’ll pass. I decided that my penchant for these undead aesthetes will have to continue on in theory, and never again in practice.
Recently, I’ve been stocking up on vampire content to garner inspiration for this upcoming spooky season. My sibling and I watched The Lost Boys (1987) the other night. Countless people, from Trader Joe’s employees to yoga teachers, have told me that I look like one of the characters in the film—a long-haired vampire with dark, haunting eyes named Dwayne. Personally, I don’t see the resemblance. Perhaps it’s a likeness of aura.
I’ve also been rereading Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I’m not far along, Jonathan Harker only just arrived at Castle Dracula, where his campy, homoerotic host awaits him. I first read this book as part of a summer reading assignment when I was fourteen. In my typical teenage fashion, I saved the bulk of it until the night before school started. I showed up to morning assembly exhausted, my eyes shadowed with the garish markings of sleep deprivation—looking much like a weary, semi-delirious Mr. Harker after his feverish stay at Castle Dracula.
Each time I’ve read Dracula, a part of me ends up sympathizing with the poor Count. He just wants a bit of companionship. So what if he goes about it in a vile and murderous way, we all make mistakes, right?! I, for one, would be his friend—even if it meant the occasional blood transfusion.
4. Fantasizing about moving back to New York
Oops! I’m kidding… or am I?
Anyone who hasn’t witnessed Fall in New York, or New England for that matter, is an experiential pauper. Literally, nothing compares. Southern California may have an indefinite Summer, but the Northeast has something far more exciting: the pungent, bitter-sweet aroma of death. Yellowed leaves, fallen apples, and the inaugural stirrings of a bleak, unrelenting winter. Ahhhh.
You may think I’m deranged for reveling in such a thing. But here me out: after a year or so in Paradise, where abundance suffuses every facet of life, an eerie sameness starts to take shape. The apotheotic beauty embedded in every orange grove, beach sunset, and mountain range starts to dwindle. Eternal sunshine is no longer coveted as it once was. And Death no longer appears as the harbinger of loss, but as the champion of monotony.
Though what do I know? I’m just a rotten New Yorker talking out of my ass. The kind of New Yorker Eve Babitz would denounce as a stuck-up hater—a pseudo-intellectual hellbent on vilifying all that is sacred and lovely. A disciple of Nathaniel West, penning vitriol from his tiny Hollywood apartment.
*Sigh*
I love Los Angeles, I really do. I just wish it had more seasonal ambiences. And until it musters up the power to get some, I’ll be googling one-way tickets to JFK.
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I hope you enjoyed my Fall Culture Diet. For a more extensive catalogue of vampire content, turtleneck resources, ways to avoid the sun, and musings on New York versus LA, please DM me on Instagram @gawainsemlear.
Cheers,
Gawain
xoxo