As much as you enjoy Downtown L.A. and Hollywood, for you the real L.A. is the old L.A. that exists west of the 405 freeway from Bel-Air to the beach. Places that belong to Dennis Hopper, the Ferus gallery, Jim Morrison writing lyrics on Venice Beach, Less Than Zero trust fund babies, Faye Dunaway lounging by the pool post-Oscars, the Malibu Colony and Joan Didion’s lonely characters nibbling hardboiled eggs as they circle the 405 freeway, too rich to ever be happy. To you, that’s the essence of L.A., the strange paradise city where angels’ fortunes rise and fall daily, casual as the sun.
All Mama’s seventy rooms boast extra-comfy king sized beds, so you wake up fully refreshed. You rinse off in the rainshower and check out the news on your Apple TV. You browse the pages of the True Romance screenplay in your room—“you’re so cool”—and glance out the window at the Hollywood Sign and the Griffith Observatory in the distance. Yep, you’re definitely in Tinseltown.