19 Reasons It's Better to Be Gay in L.A. Than NYC

When my partner first told me several years ago that he wanted to move to Los Angeles, I gasped. How could we leave all this behind, I exclaimed, gesturing with my JB card at the bed that nearly filled my closet-size room, the bedside table that was really a cooler full of books with a cloth draped over it, and the alley cats screaming in bloody, clawed courtship just outside the barred panes.

We left all that. And it was one of the best decisions of my life. In nearly every measurable way, my quality of life has improved since we filled a car with all of our earthly possessions and journeyed westward, across the great plain of red states, where it was silently agreed that only one of us should walk into a motel lobby to request a room at a time. Lawrence v. Texas was, of course, an important Supreme Court decision that will likely not be overturned, but why take risks in this turbulent political clime, when so many of those sodomy laws are still on the books?

But I digress. Once you find your way to Los Angeles, you’ll realize you’ve left so many of your troubles behind. Life is hard enough for gay men. Why add winter, high rent, Trump Tower, and the fear of falling into the sea, a fate that will no doubt come closer during this presidential administration? Go west, young gay man. Here are many reasons why.

There are many beautiful men in New York. But this beauty is overall of a fragile and anemic variety — the kind that might turn one to flame or dust if a curtain is accidentally raised during daylight hours. The men in Los Angeles are far less vampiric — and there is far greater variety. From the muscled gods of West Hollywood to the majestic bears and bearded hipsters of Silver Lake to the pulchritudinous pioneers of downtown to the bodybuilders of Venice Beach, there is truly something for everyone to enjoy. Los Angeles is also the entertainment capital of the world, which makes it a magnet for beautiful people. There he is, a future Leonardo DiCaprio, pouring your coffee at Starbucks. What have you done to deserve such splendor? (Photo courtesy of Miguel Angel Reyes)

I won’t fetishize a group of people, because that is inappropriate and crass — even though it is a known fact that men of color are gorgeous. However, a friend insisted that I would be remiss if I did not mention the beauty of Latino men, of which there are so many in Los Angeles. In fact, Latinos make up the largest ethnic group in California — a wonderful boon for diversity. There's also a golden opportunity to learn another tongue and culture from the city’s many handsome Spanish-speaking teachers. 

There was a time when I thought the best Mexican food in the world came from New York City’s taco trucks. How naïve I was. Los Angeles’s fare is far superior. Not a week goes by that my partner and I don’t stop in El Compadre on Sunset Boulevard for flaming margaritas and mixed fajitas — even though it’s a little expensive and there’s not much natural light. After all, you can’t live or be in love without good food, and L.A. Mexican cuisine has provided spicy sustenance for both body and soul.

As I mentioned before, in New York City, I lived in a closet-size apartment in Spanish Harlem, in which my bed took up the majority of space — except for that cooler full of books masquerading as an end table. Yes, it was romantic for a time to crack open the Coleman and read the poetry of Arthur Rimbaud in close quarters. On gorgeous days — due to the extremes in temperature caused by global warming, there are fewer and fewer — I dragged my container full of books for a walk in Central Park, the mojitos mingling with My Antonia along our merry way. As the real estate people always say, Manhattan is your living room. But eventually, you want a real living room, and you have to wonder if the exorbitant cost of rent is really worth it.

It’s not. In Los Angeles, I live in a beautiful West Hollywood apartment for a fraction of what I paid to live in Manhattan. There’s a real kitchen with a dishwasher, and an on-site washer and dryer to boot. I never thought I deserved such extravagance. I even have a parking space, which exceeds the size of my old bedroom. Because that’s really what an apartment in Manhattan is — a parking space for a body. That’s unacceptable. It’s time to drive away.

It’s hard to be a parent or a pet owner in New York. There’s no space for playing or pooping. And good luck riding with your children or pets on the subway. Los Angeles has all the benefits of living in a suburb — because that’s what it is, a giant string of suburbs — without the great shame of having to move to New Jersey. There are beautiful houses, yards, and excellent public schools in New Jersey — but to move there, you think, seems like some kind of admission of failure. Will they think you lacked the riches required to send one child to Dalton or purchase even one apartment with a rooftop garden? Such worries become irrelevant in Los Angeles, which has all the benefits of a world-class city, like parks and excellent public schools and yards. Many who grew up here have achieved great success without even a high school diploma to their name — although perhaps they have a famous last name to leverage. The dog will love it too.

I have never been prouder to be an Angeleno than the day of the Women’s March. Around 750,000 people filled downtown L.A. in solidarity with women and their rights, and against the anticipated tyranny of the new president. It was an inspiring time to be an American, as peaceful protesters filled our nation’s cities like never before. However, the Los Angeles march was by far the largest. Donald Trump will tell you — crowd numbers matter, and that makes us by far the greatest force in The Resistance. Gov. Jerry Brown confirmed this when he declared in his state of the union, “California is not turning back. Not now, not ever.” Moreover, in sheer numbers, California exceeded New York's support for Hillary Clinton in the presidential election, giving the Democratic candidate nearly 9 million votes, which is over 60 percent of the state vote. New York City might be quite blue as well, but it’s also Trump’s hometown and the site of Trump Tower. No one wants to pass that waste of taxpayer dollars. 

In New York, the weather was a constant source of worry. Would it rain? Would it snow? Would it become too hot or too cold? How will I dress to prepare? Does the venue even have a coat check? What if I sweat through my shirt on the subway ride? Will my coworkers judge me to be a person whose perspiration is out of control or linked to some sort of abuse of alcohol? That art opening later in the evening — is a jacket required? Can I even wear these shoes in the snow?

These are no longer concerns of mine. Due to the consistently beautiful weather, there are men in Los Angeles who wear shorts and tank tops every day of the year without reproach or discomfort. They’ll wear the same ensemble to the office, to a date, and on the red carpet. At night, maybe they’ll put on a sweater. Sneakers are fine. Everyone is comfortable and relaxed. Sure, there are occasions to dress up, but gone are the oppressive fashion laws and the cruel elements used as justification to enforce them. (Photo courtesy Miguel Angel Reyes)

There are famous people in New York — thank God for Chloë Sevigny — but the pool is nowhere near as large as Los Angeles’s. In my first month, I spied Elijah Wood as a DJ, a gaggle of dancing Glee stars, Fran Drescher judging a food competition, and Molly Shannon ordering yogurt in Hancock Park. The town is teeming with famous people, and it’s a never-ending source of joy to see stars as ordinary people, going about their lives, deciding between strawberries or sprinkles on their medium cup of nonfat frozen dairy. Get both, Molly. You deserve it.

Well, probably not. But chances are, if you hang out at one of Lisa Vanderpump’s restaurants or the Abbey, it’s only a matter of time before a production assistant asks you to sign a piece of paper that will allow them to air your face to the world, unblurred. A reality television star is born! If being on TV is your dream, there are so many other opportunities to pursue it. From The Price Is Right to The Ellen DeGeneres Show to Dancing With the Stars to RuPaul’s Drag Race, shows are looking for excited fans to sit in tapings as audience members. Chase the dream.

If you’re a fan of RuPaul’s Drag Race — and what sparkle-blooded gay man in his right mind isn’t? — you’ll be excited to learn that the popular drag race competition is filmed in L.A. If you wish, you could have the opportunity to attend the finale taping and witness drag herstory. Or you could see one of the show’s many stars who live and perform in Los Angeles. There are, of course, many NYC-based queens. But in L.A., it’s hard to throw a wig without hitting Raja, Raven, Detox, Willam, Alaska, or many other fan favorites.

Recently The New York Times profiled a creative type who lived in a crawl space above a Brooklyn theater in order to make ends meet. Due to the space’s size, he couldn’t stand fully erect, and if he accidentally leaned on the back wall, he risked opening a hatch and falling to his death onto the stage below. Surely, America’s artists deserve a better life than this torturous existence. They need a studio space in which to rehearse or paint. They require a room of their own, in which they may vertically stretch their limbs and live without fear that the Grim Reaper is waiting behind a trap door. These rooms can be found in L.A. (See more of David Hockney's work and photos here.)

My partner threw a birthday at a venue in Manhattan that was styled like a pool deck. There was no water, but guests could recline on lounge chairs in vaguely nautical attire and sip cocktails, which were priced as if the ocean was at our feet. It wasn’t. Pools need not be a mirage any longer. Los Angeles has a plethora of them, right in our backyards, and many have extraordinary views of the city and sunset. Pool parties also happen all year long — I just attended one in the middle of March. Imagine that! As noted, there are many beautiful men in Los Angeles, and pool parties are the best opportunity to appreciate them. (See more of Miguel Angel Reyes's photos of Casa Frason here.)

It’s difficult to experience nature in New York City. Oh, sure, there’s Central Park, and I went for a (short) hike once in the Bronx Botanical Gardens. But it’s nothing compared to Los Angeles, which has one of the largest urban parks in North America: Griffith Park. It’s a mini mountain in the middle of the city, where you can see stars (and film history) at the Griffith Observatory (Sal Mineo and James Dean enjoy the view from the observatory above). You might even see a cougar. I’ve joined a gay hiking group, which goes on adventures in the nearby Angeles National Forest, Santa Monica Mountains, and more. And a trip to the Santa Monica Pier? It’s right down the street.

It’s always been a pain to get to Fire Island: two trains, a shuttle, a ferry that shuts down, curious fires in the off-season. Avoid the hassle. Palm Springs is just a short drive from L.A. It’s cheap and easy, with plenty of hotels and outlet shopping. (Above, a pool party in Palm Springs for Blatino Oasis.)

I essentially forgot how to drive in New York City. While I did enjoy great public transportation, it’s also life-changing to have a car in Los Angeles. Enjoy the wind, the music, the podcasts, and the great open road. Drive down Wilshire Boulevardd, up the coast to San Francisco, or across the country. Drive yourself crazy.

Stonewall may be hailed as the birthplace of the modern LGBT rights movement. But the Black Cat riots in L.A.’s Silver Lake neighborhood, which sparked The Advocate magazine’s founding 50 years ago, actually preceded those in New York. There’s a rich heritage of gay bars in L.A. and a vibrant present, from the West Hollywood gayborhood to Akbar in Silver Lake to downtown’s blossoming scene. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced Queen Kong at Precinct (pictured above, see more photos here). The “last call” at 2 a.m. is actually a welcome relief from the all-nighters in New York. You’ll rest better and live longer!

What’s that scent in the air? Is it blooming poppies, or is it stale pretzels, urine, and trash? As an olfactory experience, L.A. takes the cake.

In-N-Out is an L.A. institution, and one of the highest-rated fast-food chains in the country. One taste of that Double-Double and a milkshake, and you’ll never want to leave.

The world’s largest provider of programs to the LGBT community is based in L.A. The center provides housing for homeless youth and elders, health services like HIV testing and care, and numerous education and outreach programs that make the world a better place. Its many events, such as the recent food and wine event Simply diVine, bring the local community together, as do its rallies, such as its Pulse vigil last year. Take advantage of its resources, and help give back to the community once you’re here! (Photo from the March on L.A. to Save the ACA)

Do you hate L.A.? Do you still, even after my meticulous reasoning, find it to be a horrid place filled with smog, shallow people, and a subpar literary scene? Perhaps you may have some points. Leave your reasons for thinking NYC is superior in the comments, and we might craft a rebuttal.