City of Style: Exploring Los Angeles Fashion from Bohemian to Rock

INTRODUCTION

Upon moving from New York to Los Angeles in 2004, I thought I confidently had LA-style figured out as being one of two things: tight and short or beachy and casual. And while some of my expectations were met, the variations on style that started to emerge and become wholly apparent to me were striking and actually a bit awe-inspiring.

From subcultures to golden eras, I began to piece together my observations about several looks that not only felt organic to LA and its residents but also affect the way people all over the world put themselves together. A rare confluence of elements contribute to the LA lifestyle and to the kinds of looks that arise from living in a major city with ideal weather, a glamorous designer retail scene, and a celebrity and entertainment culture that doesn’t just exist here: it was born here.

I set out to capture what I saw every day. Between running around designer showrooms downtown to lunch in Beverly Hills and after-work drinks in Venice, the people I encountered brought a vibrant and eclectic quality to what they wore. But an LA look isn’t something that can be easily pinned down, and that’s part of what makes it interesting, unpredictable, and fun.

LA-style is really like looking through one of those kaleidoscopes you had as a kid: glistening solid colors that when twisted and spun morphed into something more complex and more beautiful. It is colorful, eclectic, and often puzzling—and at its core, rich and inspiring.

The free-spirited energy, colorful sprawl of the city, and glorious sunny weather all undoubtedly inform the unique way LA denizens put clothing and accessories together.

And though LA has become synonymous with several mass-market trends, because of the casual nature of the ubiquitous daily uniform (think jeans, a T-shirt, and boots) there really is no cookie-cutter format, no formula or template to which people adhere. There’s just a strong sense of individuality and creative self-expression that makes the city’s style so appealing.

LA-style is ever changing and moving in a direction not solely dictated by what’s happening on the runway. It blends the past with current trends and a lifestyle determined by the varied landscape, golden light, and sense of freedom.

In fact, freedom is the word that kept popping up throughout the research, interviews, and shared stories while writing this book. Whether people are rockers, hippies, or skaters, they describe their style as free. They are unencumbered in their clothing and look. Regardless if that means leather pants and boots or a floor-length dress made from old curtains, they feel free to move, make music, and flourish in their little piece of Los Angeles.

But while the past provides a rich history on which modern-day–style is built, a snapshot of the present is just as captivating.

By profiling stylish women and a handful of men, I got a glimpse of not only their personal looks and motivations, but also of the tapestry that comprises various inspirations coming out of LA. Each portrait offers a sense of discovery and a lesson in creativity and personal style. Subjects cite old film stars, friends, modern-day celebrities, mothers, and grandmothers when they talk about what drives their look. Their styles are nuanced and full of interesting details. No single person is a literal representation of the style under which they are categorized, but rather each manages to incorporate a unifying spirit into his or her appearance.

Walking into the homes and closets of people all over Los Angeles was not only the most informative and intimate way to get to know them but also to start piecing together the variety of styles that comprise this city. The subjects range from glamorous to supercasual, but they get dressed and live with a certain ease and insouciance that feels right for LA, whether that’s been absorbed over time or something innate that has now found a place to thrive.

ONE

romantic bohemians

I always think of the line Mama Cass sang, . . . all the young girls are coming to the canyon. Those days you hitched your way up and it was perfectly safe. Talk about Camelot.

—TRINA ROBBINS

Circa 1965, Trina Robbins with Donovan and friends at The Trip, Los Angeles.

Circa 1966, Nurit Wilde in Los Angeles.

Joni Mitchell in November 1968 in a Vogue magazine shoot.

Mary Kate Olsen and Ashley Olsen attend the 32nd Annual AAFA American Image Awards at the Grand Hyatt Hotel on May 26, 2010, in New York City.

September 2011, Nicole Richie arrives at Beverly Center Fashion’s Night Out.

Actress Angela Lindvall at Chanel’s benefit dinner for the Natural Resources Defense Council’s Ocean Initiative in Malibu.

If there’s one style most commonly associated with LA, it’s undoubtedly bohemian or boho. The eclectic mix of vintage and denim works here like nowhere else, not only because of the casual, laid-back nature that permeates the city but also because of the hippie and musician counterculture that existed in the canyon neighborhoods during the 1960s. It can be seen today as a more literal interpretation of the romantic bohemians who dwelled in Laurel Canyon and frequented the love-ins in Griffith Park, or in updated details like fringe hanging off a slouchy suede bag and flare-leg, form-hugging jeans.

We’re not talking overtly earthy tree hugger here. Even though the look is steeped in the free-spirited culture of the 60s and still embodies a more open-minded and laid-back attitude, LA girls have perfected a way of wearing the style (think stacks of string bracelets and the deliberate part down the center of their windblown hair) to include fashion-forward elements that are both free-flowing and sophisticated at the same time—ultimately a unique blend of contemporary fashion and a nod to the city’s colorful canyon scene.

The wide-eyed musicians and artists who flocked to the Laurel Canyon neighborhood in the mid-1960s marked the beginning of a movement that would inspire legendary songs and define a vibrant time in LA culture. The clothes they wore and the easy, unfussy nature of how they wore them also formed a template for the look as it is today. There is still the mix of DIY elements, long, loose shapes and rich embroidery on clothing and accessories that reflect the optimism of the 60s—a decade of change and new beginnings that’s had a West Coast hub in the Canyon as well as in the nearby Sunset Strip that is still peppered with popular music venues.

There was a strong sense at that time that they had found the place where their music and ideas about art, politics, and culture could thrive among like-minded individuals in the enclave of Laurel Canyon, which provided a creative respite from the noise of the city.

The idealism of the 60s doesn’t resonate as loudly in today’s reality—but maybe that’s why we’re so unwilling to shake its style hallmarks, especially in LA, where driving through the Laurel Canyon neighborhood immediately conjures the ghosts of the musicians and artists who made an indelible mark on local style and culture. And certainly the carefree spirit associated with the boho look works just as well in the golden light and rambling sprawl of current-day LA.

The burgeoning boho aesthetic of 1960s LA also introduced the idea of more individual style, which drew a stark contrast to the band uniforms, prim petticoats, and pulled-together ensembles of the 1950s and early 60s. And, of course, it marked the emergence of some of music’s most legendary and stylish figures—from Joni Mitchell to Frank Zappa.

The look of the LA scene at the time was partly built on the style of bands like the Rolling Stones—who broke through the mold of wearing band uniforms, like the Beatles before them—and began to dress in individual, not to mention relatively flamboyant, ensembles that couldn’t help but garner the attention of and inspire anyone who saw them. The ears and budding urges of teenagers everywhere were suddenly piqued. And they took their sartorial cues not only from the Stones but also from local artists, including the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and Jim Morrison, embracing the sense of rebellion and adventure associated with the look, sound, and attitude of these musicians.

That idea of doing your own thing emerged around the same time, and suddenly young people’s reality was more colorful and the prospect of self-expression was exciting and limitless. Much like LA itself, the era overflowed with optimism and endless possibility. In essence, both the scene and the music of Laurel Canyon worked to unite the energy of the city, the politics of the time, and the eclectic artists who were prolific and influential.

The standout details that were emblematic of this fresh and outrageous way of life came in the form of brocade, ruffled and romantic poet shirts, and nehru collars on tunic-style tops for men, and mini-length skirts and dresses (along with ankle-grazing maxi-length dresses) for women. Bell-bottom silhouettes were also de rigueur for both men and women, as were sandals and made-to-measure moccasins. People began to look different and embraced their newfound freedom and various forms of expression, whether that meant a new sound in music, more introspective lyrics, or bold flourishes on clothing that echoed the individualism, artistic license, and electric energy people felt during the decade and in the city.

This sense of individuality was seen in both the men and women who embraced the open-minded lifestyle rooted in Laurel Canyon. Singer Joni Mitchell famously wrote some of her best-known songs while living in the neighborhood, along with other notable musicians of the time like Cass Elliott, Jim Morrison, and David Crosby. Her song Ladies of the Canyon painted a vivid picture of several of the women living and creating in the Canyon. One of those was Trina Robbins, who’s specifically mentioned in the lyrics as sewing and designing clothes, which she did during the mid-60s in LA for the likes of Mitchell, Crosby, and Elliott.

Robbins was always a clotheshorse, so when she moved into Laurel Canyon in 1960, she bought an old sewing machine and locked herself in a room where she started sewing dresses, shirts, and bell-bottoms for her friends.

Word got around that I made great clothes, says Robbins, who crafted velvet bell-bottoms, paisley shirts, and brocade jackets for people to wear every day or while performing onstage. The black minidress she made for Mitchell was something the iconic singer would layer over her bell-bottom pants, a silhouette not unlike the tunic length tops women today pair with skinny jeans or leggings.

Fashion—even among successful musicians and artists—was much more egalitarian than it is in our current designer-label-obsessed climate, with women swapping clothes freely, buying secondhand, and reworking fabric from unexpected sources.

Case in point: Robbins fashioned a dreamy-looking long dress with bell sleeves and a tiered skirt out of old lace curtains for Enid Karl, former girlfriend of folk singer Donovan and mother to musician Donovan Leitch and actress Ione Skye. And she created a pair of red velvet hip-hugging bell-bottoms for Jim Morrison’s girlfriend, Pamela Courson. The ladies also favored miniskirts, maxi-dresses (also known as granny dresses), halter tops, and elaborate embroidered bell-bottom pants.

COREY LYNN CALTER

I like how girls put things together here; there is a casual hipness to their style that seems very natural. For me, California has always been indicative of the Joni Mitchell/Laurel Canyon/Malibu, laid-back bohemian lifestyle. Fashion here is about really stylish girls who have fun with clothes in a very free and playful way.

Nobody settled for just roughed-up jeans. They punched up the look with satin or silk bell-bottoms, or outfits made out of brocade or velvet. "You dressed for acid, says Robbins. You would wear a floaty something or beads . . . You dressed for whatever activity you were engaging in. The girls in LA wore shorter skirts than the ones in New York, but I suppose LA has always been more outrageous."

Tie-dye and paisley were the two most ubiquitous prints. There was a local spot for handmade tie-dye called the Farm, according to journalist Harvey Kubernik, which was a commune nestled off Lankershim Boulevard at the base of the north side of the Hollywood Hills. It was there that a woman who fittingly went by the name of Tie Dye Annie, made tie-dyed pieces for various musicians.

The DIY mentality and hunger for custom-made clothing were a direct reflection of the time—as independent, individual, and eclectic as possible. Perhaps that’s why most clothing was made by hand out of natural fabrics that could only be found at specific shops like Bob Steinberg’s Fabric Emporium, a rambling and musician-friendly store on Melrose Avenue.

Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Mick Jagger frequented the Fabric Emporium if not for the vast array of psychedelic patterns and robust selection of paisley, then for the laid-back vibe that was conducive to hanging out. Steinberg claims that getting stoned every morning, opening the shop at 1:00 PM, and not closing until 9:00 PM was a way of life at the time, and the hours and atmosphere lent to the store’s location becoming a bustling hub for creative types immersed in 60s counterculture.

Steinberg had a no polyester policy, and carried only natural fibers and what he boasts was the largest selection of paisley prints around. Paisley was easily one of the defining prints of the time and it could be seen not just on Jimi Hendrix’s shirts, but covering the furniture sitting in hippie pads or festooning the seats in their vans.

In addition to stocking an impressive quantity of paisley prints, Steinberg claims that his store was the first to start selling tie-dye fabric over the counter. He charged the hippies who walked in wearing tie-dye shirts with the task of dying the white fabric he gave them, and then bringing it back in so he could sell the hand-dyed cloth. He also merchandised the store to be as much a visual experience as it was a retail outlet, setting up each room by where the fabric or print was from. One room was filled with exotic, earth-toned prints from Africa while the next had a dizzying color wheel’s array of bright and metallic fabrics from India. I sold inspiration. I sold art by the yard. It was a temple of material reality, says Steinberg. He recites his fabric store’s catch phrase from the 1960s and it’s not hard to imagine what the scene was like—acid-bright colors, bold paisley prints, handmade hippie tie-dye, and all. "I’m a fabric man, faster than a bolt of speeding paisley,