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Please don't take this the wrong way, Los Angeles, but when we on the East Coast think of you, high fashion does not come to mind. You are jeans and tank tops; white leather jackets with fringe and rhinestones; velour tracksuits; enormous sunglasses; unnaturally taut and tanned skin; evening gowns with bodices too small for the oversized breasts they cradle. You are the city where every day is casual Friday, every night is an awards ceremony, and everyone is, sartorially speaking, sixteen years old--with the exception of those who actually are sixteen, for they look at least twenty-seven.
Los Angeles, I will give you a week to dispel this prejudice. For seven ...