You know what goes to Brentwood to waste away? Nothing. Nothing withers on the vine in Brentwood, because Brentwood is the elixir of life, a rarefied, beautiful life. Kindly go elsewhere if you need to stumble or wrinkle. Brentwood is sunshine and Mexican palms and Porsche Cayennes that repel dust and dismay.
The uniform here is any version of Alo yoga pants, Goyard totes, and $15,000 gold bracelets that clang together like the haughtiest of high-school girls. Filler always helps, but kindly, not too much. This isn’t Beverly Hills, for God’s sake.
