Babylon, Commerce
The bikini barista said she was in love with me and I believe her
If you drive a big truck, you’re probably been to Commerce. If you don’t, it’s unlikely. There are the visual greetings of Commerce, a steel grey and safety orange city within the vague borders of the LA metro, lines of spindly crane necks, concrete, car parts, men with oil stains on their clothes, this is Commerce. There is not much to do in Commerce other than load things into trucks and trains, unload things from trucks and trains, and do repairs on trucks and trains. There are few restaurants, few bars, the coffee options are largely chains or convenience stores. Cooled rooms in which to sit down are scant. Driving in I saw a few guys sitting on a curb or loading dock.
I heard about Tan Lines from an outrage bait post on Instagram. LA’s first bikini coffee shop has been open since January of this year. Given the post’s comment section which ranged from lascivious to snarky and the bizarreness of both the concept and the locale, I expected it to be crappy and/or crass, but, and I say this with no irony, meanness, or compunction, it fucking rocks.
Tucked on an innocuous corner in the industrial pocket of LA, a tangerine colored vinyl banner with bright blue lettering announces the shop, luring the driver to turn off the 50mph road. A large flat screen TV is mounted to the left of the register. The world cup is on, Mexico versus South Africa, kick off is in 10 minutes. I’ve been sitting in the coffee shop for about 20 minutes, in that time a regular trickle of customers, mostly male, latino or white, mostly middle aged, stop in for a coffee. Most of them stay for upwards of 20 minutes, chatting with each other, with the girls and with the owner, Romero, who knows about a quarter of the patrons and talks to the first timers with an ease that skews my data.
Co-owner Romero and his sister employ 8 baristas, most of whose prior experience is in performance rather than coffee. The menu is immense. Hot and cold coffee options can be spiked with standard flavors—vanilla, hazelnut, caramel—or more novel options like mazatpan, pomegranate, or horchata. Tidal waves are mixed energy options, sparkling, still, or blended as a slurpie, customizable with syrups. There are ample cold foam options; many of the patrons have ordered the strawberry cold foam. Their coffees have a layer of petal pink on top and they hold their drinks in hardened hands. I sat down to talk to Romero, interrogate him on what kind of lascivious pest would open such a place. He’s a big guy, tall and broad shouldered with shoulder length black hair and scruffy facial hair. He’s thoughtful, sometimes sheepish, and quick to smile. The siblings, like many small business owners, spend seven days a week at the shop. The morning shift starts a little before their 5am opening time, the morning rush comes between 8 and 9 and they close at 2 on weekdays, 3 on weekends.
Around 11, two men come in wearing Team Mexico jerseys. They ask the girls for pictures, it’s $10 per picture per girl. The men stand next to the girls: Pearl, a tall blonde wearing an electric pink backless one-piece and a short orange sarong, and Erika, a petite latina in a black and white bikini with shoulder length black hair. Pearl is wearing diamond silver hoops the diameter of a navel orange. Her hair is in a high ponytail but is still long enough to reach her tailbone. Erica is, I think, wearing the nude shade of the satchu peeling lip stain with a tidy layer of gloss on top. Both the girls wear orange visors with ‘Tanlines Coffee’ emblazoned in graphic blue.
It’s Team Mexico guys’ first time in, they live about an hour east of Commerce and heard about Tan Lines from a work friend. They’re laughing conspiratorially to each other. They’re in the neighborhood and they hang out for nearly an hour, blissed out at the funniest place to find a babe. The indelible truth upon which this concept operates is that beautiful women make people friendlier, their hands more drawn to their wallets, more lethargic and unserious. The Team Mexico guys are chatting with Romero from across the room, they’re talking about soccer, about the business, how it’s going, where they’re from, when Brazil will play, the psychological effects of the girls presence in the room.
One barista just finished her shift. She’s got long black hair with a wine tint. She’s got a gold foil butterfly sticker above her lip to cover a pimple. She’s doing her closing work on the company iPad. Romero sits across the table from her eating a banana nut muffin, they’re both watching Mexico’s opening ceremony. The opening ceremony is set up like one long track punctuated by a drum lick or a horn. J. Balvin is performing. Pearl, scanning the crowd on screen, says she has a friend who’s a backup dancer for J. Balvin. She spots her, a redhead among J. Balvin’s 10 or so backup dancers, Pearl looks up at her with her bright blue eyes. Another guy, youngish, in a printed shirt, printed shorts, and sandals asks for a picture, just with Erika this time. His toenails look recently cut and cleaned but the toe knuckles are dirty. Pearl takes the picture, she knows how to lean over and tilt the camera so the subjects look taller. They take another picture so Erika can fix her hair, the man puts on glasses which make him look worse.
The coffee shop gets a regular stream of patrons, the door opens to someone new every five minutes or so and most stay a while, watching the soccer game, glancing at the girls every now and then, lubricated and sedated. It’s not so busy that Pearl can’t take a selfie video making a coy face, looking over her shoulder, bending, giving a peace sign. She’s a professional.
Tan Lines has some merch for sale. A shirt with their standard logo and one in Dodgers font. They’ve got baseball hats, keychains, and stickers. By the register there’s a money tree in a gold pot with the Chinese tag still on it and a little stuffed bear wearing army fatigues. There’s a popup ad for the bryna gun, the orange bodied “less-lethal” firearm.
There are no outlets which is tough for me because both my phone and laptop are below 20 percent and no public wifi. I’m using my phone’s hotspot to work on my laptop but there’s not great service in Commerce. This is also sucking my battery life but I don’t want to leave. The girls are so pretty and every time Pearl gives a patron one of her beaming full-toothed smiles, involuntarily I smile too. Whenever I get stuck writing I look up at the girls and when one notices me I suck on my lip and feel my face get hot.
The concept of Bikini Coffee Shop is already a batshit gimmick. Tits in a coffeeshop is peculiar and delightful, like a monkey in a hat, like a hot dog at a steakhouse, like a lollypop with chewing gum on the inside and MDMA inside the chewing gum. The bizarreness is what makes Tan Lines so fun. There’s a place out in Commerce California, go ahead, cross the gates of Ishtar and the coffee is sweet. The girls are pretty, the game is on TV and the gardens are hanging. The men that lift the pallets off transcontinental train cars are all together, many mouths around a single plastic straw. This must be the place.
Bro she wants you!!!!