The idea grew as organically as the purple cauliflower in Erewhon. One day I walked from my house in Los Feliz to the beach. I stopped at two places in Erewhon on the way to refuel. I made a reel about my trip and posted it on Instagram. My friend Fish saw it and said, “You should walk to all the Erewhon.”
I thought: I don't have time to do that. I am a very serious person who needs to write his novel.
But then I found myself plotting an 89-mile walk in my Notes app, starting in Pasadena and ending in Calabasas, stopping at all 10 of Erewhon's locations along the way. (My route did not include the Palisades, which is closed due to the fires; nor did it include LACMA or the new Glendale location.)
“I need to write my novel” is a thought I have a lot. I usually heed this thought and sit at my desk like a soldier, imagining the wonderful day when I will sell said novel, for an amount that would probably be comparable to a fraction of the annual salary of an Erewhon employee.
Erewhon Trail Map Illustration by Swan Huntley.
(Illustration of Erewhon Trail map by Swan Huntley).
Although I really wasn't in the mood to write the novel. When I imagined myself playing the keyboard, I felt bad. When I imagined walking around Los Angeles in my gardener's hat from Home Depot, I felt good. So, I put on my hat, hopped in an Uber headed to Pasadena, and texted my sister, “Carpe diem, bitch.” Or at least that was my intention. What I actually sent was: “Carpet diem hitch.”
Over the summer, I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail a bit. A few years ago I did the Camino by bicycle in Spain. I have walked from Los Feliz to the beach several times. I have crossed Manhattan three times. Before that, as a teenager, I used to walk from La Jolla to Del Mar while drinking beer (I carried a cooler; yes, I'm sober now) and listening to Sarah McLachlan on my Discman. I have always been drawn to activities that many people find tedious. Like walking forever. Or write a novel.
Beginning in the 4th century, the church organized pilgrimages as a way for Christians to pay penance for their sins. They were hard and dangerous and many people died. Fast forward to now: these walks have taken on an “eat, pray, love” aura. Or a “wild” aura. They live in the field of self-help and sports. They are a way of creating friction in an increasingly frictionless world. As we walk from Mexico to Canada, or from Erewhon to Erewhon, I wonder if we are trying to get back to the part of ourselves that wants to try harder.
Or we simply want to become more valued guests at a dinner party.
What do you do for a living?
I go on very long walks.
I ordered a Goddess Smoothie in Pasadena and then repeated this tradition in all the stores. The shake costs $19, tastes amazing, and is green, which my brain interprets as “good for me.”
It took me a little over three hours to walk 11 miles to Silver Lake. I bought a vegan avocado sandwich for lunch, took an Uber home, and posted a video on Instagram about my first day on the trail. Many people liked it. Some of them called me a genius.
In the last 10 years I have published four novels and two illustrated books for adults. At first I was naive and totally happy with the publishing process. Did people want to buy my work? Did other people want to read it? Cool.
The first book, “We Could Be Beautiful,” did well because the publisher invested real money in its marketing. Then that stopped happening. At some point, I realized that waiting too long was not wise. It's up to me to market my books myself. What it meant: social media.
They say you have to look at the cover of a book six times before you buy it or consider buying it. There are many book covers on Instagram. In reality, there is a lot of everything on Instagram and, of everything, is a book cover that exciting?
No.
My second reel, depicting my trip from Silver Lake to Studio City, went a bit viral. To date, almost 10,000 people have shared it with their friends. Because? I think the answer has something to do with the desire for lightness.
If the atmosphere of the world could be represented by an Erewhon drink, it would not be vibrant and cheerful, like the bright magenta pitaya smoothie. It would be the dark and brooding War Shot Against Germs. I find it disconcerting that people talk about the apocalypse as if it were happening later. It's happening now. If we were really thinking about how climate change is affecting us, we would be in the streets screaming. All the time. But we're not going to do that. We continue with our usual lives. Apparently, for me, that includes walking to Erewhons.
Any long-distance trip is both an internal and external trip. As I continued along the path, I began to think that perhaps my effort was a reaction to my feeling of complete helplessness. I can't save the polar bears. I can't force the president to go to therapy. But I can add some levity to the brooding atmosphere.
Recently, someone commented on one of the reels: “Transplants make L.A. locals look bad.” This person, and many others, hear the name Erewhon and assume I'm making fun of him. Erewhon has become a joke about Los Angeles, a joke that was amplified after Hailey Bieber invented her smoothie in 2022 that Erewhon calls the “strawberry frosted skin smoothie.” I've never had it, but I can tell you that it looks like a sky full of strawberry clouds. According to an Erewhon employee I spoke to, this shake was a game changer. He aligned the brand with wealth and power. Now, Erewhon conjures up the image of smooth-skinned, health-conscious Angelenos with money to spend.
The Erewhon Way, then, inevitably becomes a conversation about privilege, including my own. Instagram hid my two favorite comments because I was afraid they'd be too rude to show, but I think they're the funniest.
This is what white people do with Prozac.
This is what happens when a liberal arts professor is fired.
To both comments I say: Yes.
I don't take Prozac yet, but maybe I will after I get fired.
However, to get fired, I would have to get a real job, which may never happen.
The most intense section of the route was from Santa Monica to Calabasas. My friend Fish joined me. Google said it would take 27 miles. After marching through the mountains, I decided to use my own intelligence to shorten the route. This trimmed four miles, bringing the total to 23. For long stretches, Fish and I walked along the bike path or through the brambles on the side of the road. That's the penalty for deviating from Google. Your sidewalks disappear and your chances of being hit by a car greatly increase.
My legs were noodles when we arrived in Calabasas. I crawled across the parking lot to show my viewers how weak they had become. The clerk at the door smiled at me and handed me a basket, and I thought of the pain in my legs, which no one could see, and of all the secret battles that people fight all the time, and I wished we would care as much as Erewhon cares about us. Several employees were perfecting the already perfect plateaus of bell peppers and apples in the produce section. Their thoughtfulness was the opposite of the vibe I find in most public bathrooms, which is that the strangers who were there before me didn't have many thoughts about my experience. As unfortunate as the fact that an Erewhon milkshake costs $19 is that many of us need to get paid to be nice to each other.
When I tell people about my love for Erewhon, they say, “Sure, I know,” or something like, “That place is ridiculous, right?” It is almost always followed by the mention of food and a certain amount of money. Like, “Doesn't a carrot cost $12,000?”
Actually I tell them no. Although sometimes yes. There is a Japanese strawberry that is very expensive ($20), but it is avoidable. I then explain that, contrary to popular thinking, there is a way to shop in Erewhon on a budget. A jar of soup, for example, costs $15.50. If you return the bottle, we'll refund you $3. In my opinion, the soup can be two meals, so it costs $6.25 per meal. Many of the products are the same price or just a little more expensive than other health food stores, and they are always in better condition. However, the most important thing to make Erewhon more affordable is to become a member. You get 10% off, a free drink of the month, and discounts on multiple items.
You may be wondering: How many Erewhon memberships has she personally sold?
He has lost count.
The other reason to go to Erewhon is the environment. It is visually appealing and the ratio between employees and customers is remarkable, and the result is that you feel like you are at a resort. And frankly, these simple things (a nice atmosphere, high-quality food) should be available to everyone.
Getting back to the question of whether Erewhon is ridiculous or not: yes, of course it is. If you sit in any of the locations and listen to the conversations around you, you'll probably feel like an extra in a satirical film. In Studio City, I listened to two moms in white pants and cashmere sweaters talk about how, based on their Instagram reconnaissance, they discovered that so-and-so was sitting next to so-and-so at a charity dinner. Another bit I heard in Studio City: “You gotta make music from the heart, man, and the label will feel it.”
It didn't occur to me to ask for free merchandise until I finished the tour. Armando at the Santa Monica branch was the lucky recipient of my request. I explained my singular heroic feat and then wondered aloud if maybe I could get a sweatshirt, or at least a hat.
Unfortunately, Armando was not authorized to give me products, but he did offer me a gift card in a small envelope. I was very grateful. I assumed the card was worth at least $50.
After we parted ways, I opened the envelope.
Ten dollars.
Enough to put a down payment on a smoothie.
My dreams now are very different than when I was younger. In graduate school, I imagined that maybe I would write a best-selling novel, and maybe it would be adapted for the screen, and maybe my tombstone would say: He contributed very serious literature to civilization.
What I never took into account was, of course, the unknown. Maybe one day, more than a decade after school ended, I would get a lot of attention for making performance art about walking to the grocery stores.
Huntley's Her novels include “I Want You More,” “Getting Clean With Stevie Green,” “The Goddesses” and “We Could Be Beautiful.” She is also the writer and illustrator of the dark humor books “The Bad Mood Book” and “You're Grounded: An Anti-Self-Help Book to Calm You the F— Down.” She lives in Los Angeles.
