A sign in front of Laurel Supply in West Hollywood simply reads “market.” You don’t even need to enter to realize that’s a massive understatement. For starters, it’s housed in a bizarro space-agey wooden structure on Santa Monica Boulevard, originally designed by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright in the distinctive “Googie” style of architecture. (Some of Googie’s signature characteristics? Flying-saucer motifs and rocket-ship-esque curves.)
Then there’s the crowd. While the traditional grocery store Gelson’s down the street sees customers in their errand wear—mismatched athleisure, Birkenstocks, tote bags with a few stains on them—those standing outside Laurel Supply look like they’re auditioning for a Charli xcx video. Or, at the very least, thrift Demna-era Balenciaga on Depop. “You can’t come here in sweatpants,” I hear a Gen Z girl in a pleated miniskirt and a Coachella T-shirt tell her friends as I enter.
It’s immediately clear that Laurel Supply is not a fluorescent-lit and “clean-up on aisle four” kinda store. It’s vast and airy and brimming with natural light; hanging from the wood-beamed ceiling are giant rectangular pendant lamps, and planted in the middle of the floor is a giant olive tree that looks like it has lived for 100 years and could live for 100 more. (Adding to the cool factor: It used to be the showroom for fashion photographer Herb Ritts’s furniture company in the 1940s.) There’s a station for butcher meats and a whole section for organic produce, as well as a sushi bar, an organic wood-fired-pizza station, hot-bar station, bakery, and smoothie bar. A woman walks by me holding a teacup poodle and a Chanel flap bag. I recognize the design. It’s post-price-hike. Actually, Chanel bags are everywhere. As are Goyard totes, Prada Cleos, and not one, but two, pairs of designer face-shield sunglasses. (A style statement that I’d never seen out in the wild until now.) A cacophony erupts at the hot bar: A corgi and a French bulldog have gotten snippy with each other while their owners stand in line.
I wait behind them to order a plate, which consists of a protein and two sides. The line seems to be moving slower than usual as the woman in front is taking advantage of Laurel Supply’s free samples. (“Is the mac and cheese good?” She inquisitively asks the attendants behind the glass.) I take this as my sign to really study the offerings: organic Japanese sweet potatoes, miso cod, organic Mediterranean chickpea salad, orange chicken, a brussels sprouts caesar salad. The couple behind me builds their plate eagerly: “This is definitely a little cheaper,” the woman says to her boyfriend. “It’s only like $30.”
