I dislike editor’s letters. The cutesy rhyme—editor’s letters—makes me cringe just like it did when Mystikal, on Mariah Carey’s “Don’t Stop (Funkin’ 4 Jamaica),” paired “bowl of gumbo” with “play in the clubo.” I find the supposed omniscience of the letters inauthentic in a patronizing, Wizard of Oz–type way, and, truth be told, part of me resents playing tour guide when we typically reserve two to three precious pages of each issue for the table of contents.

Everyone has a place they travel to that is often more of a home than their actual one. No surprise to those who have heard me rave about it—some say, to extremes—that the Chateau Marmont is mine.