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Phillip Dixon between genius and hermit


Phillip Dixon opens the door to his fabled house in Venice Beach, California and talks us through his fabled career – from porn to Harper’s Bazaar…
Text & photo by Jeff Dunas

An anomaly, a one-off.
A contradiction to be sure. He is a cross between a genius and a hermit, leading a quiet non-conformist, reclusive sybaritic life in a home that closely resembles a well-designed, incredibly beautiful monastery in some fictional part of the world where people don’t use machines.

Dixon reasons deeply into the subjects he’s interested in and comes up with original thought. He’s kind of like someone who has lived on his own, on his own path and when you suddenly take him into the real world, all he sees is decay and insanity. ’Don’t they get it?’ This hasn’t always made things easy for him when he enters the world inhabited by everyone else. He simply chooses not to be part of the rest of the world. He’s never completely wrong – there’s Dixonian logic to most everything he says and he lives exactly according to his own prescription. He’s off the wall, to be sure, yet when you’re with him, you always leave wondering if perhaps he’s got it right and we all have it wrong. We only go around once and maybe his way makes sense if you really think about what he’s saying. He has a way of stripping away the bullshit. He’s unabashedly politically incorrect. No qualms about it whatsoever. Dixon is outspoken – so much so that many people can’t really hear what he’s saying and prefer to write his musings off as the thinking of a madman. It often goes against the very substance of what people truly believe – or are conditioned to believe. When he’s encountered obstacles in his life he reacts like an animal; he merely turns in another direction and continues right along his way. He doesn’t see a roadblock, he simply sees it’s time to change directions.

He looks like a cross between the local bagman and a member of a remote sect – one whose geographical location you can’t quite put your finger on. He dresses primarily in beige or black flowing Indian shirts and trousers. Comfort is the primary purpose for clothing. He once told me he never wears anything he can’t sleep in. Kind of makes sense when you think about it. In an earlier iteration of his fabled house in the former war zone of Venice Beach, California, Dixon noticed that when he shaved in the bath and drained the water, after a while ants came and carefully removed all the whiskers. Most people would call an exterminator, but Dixon simply saw it as organic maid service. He notices things most people don’t. He’s hyperobservant. After decades in the business he’s become the venerable sage. He takes himself seriously but he’s capable of laughing at himself. He has wisdom and definitely possesses great talent but he doesn’t care who knows it and couldn’t care less if anyone ever finds out. He doesn’t trust most of what he reads or hears. He is one of the few people I’ve ever met who are brutally honest with themselves and able to make important decisions based on his observations. He can’t remember names so everyone is ’Joe.’ This vastly simplifies life. He has a great sense of humor if you know him. Few people actually do. He suffers no fools for people in general and Europeans in particular.

He appreciates fine things in life – but not those that cost money – he admires the art of indigenous people (’unpretentious, Joe’), and finds ostentatious, pretentious humans exquisite fodder for his acerbic observations. He has acute disdain for yuppies, ’plastic people,’ fat cats and flaneurs; people wearing designer clothes or driving expensive cars drive him into fits of laughter. This hasn’t always won him friends but he wouldn’t want to be their friend anyway. Little details that obsess most of us cause him no concern. I remember sometime in the early 80s discovering he had a checkbook – somehow it struck me as hysterical that Dixon would actually write a check – to picture him actually dealing with the mail, banks, and institutions.

In the seventies his house was broken into frequently. Each time his inexpensive TV was stolen. His solution: Nail the TV to the table. ’Problem solved, Joe.’ He has had a tendency to tell it like it is a little too many times to clients who, if they don’t know him, can react with shock and disbelief but for those who let him continue on his way, the pictures are more than worth it. Those in the know are aware of him and what he can do with photography. The only problem is there are less and less of them. Those who know, know it’s an archive of spectacular photography – work he can do or not do and doesn’t care if or when he will ever do it again – sort of.

He knew the world would one day come to him. It did then didn’t, and he simply stepped away. He’s as good as he always was and even better by not just his own admission now – but he only wants to exercise his craft for cash – and the cash jobs don’t pay what they used to. When the massive quantity of work that came his way in the 90s began to recede, rather than promote himself (pretentious) he simply went outside and took a 90 degree turn to the left – to Todo Santos, Mexico where he shared a palapa on 80 beach-front acres with a bobcat that lived in his rafters. Again, Dixonian thinking: Phillip arose early in the day and was asleep with the sunset, while ’Bob’, being nocturnal, arose after sunset, hunted all night and returned home just before Dixon awoke. It made perfect sense to Phillip Dixon. ’No mouse, no snake, Joe.’
He has his own language: See the Dixionary at the end of this article for a glossary of terms used in this article. Welcome to the world of Phillip Worthington Dixon. Don’t question it – just read. You’re about to enter the Dixon zone.

Jeff Dunas

Jeff Dunas: Let’s go back to Glendora, California – to your early life. Early Dixon.

Phillip Dixon: I’m a cross between Scottish on my father’s side and a quarter American Indian on my mother’s. As a kid, I did martial arts. My father taught hand-to-hand combat to the Special Forces. So I know all about handto- hand combat, and I was a competitive swimmer; I swam six hours a day for my whole childhood. My problem later was I had to medicate myself because I had to deal with humans.

JD: I need to hear what it is that brought you to photography in the first place.

PD: I’ll tell you the story, Joe. My buddy and I were selling LSD in our garage in Glendora. The quantity we sold was 1500 micro-grams of acid. Now they take about 100 to get high. We added food coloring in the vials we sold so we could sell it as purple, green, whatever color acid people wanted. Now in the process of me putting the acid in the vials, it would drip on my hands. I would probably have six or seven thousand micrograms in my body. If I was sitting next to a table, I wouldn’t know what a table was or if I was the table, so I realized that it opened a different part of our brain that we don’t normally use. We were supposed to go to college and get solid knowledge, but I didn’t like the bondage of school. So I said, ’Okay, I’m going to take an acid trip to try to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do in life. I got very high and thought about this intently. What I realized was this: It was easy to be complicated and difficult to be simple. I got down to the simplest form of what I was good at, which I realized was arranging things. So I thought of all the things I could do to get paid for arranging things. I thought, Ah – Halleluiah! I could arrange things and take a picture of them. So what I did when I came down from the trip was to get a job as a delivery boy for an old glamour photographer in Hollyweird2 named Bud Fraker. This meant shooting wanna-be actors. Then when I wasn’t delivering for Fraker, I went into the darkroom and watched his assistant develop film and make prints. After work, I went back in the lab and experimented for myself. When the lab assistant quit one day and Bud needed a new guy, I told him, ’I can do it, Joe.’ He said, ’OK Phillip – I’ll give you a test. Develop this film, and make a print for me.’ I did and got the job so I became his lab guy, processing his film and making his prints. After a while, I need more bacon3, so I looked around Hollyweird and found a job at a custom lab owned by a European guy. We had one customer who shot simulated porno. Eventually the owner wanted to go back home to Europe so the porno photographer said, ’I’ll buy the lab.’ Of course he needed a guy to set it up so I raised my hand and said, ’I can do that.’ So I began to work in porno – for mob guys. After a while, I realized that the guys who were shooting the porno were making more bacon than me but they didn’t shoot very well, so I told the boss, ’I can do this shit.’ So in the daytime I printed, and at night I shot porno. I got two girls and one guy, shot the guy with one girl, then with the other girl, shot them all three together and then shot the two girls singly then together. I used this to practice lighting.

JD: What was it like working for the porno people?

PD: Ed Wood worked for the same guy then too. They made a movie about Ed Wood with Johnny Depp. The movie was bullshit. That cartoon director4, whatever his name is, made the movie like an Ed Wood movie but not about Ed Wood. I remember one day, being called into the big office because the FBI was there – so I’m walking down the hall and passed Ed Wood’s office. He was frantically changing his clothes, and I asked him what he was doing. He was totally straight but he liked to dress in women’s clothes. He liked to wear angora sweaters, pearls and women’s stretch-pants under his cloths and pumps! Ed was petrified that the feds would take him downtown, find out he had ladies underwear on and think he was a fucking homosexual! He once told me a story about being in the Second World War – and how he would have preferred getting killed to being wounded because if he got wounded they’d find out he was wearing woman’s underwear under his uniform! I used to go to parties at Ed’s house – there were transvestites, midgets, cut and tucks5, everything. They were all really nice people. Ed was later nominated the world’s worst film-maker in the history of film.

JD: Ok – so now you’re in Hollywood shooting porno and it’s the early seventies. Then what?

PD: Well, I had a very pretty girlfriend at the time, so after doing this for a while, I shot pictures of her and showed them to Playboy. What happened next was amazing: They called me up and said they wanted to buy them and publish them over 10 pages! They had never ever done that before – bought unsolicited pictures – so I started working for them. It was 1972 or 1973.

JD: I remember the pictures – a shorthaired blond girl on a barber chair.

PD: Yes. So I’m shooting tits and ass for the Pajama Man6 and then I got fed up with that just like I had done shooting porno and quit. I’d been called to a meeting with the Playboy photographers and Pajama Man. He had put up a bunch of pictures to illustrate what he didn’t want in the magazine anymore. I was in good company. The pictures were by Helmut Newton and me. He called our pictures abstract. And I said to him, ’Come on. You think a girl on her hands and knees with her ass in the air wearing matching lingerie out is reality? Stick it where the sun don’t shine Pajama Man!’ And I walked out forever.

JD: Then you entered a period of no bacon, Joe.

PD: Yes. It basically took me seven years to get another job. I realized the only job in town was shooting dresses.

JD: What was your first break shooting fashion?

PD: What happened was I realized I was in LaLa Land7 and all the jobs were in Zoo York Shitty8. I would never want to live in Zoo York Shitty – ugly and too many humans, so I went to the sportswear companies in LaLa because the only way to get Zoo York companies on my side would be if they saw my work in advertising. So I went to them and said, ’I will do the pictures and the layout; I’ll do everything for X amount of money, but my name goes on the ad.’ In those days no photographers got their names on ads. So I got work and they put my pictures in the magazines. What happened? My pictures looked better than the fucking editorial they were using so they started calling me up. That was the method to my madness. That’s how I started doing editorial pictures. Jimmy Z’s was one of the sportswear companies I worked for. He was a surfer with jelly belly and was making his own shorts in his garage using Velcro because he couldn’t stop eating. I went with my friend Sep who had just gotten out of jail and went to visit Jimmy. Within a year of me doing advertising, and with Sep who became a partner with Jimmy, they were a 20 million dollar company.

JD: The sportswear companies were all in LaLa. They were hip and had begun to get national attention.

PD: Exactly. But putting my name on the ads gave me international exposure. I worked for no bacon but I was better than their other photographers. Then I got sick of all that shit. After 15 years I got sick of shooting dresses for no-taste, no talents who wanted to tie my hands and now I’m unemployed. I lost interest and bought land in Mexico where I planted trees for seven years. I couldn’t evolve because they were regressing in taste, culture and everything. Today’s young art directors are brain-dead. Nobody home, Joe.

JD: Jean-Loup Sieff once remarked to me, ’Today’s art directors think La Redoute [boring French fashion catalogue] is Avant Garde.’

PD: True! There used to be great art directors and now you have bankers. I’d be shooting a model, aiming the camera at her and the art director, standing over on the side, would say to me, ’But I can see the kitchen.’! This is how stupid some of them were. Retarded.

JD: I remember you saying once that every successful photographer had but a ten-year window.

PD: It takes you 20 years to get to the point where you can make bacon. Then you only have 10 years to cash in. I had the ten years, so then I went to Mexico.

JD: You thought your career was over.

PD: Of course. And it is over. You can’t let the business control your life. You have to control your own destiny. I lived for part of the time there with a lady but the lady went away. I didn’t want to live in Mexico alone, so now I want to sell the property. The problem is they’ve started cutting heads off down there and no one wants to buy in Mexico anymore.

JD: That was unforeseeable. The plan was good. You were a pioneer in Mexico.

PD: Yes. I was a pioneer in Venice too. The shiny people9 started showing up in Venice and bourgeois Europeans started showing up in Mexico.

JD: In the 90s you really started working for everyone.

PD: True. I went to Anthony Mazzola at Harper’s Bazaar and said, ’Let me do one layout – one shooting, and let me control it. If you like it and it works for you commercially, then I do what I want.’ So I did it – and after it was published, they got so much response that he said to me, ’OK – but you can’t keep as much control going forward.’ I told him I needed $1000 per page. I would do one layout for him and one for me. Whatever you want, and whatever I want. It was good for Bazaar and good for me. I showed humans visual things they’d never thought of. I worked for a few good years for them. I had trust in my pictures. So I made a living!

JD: It was the beginning of your ten years. I remember for a while you were being copied a lot – people trying on your style.

PD: True – but it’s a compliment. I can always invent new things. So many of them had no depth. It wasn’t coming from their own personality or their own point of view. It was easy for them to copy but it was coming from the obvious cosmetic surface things they saw in my work – or a technique. First you need an original idea, then comes the composition and the necessary texture and shading to enhance all that and bring your point across. They only saw the cosmetic stuff on top when they copied. I remember there was a photographer who wore makeup and fur hats. He was very successful and copied everybody. The young guys coming up saw him making lots of bacon and they started copying him and everyone with an original voice like he did. Then there was no point of view anymore. For three months they all copy this one or that one, then three months later they were all copying someone else. And you couldn’t tell one from another. In the old days, there were photographers with their own point of view and their work was beautiful. You never had to look at the credits because you could tell whose picture it was. Their inspiration was coming from within. You had Helmut Newton – Guy Bourdin, Sarah Moon; great photographers who did their own pictures. Lawrence Sackman was fantastic.

JD: Your style never really changed.

PD: No – I have one style, one point of view. Me. People copy me – but it’s my style. My work from the eighties and now is the same. You like it or you don’t like it! I never really liked anything that dates pictures. If you look at my pictures from a long time ago, they’ll look as modern as what I shoot today. I used to crop out the shoes, take off the jewelry – and make it a real picture of a girl in a dress. Get a beautiful girl. If you see makeup- the makeup is not successful. You want to see a pretty girl with a pretty face – not a clown. So I always kept too much makeup out of my pictures. A lot about photography is about personal taste. Mine is about what I find beautiful. I like women to look raw, desirable and real. I don’t like them to look like plastic dolls or clowns. Guy Bourdin made them look like dolls, which was fantastic, but not for me. When I did editorial work, I never compromised because you had to get your point across or you didn’t get any advertising work from it.

JD: Your style is your brand.

PD: It’s foolish to copy people unless somebody pays you- if they paid me I’d do whatever they wanted but not for editorial. They don’t pay you for editorial, Joe. You do your own pictures. Now they don’t pay you and they won’t let you do your own pictures. Why would anybody do that? Now photographers PAY for their own editorial! What happened? That’s ridiculous! If you don’t GET paid anymore, at least you shouldn’t have to PAY! You can’t make a living like I did anymore.

JD: You always preferred working outside rather than in the studio.

PD: Tell me one other photographer who shoots in nature now? They all shoot in studios. Flat pictures against walls or seamless paper. No dimension. It’s easy. They didn’t have to know how to work with daylight, which is the most beautiful. Me, I’d shoot women in nature which required compositions – foreground, middle-ground and background. I had to be able to see the place and see the clothes just as well. Most fashion photographers lack an eye for composition and most of their pictures have no poetry – no romance.

JD: Talk about Dixon House.

PD: It’s a house in which I feel comfortable. When I designed my house, I realized something about myself that I didn’t know 20 years earlier: Because of my compositional training in photography and the fact that I always photographed in nature, I was able to see and incorporate scale into my house. I could tell exactly how much height I’d need for my ceiling –for scale! I studied the building code books. The maximum height for houses is 25 feet and I needed 30, so I dug down 5 feet inside!

JD: The natural light in the house is superb and it’s kind of naturally climate-controlled.

PD: Architects don’t understand natural or artificial light. They’re mathematical. I’m visual. The house is kind of inside-outside. All the openings face South where the sun is. I can open all the South–facing walls completely. I’m observant and noticed wind comes from the north west everyday at 1pm. So, I have no openings on that side of the building. The wind never gets in to cool down the house. I have skylights on the dark side – they balance the south light in the house.

JD: Tell me about moving to Mexico. Was it about the senoritas down there?

PD: I love nature, not people. I was getting tired of the bullshit of my business, so I went to plan B. My idea was this: I’d built a beautiful house here in LaLa that I could sell, buy land in Mexico and live until I go in the ground there. So I bought eighty acres, built a little hut – and lived there, planting trees – on the Pacific.

JD: Don’t you want to do more work?

PD: I never cared unless I got paid. Art is for rich people. I’ve never been a rich person. If someone has a budget, I will be the best I can be. As an photographer that only listens to their own inner voice, you have to be brave. Brave people don’t care about what the sheepleı0 think. Sheeple follow brave people.

JD: You’ve always had clients that gave you grief. You’ve always been fighting to do things your way. It hasn’t always led to a happy Dixon.

PD: You have to fight. That’s why I quit many jobs – then I was left with nothing – so I planted trees.

JD: Phillip – you’ve always had lots of European clients who appreciated your style.

PD: Not always. Not anymore. They don’t seem to overstandıı.

JD: Why haven’t you done a book of your work?

PD: At one time, when I was making money, I could have but I wasn’t ready for it then. I’m much better at making pictures now than I was 20 years ago. If you have money to throw around – OK you can do a book, do it for publicity and deduct it from your taxes. No publisher telling you what to do costs bacon. You need to retain total control. Most of what I’ve photographed was on film so you have the cost of scanning, post production, printing it. You’re lucky to get back 20% of what you invest. A prominent photographer was here one day and asked me why I didn’t have a book – I told her ’Bacon!’ – I have the house, no book, Joe. The house is much more functional.

JD: Art is expensive.

PD: Art has always been done by trustafarians. ı2 Rich people make art and sell it to other rich people. I don’t know where that starving artist thing came from because it doesn’t work. It’s always been that way and it still is. There are exceptions to the rule, but usually artists have family money. Look at the very successful photographers who are in the art market: They come from banking families! Robert Frank for example. Eggleston’s family owned plantations in Mississippi. Salgado’s father was a rich cattle rancher. They have the family money to make the art in the first place. Then they made money because they had all the pictures to sell. The initial years making the pictures required bacon! If you spend 7 years on a project…. If I gave my camera to a fucking hobo for 7 years and told him to aim at a subject and keep pushing the button – he’ll absolutely get something saleable too.

JD: You always respected commercial photographers over ’art’ photographers.

PD: Listen. They are put into a situation of having their hands tied – meaning they have clients. If they can make poetry and beauty within those limitations they must have talent! Commercial photographers need real talent. Fine art photography is a luxury, Joe! Commercial photographers have to get it right immediately. That’s why I respect them. It takes talent to deliver under pressure. You’re under pressure and you have to solve problems! Lighting problems, composition, whatever. You have to know everything there is to know so you can bring that experience to bear. No time to do it again. Over and over. Art photographers have all the time in the world.

JD: You think of yourself purely as a commercial photographer.

PD: It keeps me honest. Photography has been good to me and it’s been a struggle. I had the option of being a whore – a generic photographer like so many others – they have no point of view but they make lots of bacon. I just make pictures. I’m a gun for hire. I’m an artist, not an art photographer. I like life. I like to straddle-loungeı3 Joe!

JD: You wouldn’t want to drive a fast car and wear expensive suits? [gales of laughter].

PD: No, no! Why would anybody want to deal with those bad taste assholes?No!

JD: New Question: Ladies in your life.

PD: I’ve never had more hubba-hubba in my life than now! Listen. I’m a virtuous human being. I elevate the female so she can open her heart to me. So many of the girls that I meet haven’t experienced the heart. I’ve educated them about heart! The girls are telling the other girls about me. The others call me. Because I overstand pleasure!

JD: What is it that’s truly important to you now?

PD: Beauty – I only care about beauty. What I like is love. Laughter and Love…!

JD: Beauty?

PD: Brown people! I used to want to shoot beautiful black girls for the French magazines in the 90s. ’Pas Possible’ Joe! I’d say look out the window! Pas Possible. They didn’t get it. Beauty is poetry. Poetry comes from the heart. From the soul. I don’t feel it in Europe. I come from the modern world. Not the old world. I’d sit in the cafes in Paris and they’d be a lot of Africans there and I’d see how the light fell on them. The way the light hit the dark skin was beautiful. Light is your paint and I could paint more with dark skin than I could with white people. First I started making the white people dark – with make-up and oil, orthochromatic film – to darken the skin so I’d have darker tonal values – get highlights on the skin. With white people you just get one tone. If you have highlights on white people they look like plucked chickens! On dark skin, you can have multi-tones, from highlights to shadows. Then I started shooting brown people for myself – since no one would let me use them in magazines. – Through my photography I started to appreciate brown people –and now I just like hanging out with them. I really got attracted to brown people. They’re not spoiled.

JD: Advice for young photographers?

PD: Don’t be a photographer. Photography is over. You have to fight too much to do good work. It’s not the same as it was.

JD: Your observations on the world today?

PD: Small government = Individual freedoms. Big government = no individual freedoms. The only free place in the world that I’ve experienced is the USA. Socialism doesn’t work. Too many sheeple. I think common sense has been bread out of human beings. It takes away the honesty that Americans had with each other. It was better before. Get rid of the neck-beardsı5 too. It’s all about being honest. No bullshit. Now, I hubbahubba and I straddle-lounge.

JD: I know you have some Dixonian observations on computers and social media.

PD: Social Media, Joe? [LOTS of Laughter] When computers started becoming popular I could see that photography was going to go away. So was a lot of other things too. Now with digital cameras, you can do anything. I just think of it as a new hammer. I use it differently than most. People shoot pieces of pictures and put them together routinely. They don’t even understand the culture of light. Nothing looks right anymore. Because of all that, no one looks at magazines anymore either. There are fewer and fewer magazines because everyone looks at pictures on computers. The work is going away with the magazines. People don’t see anything in good quality anymore and they don’t know the difference between something that’s well-crafted and something that’s not. They think pictures look good on IPhones. That’s the only place they look good. It’s crap. The culture of photography is going away. I think of it this way. The photographers that are older, who had darkrooms like me, know more about how to work in Photoshop than the younger guys that do it for a living. The software mimics traditional photography so I know everything about it already. I don’t use the normal approaches with it – but where I get is based on my photographic culture, not knowledge of software. You can give the same tools to a chimpanzee new photographer or to a really qualified photographer and they’ll use it differently based on their culture. I don’t think most computer-heads know how to use Photoshop properly to make images look good. They have more tools but less culture and knowledge. People use bullshit filters from Hipstamatic or Instagram – what do they know? Nothing. It’s shit. It’s a bad joke.

JD: Photojournalists are using smart phones often now.

PD: Quality never mattered in photojournalism. Ever. They never needed more than an 8×10. We’re living in a bad time – like a science fiction movie. The machines are starting to control the humans and they don’t even know it. You see people in restaurants – they’re not looking at each other or sharing with each other. They’re looking down at their phones. People go to their jobs. They look at a computer all day long then they go home and look at it some more. When we finished work in the past we wanted to relax! We didn’t want to look at our tools all night. We were the most advanced creatures on the planet – but soon the machines will control us completely. We won’t be able to do shit without them. If I have a gathering at my house, I ask everyone to turn off their phones and leave them at the door. I want people to interact and talk with each other. Fuck email. I want them to be normal. They start jonzing! They need their machines! They get nervous and upset when you take them away! They’re addicted to the machines. No one talks to each other anymore. They are texting. It’s inefficient. It also takes much longer! Having to type is a joke. Pick up the phone! Another thing is when people walk down the street, 95% are talking on their phones because they are afraid to be alone! I live outside the box so I can see the box and everything around it. When you’re in the box you only see the four walls. And that’s where my point of view comes from. It’s pathetic. Sheeple. I only use the phone. I call people and everyone answers right away because they aren’t on the phones anymore. The lines are never busy! There are so many subtleties that you only get from a conversation – when you speak with someone that you can’t get in an email. It’s science fiction. Email is like the telegraph. We’re going back in time. Phones are much better. Skype is the exception. I think that’s one of the good things computers can do.

JD: Thoughts on getting older?

PD: Not really. I get better. It’s actually very cool getting older.

JD: Would you still like to be shooting great work again?

PD: Yes. Yes Joe. It’s all the same.

JD: What’s next?

PD: Die, Joe.

Jeff Dunas

ı. Joe
Dixon can’t remember names.
So – everyone’s first name. Mostly
masculine, but not always.
2. Hollyweird
Hollywood, California
3. Bacon
4. Cartoon Director
Tim Burton
5. Cut and Tucks
6. Pajama Man
Hugh Hefner
7. LaLa Land
Los Angeles
8. Zoo York Shitty
Manhattan. New York City
9. Shiny People
Consumers on Steroids
ı0. Sheeple
People in general. Followers
ıı. Overstand
ı2. Trustafarians
Inherited Wealth
ı3. Straddle-Lounge
Hang out
ı4. Hubba-Hubba
ı5. Neck Beards

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