Artist Robert Vargas sketches attendees outside Crocker's Club on 5th and Spring

Walking the streets of Downtown Los Angeles, it is marveling how quickly the landscape changes from pristine to putrid, as the slums edge into the city’s crisp architecture and shiny walkways.

On Thursday night, hordes of hipsters in skintight jeans and misfit highschoolers with cameras around their necks walk side-by-side through the maze of homeless and abandoned buildings to find hope in beauty: it’s Art Walk, and all the galleries are open free to the public until the wee hours of the morning.

It’s a terrifying walk past the poverty and filth that most prefer to ignore during the day—but the stark reality of night only serves to illuminate the beauty inside on the walls of the showrooms.

Once arriving at the corner of 5th and Spring, the atmosphere comes alive as pounding electro music blasts through the air amidst cries of “hot dog, hot dog” at the stand-alone carts. A fascinating mix of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne mask the urine soaked dumpsters at every corner where art lovers move as one, streaming in and out of doors and overrunning the streets. This is the real art scene.

But tonight something is different—or is expected to be, at least. As fashion week descends upon Los Angeles the, famed Crocker’s Club—housed in the vault of long-dead Crocker’s Bank that shows art exhibits on the upper floors— is hosting a velvet rope, exclusive kickoff party for the designers and magazine buffs imported from Hollywood and Beverly Hills. A bit of glitter mixes with the usual grit; whether it produces masterpiece or mass hysteria is the grand question.

The artists, for one, seem unfazed: Art Walk regular Robert Vargas kneels directly in front of the club sketching any who will sit before him. On the floor around him lay charcoal-smudged portraits of doe-eyed beauties and haggard transients alike. The well-dressed line of people awaiting entry to the club are oblivious to him and his crowd of fans: either they are studiously ignoring the action or are too busy adjusting their hemlines before approaching the bouncer at the red rope. Maybe a bit of both.

The scene strongly resembles that of a hip Manhattan club located in the city’s meatpacking district, where the high/low society mix is ever-present and the tension between the two palpable. Luckily the art, ever the social equalizer, provides a place for both groups to interact comfortably.

Hermès and H&M alike approach the wall-sized canvases at Immortal Gallery on West 6th Street, and dance to the electro beat outside Bolt Barbershop. Scores of people gather to watch a jazz band perform in an alleyway, captivated by the dapper man with a top hat and cane dancing to the wailing saxophone. Even the taco trucks parked in an empty lot are surrounded by both parties, coming together to order carne asada or bum a smoke.

But then, Art Walk has always been about bringing people from different backgrounds together. It is evident just from looking at the range of art presented—you have the high gloss photos of Los Angeles framed on white walls inside, and the oil paintings of marijuana leaves being sold out on the street. Sleek gallery invitations lay discarded next to flyers advertising concerts to be held in an empty warehouse.

One of the most attractive qualities of downtown Art Walk—that set it apart from others in the city—is precisely the juxtaposition of these two extremes: the ugly sidewalks littered with sleeping bags and lined with shiny sports cars; the sweaty scene kids dancing to a traveling band across from a swank hotel club; and the well-dressed glitterati debating the merits of a sculpture alongside locals in subtle jeans and leather jackets. It’s just another Thursday night Art Walk on the corner of 5th and Spring. Fashion week - the urban nightscape welcomes you.

Reach reporter America Hernandez here

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