After apparently abolishing the need for food with a meal-substitute drink, which spawned a $100m startup, Rob Rhinehart had another epiphany: plonk a shipping container on a hill overlooking Los Angeles.
The red metal hulk would be his home, an eco-abode with solar panels and panoramic views that would set a new benchmark in hip, minimalist living.
The 27-year-old CEO and founder of Soylent bought a patch of scrub in an area known as Flat Top to begin an “experiment in sustainable living” early this year.
It has not gone well.
When the Guardian visited this week, the container appeared derelict: windows smashed, walls covered in graffiti, solar panels gone, a charred mattress on the floor.
Rhinehart’s would-be home is not popular with the community, which branded it an eyesore that attracted gangs, thieves and couples seeking al-fresco sex.
“It feels like an intruder,” said Tamar Rosenthal, president of the Arroyo Seco neighbourhood council. “The red makes it feel like a middle finger.”
City authorities are also annoyed. They say Rhinehart lacks permits for the container and has ignored a removal order, which may lead to criminal charges.
In an email interview Rhinehart defended his eco dream and blamed others for its travails. “My home was graffitied and the windows were smashed. That’s my fault? Where are the police? I have spent thousands improving the surroundings including cleaning trash, graffiti and cutting grass not just on my land but the whole hilltop.”
The debacle comes with an added twist: the entrepreneur who promises to revolutionise eating habits by replacing food with powdered drinks roasted a whole pig at a party on the hilltop, allegedly leaving the site littered with trash and leftover pork.
It adds up to an unexpected tangle for a Silicon Valley wunderkind. Rhinehart was a programmer working for a struggling wireless networking startup in San Francisco when he started saving time and money spent on food by blending raw ingredients into a goopy concoction.
His 2013 blogpost, How I stopped eating food, went viral and led to him founding Soylent, now valued at more than $100m. Its sleek white bottles, popular with US millennials and Silicon Valley techies, may soon go on sale in Britain.
Rhinehart bought the land, which borders the predominantly Latino neighborhoods of Lincoln Heights and Montecito Heights, in an auction last December after moving to LA. Lacking water and electricity hook-ups, it was cheap at $21,300. He told the Financial Times he spent an additional $1,500 on the container and added solar power and a portable toilet.
Residents have long lobbied to keep the rugged hilltop, which is popular with hikers and joggers, a de facto park free of development.
“Flat Top hill has been a gathering spot since long before I arrived. I would be thrilled if the area became a park, but that has not materialized so in the meantime I have a right to use land that I own,” Rhinehart said via email. “I want a sturdy, lightweight, affordable home.”
The CEO declined to say for how long, if at all, he has actually lived in the container. Neighbours think he has visited only on occasion.
The grubby, vandalised ruin evokes a low-budget hipster Ozymandias. “Another city’s possible,” says graffiti, while broken glass crunches underfoot and debris, including jars of organic coconut oil and olive oil, lie outside.
Members of the 18th Street, Clover and Happy Valley gangs are among those who have tagged graffiti, said Roy Payan, the public safety chairman of the Arroyo Seco neighborhood council. “Gang members are migrating towards it.” He called it an earthquake risk. “It would slide around on the hill like an ice cube.”
The container’s arrival caught Gabriel Wrye, a film editor who lives a stone’s throw away, by surprise. He did not appreciate Rhinehart hosting parties, including a recent 3am gathering involving a “ton of vehicles” and a type of “inflatable drone”.
Worse was the site’s degradation by uninvited visitors who smashed windows, defaced walls, knocked over the portable toilet and had sex, Wrye said. “I don’t know if it’s prostitution but you can see them. Since it arrived I’ve had my first ever break-in, and I’ve been here since 2004.”
Even so, Wrye partially defended Rhinehart. “He’s not a jerk. My engagements with him have always been civil.”
Rosenthal, the neighborhood council president, was more vocal, saying the community felt a “guttural anger” and would rally to oust the perceived intrusion. “People take it as a personal affront. This is a very active community. We do not go quietly into the good night.”
LA’s department of buildings and safety did not immediately respond to a request for comment, but according to the blog LA Curbed, which first reported it, officials have cited Rhinehart for having an “abandoned or vacant building open to the public” and wants the city attorney’s office to file criminal charges.
Having apparently conquered humanity’s need to eat, the CEO is confident he can prevail in his east LA property battle.
“My lack of permits is not for lack of trying. Many other cities have elaborate shipping container projects so I am optimistic a single container design could get approved. The intention is to live there, potentially adding more container living modules.”
Rhinehart said he plans to temporarily remove the container, at the request of neighbours, and then return it, complete with septic tank and greywater shower.
“I hope to reinstall it, or install a new iteration of my design, once I have permits and a fence for better security and privacy.”
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