Why Don't My Bay Area Friends Move to LA

a philosophical investigation

I live in Berkeley, and I used to live in LA. My life is much better overall now, but the city change is unfortunate. I am in perpetual low-grade mourning that I occupy the inferior end of the state.

LA is better than San Francisco and the greater Bay Area in almost every respect. The food is better, the architecture is more interesting and prettier, the weather is better, there is more culture to enjoy, and, improbably, it is actually cheaper—you generally pay slightly less for more attractive lodgings.

Also, there is the sunlight. There is some point around the middle of California where the sun starts to feel real, chewy, thick, like something of substance. North of that point, the sun is pleasant, but somewhat thin and unsatisfying, like a lot of British comedy.

And, although much of LA is not walkable, the peak LA walking experience is blissful, and there are some walkable neighborhoods, enough that you could conceivably insist on a walkable day-to-day lifestyle. 

Often, people who disagree are people who haven’t been exposed to the best of LA. Granted, a big chunk of LA is shit. However, that’s true of most major cities, maybe all of them. People generally do not dismiss New York because of the awfulness of Midtown. LA, being more spread out, takes more patience initially. And the part that you’ve heard of, Hollywood, is mostly not excellent. But once you’re acquainted with its best corners, I think it’s really hard to dislike, unless you just flat do not appreciate driving. When I ask people who tell me they hate LA what they think of Atwater Village, or Adams Hill, or Tuna Canyon, or Chinese food in the San Gabriel Valley, they generally look at me confused—which is to say, they have no idea what LA actually is.

Before we proceed, I want you to know, that I know, that these opinions are objective facts that nobody of sound mind could possibly disagree with.

And yet, the Bay Area is better, for me, on the most important dimension: the people I like are mostly here. You know, the tech people, the psychedelic weirdos, the dharma freaks, the granola climber types. My tribe, such as it is, is composed of a blend of those. And it’s true that some of these types are scattered all over, but they are all found at highest density in the Bay Area. 

But why? Many of them have Epicurean sensibilities that would be better served by what LA has to offer. Many would be able to move their startups to LA, or take their jobs remote. Sure: inertia is part of it. But there was a sizable SF>Miami exodus in recent years, and I think it was largely based on memes, one charismatic mayor, and a few blog posts. A bunch of nerds actually got convinced that Miami was the place for them.

So it doesn’t take much to get this highly mobile crowd to move. And yet, no LA outmigration.

I think there is something deeper about the texture of the Bay, about its cultural texture, that makes my tribe comfortable.

One thing that unites all of those people is: idealism. They all want to change the world in some way. Sure, the directions and theories of change are quite different. There are those who want to achieve cognitive abundance with AGI, freeing us all up from our existing mental drudgery so we can do ???. There are post-hippies who want to create psychological abundance with neurotech, designer psychedelics, and meditation, ushering us toward a life of potential constant mysticism. There are even realpolitik neo-reactionaries who want to bring a little more stiffness and authoritarianism to the bloated executive functioning of this country. Contrasting visions, to an extent, sometimes opposed visions—but all recognizably full-fledged visions.

LA is not really idealistic. In some ways, a conservative place, in that it is fond of visible displays of wealth, and, as Tyler Cowen points out, classic sexual dimorphism—the guys there try to be visibly buff, the hot girls there look like hot girls. The stereotype of the Hollywood liberal, who is theoretically in favor of aberrant lifestyles and body positivity, but is skinny, bougie, and snobby, is a reasonable description of reality.

And, though people in LA tend to work really hard, they don’t like to look like they’re working really hard—the city’s taste for upscale athleisure and lavish parties says that everyone is slouching through life while being successful by accident. By contrast, in the Bay Area, everyone is always asking how they can help you with your ambitious project, the one they just assume you have. The parties generally suck a bit, which is fine, because that is not the point.

Also, the Bay Area is small enough that a group of people can easily change the culture here. It’s remarkable that the place is primarily synonymous, now, with tech, because that is a large resculpting. Imagine a new industry sweeping into New York, changing it from the “finance, fashion, and literature” city to a city of something else. Implausible, right? The same is true of LA. You are probably never going to displace the entertainment industry as the cultural locus of the place, any more than you’re going to replace all the palm trees with transplanted saguaros. You will always be lost in a sea of screenwriters and aspiring influencers.

Being in LA, you feel like you’ve arrived, not like you’re going somewhere new. You constantly have the feeling of a cat who’s just found the right patch of sunshine. The landscape is indulgent: the heat, color, and light makes you languid and complacent. You can have a gorgeous day every single day. Who gives a shit about the singularity when you can eat the bone marrow burger at Animal, or walk on Topanga Beach at sunset?

Meanwhile, there is something about the landscape of the Bay, itself, that signifies yearning and the potential for counterfactuals—other futures, other conceptions. The mist invites interiority and speculation. The rolling hills point onward to another destination. The ugly parts aren’t glamorously or interestingly ugly—they just make you want to stay inside.

The classic SF movie is Vertigo, wherein the hero finds the unlikely truth by confronting madness. The classic LA movie (if there is just one) is the Big Lebowski, which has a classic comedy structure: a lot of weird events ultimately fail to disturb the status quo, and we are returned to the reassurance of absurdity. 

If I lived in LA, all else being equal—like, if my fiancee and friends came with me—I would probably be happier. At the same time, I would probably have less to write about, unless I felt like rattling off a bunch of prose poems about the mansions of Rustic Canyon, which I wouldn’t. Complaint and dissatisfaction are the origin of a lot of communication and a lot of passion. When I lived in LA, I had a lot of great shrimp tacos. But I didn’t really manage to think interesting thoughts.