The Place That Made Me

There’s a lot to be said about the city that raises you. For me, that city is Los Angeles. Specifically, Beverly Hills, where the air smells faintly of orange blossoms and ambition, and everyone, even your orthodontist, has a headshot. The place that gave us palm trees imported like out-of-town guests, LACMA lampposts destined for Instagram fame, and a dating pool as deep as a wading fountain at The Grove.

I used to think growing up here was like living in a rom-com where the script was missing its meet-cutes, and everyone was perpetually "taking meetings." But as I’ve gotten older, I've realized that Los Angeles didn’t just shape my personality—it wrote the blueprint for how I approach relationships, connection, love, and self-discovery.

For better or worse, this city made me. And, reader, if you’ve ever struggled to find meaning in the chaos of car culture and kale smoothies, well, you’ll understand why.

The Big-Screen Illusion: Love, LA Style

Los Angeles has no shortage of iconic love stories. Harry waltzes with girlfriend-of-the-moment Sally under Griffith Park Observatory (oh wait, wrong coast, but you get my point). Julia Roberts climbs Wilshire Boulevard’s metaphorical fire escape in her timeless navy pinstripe blazer. And my personal favorite, Ryan Gosling croons his way through La La Land, selling every Angeleno on vintage jazz bars and questionable traffic merges.

But if you grew up here—or have dated here—then you know LA’s definition of love is often more audition tape than epic saga. Much like the painfully long credits scroll of a Marvel movie, connections sometimes feel more like a list of producers attached to the project than a cohesive narrative.

What does this mean in real life? It means you might find yourself on a date at a rooftop bar in Santa Monica, surrounded by influencers using DSLR cameras to capture their Negronis at golden hour. It means being asked, “So, what do you do?” in the first 90 seconds of a conversation, as if your LinkedIn profile might unlock the secret to connection. It means waiting to see if the traffic on the 405 is bad enough to cancel brunch plans... forever.

And yet, in its own maddening and magical way, LA taught me to embrace the chaos and seek authenticity beneath the surface-level screenplay.

Lessons in Love (and Parking)

The first thing you learn in LA is that "free parking" is either a glorious myth or a love language. You’ll walk three blocks, uphill both ways, to avoid paying $18 for valet. And honestly, dating here follows a similar spirit: it’s all about finding the small victories in an otherwise uneven system.

Here are three love lessons LA taught me against a backdrop of overpriced smoothies, dive bar karaoke, and Joshua Tree daydreams:

  1. Connection is the Culver City Farmers' Market of Feelings.
    Translation: Always seasonal, sometimes unpredictable, but worth the effort. LA taught me that showing up matters—in dating, in relationships, in life. Even if you’re late because Waze lied to you (again). If real connection requires trudging through awkward first-date silences and asking, “How’s your kombucha brewing hobby going?” so be it. Connection is like street parking—you won’t always find it where and when you want, but it’s always worth circling back for.

  2. Surface-Level is a Starting Point, Not a Destination.
    Look, this is a city where people network at dog yoga and define themselves by their IMDB credits. At first glance, it can all feel a bit... hollow, a cast of characters only interested in their close-up. But peeling back those layers has its rewards. After years of dating people whose bios only stated jobs I couldn’t explain, I learned that everyone has a story. Even the guy who actually said, and I quote, "I’m really just a vibe curator."

  3. Know When to Leave the Party.
    Speaking of vibes, if there’s one cardinal rule in LA (and love), it’s knowing when to walk away. Ghosting may be an epidemic here—as common as sightings of the Hollywood Sign—but LA also taught me the value of healthy boundaries. Not every late-night taco truck crawl, or rooftop Aperol spritz sesh, is a forever memory. And that’s okay. Sometimes love is fleeting, like catching a glimpse of a celebrity on Larchmont before they vanish into their Tesla.

The Myth of Perfection

Growing up in the shadow of Hollywood taught me a lot about the way we chase perfection, whether it’s love or leisurely jogging down the Venice Beach boardwalk. It’s a city that feeds on curated images, structured narratives, and revisionist histories. It’s also a city that taught me perfection doesn’t exist—and thank God for that.

If I’d relied on picture-perfect moments to build my relationships, I’d still be stuck at some influencer brunch endlessly waiting for the perfect lighting to eat my avocado toast. Instead, I learned to appreciate the unpolished, messy bits: the guy who panicked when he met my mom at a Beverly Hills deli or the date who showed up 40 minutes late with zero explanation (but made up for it by sneaking churros off a catered dessert table later that night).

Real connection—and I mean the kind that bucks the trends, survives the algorithms, and exists offline—isn’t about chasing highlight reels. It’s about showing up, flaws and fanny packs included.

My Kind of Love Story

Whenever I find myself nostalgic for Beverly Hills, I go back to what anchors me: Friday night Shabbat dinners. Wine-stained conversations spanning generations. That moment when my dad insists on retelling an outdated joke, followed by my mom motioning for him to stop. These dinners are the anti-social-media love story. There’s nothing filtered or edited, just people showing up as their most unpolished selves—and somehow loving each other anyway.

That’s the kind of connection LA taught me to value. It’s the kind of love rooted in history but adaptable enough to thrive in the ever-changing landscape of Los Angeles itself.

So here I am, one part cynical screenwriter, one part optimistic romantic with a coffee order longer than it should be. I live in a place where flirtations happen at Erewhon and arguments begin over Tesla charging spots, but the truth is: I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Los Angeles, like dating, is wild and weird. It makes you earn your wins. But if you’re willing to sit in a little traffic—or arrive three minutes late with coffee in hand—it might just teach you everything you need to know about love.

The Takeaway

This city, with its endless sky and equally endless to-do lists, taught me that connection looks less like a perfectly structured screenplay and more like a web series you film on the fly. There’s room for mistakes—and honestly, mistakes are where the magic happens.

So wherever you’re from, whatever your relationship story—whether it’s a Hallmark love fest or something closer to an indie dramedy—know this: the place that made you matters. But more importantly, the way you show up, especially in the unpolished moments, will always set the scene for love.

Grab your overpriced oat latte and get out there. You’ve got this.