22 Angelenos share the moment they knew they had become an L.A. ‘local’

At what point does an L.A. resident become an L.A. local?

The Times wanted to know, so we asked readers what solidified it for them. When did they feel like an Angeleno? Some L.A. transplants said they felt like a local after experiencing their first wildfire season or when they mastered the freeways. We also heard from people who were born and raised in L.A. but only began proudly claiming their hometown as their own after learning about its rich history or leaving for a period of time. All of the responses felt like a love letter to this city that we all call home.

Responses have been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Parking, driving and getting around L.A.

The day I knew I was an Angeleno was when I drove through a yellow/red light and checked my rearview mirror for cops but instead saw the seven cars behind me also go through the light. It was like all the lights came on in my little Angeleno head that day.
— Lisa Valdez, originally from Santa Barbara, has lived in L.A. for 20 years

One of the first things that really struck me about Los Angeles was its car culture. After I registered my old, rusted Plymouth Valiant, taking off its Massachusetts plates and putting on my new California plates, I had a rush of feeling that now I belonged to the place; I was an Angeleno.
— Laura Whipple, originally from Massachusetts, has lived in L.A. for 48 years

When I started to be able to navigate the L.A. freeway system without the need for Google Maps, and putting the word “the” before the name of the freeway, like the 101, the 405, the 10.
— Gary Wise, originally from Texas, has lived in L.A. for five years

It was when I started to think of travel in the city in terms of time rather than distance. I spent several years exploring and this was a turning point for me.
— Jose Cabanillas, a navy brat so from ”pretty much everywhere,” has lived in L.A. for 44 years

Living through milestone L.A. events

The moment for me came in March 1991 when the beating of Rodney King was broadcast. As a resident of the Pico-Union area, I was no stranger to witnessing police brutality. Like most residents in L.A., I felt angry and helpless, but not hopeless. The entire city was certain justice would eventually prevail. The common and unanimous wish for justice made me feel like a true Angeleno. We all know what happened next. The riots that followed the verdict were painful to witness. My city was destroyed. My first child was only 11 months old, and I felt very sad and scared for him. It took me a long while to recover from those stressful days.
— Jorge Garcia, originally from Guatemala, has lived in L.A. for 37 years

This may not seem like a “becoming local” story, since I was born in downtown L.A. 78 years ago and have lived other places, but I always gravitate back to beautiful L.A. Somehow I knew that I was a local at 2 or 3 years old when, during a huge earthquake, my grandfather, in the wee dawn, scooped me out of bed on Palm Grove Avenue and carried me outside. Earthquakes became an integral part of my life and nothing to fear. At that moment, my fate was set. Not only was I a local but L.A. was, and always will be, the home of my heart.
— Jean Petty, originally from L.A., has lived in the city on and off for 78 years

I felt like a “true local” for the first time during the [Pacific] Palisades and Eaton fires. Coming from the East Coast, you’ve obviously heard about fires on the West Coast. But this was my first actual experience living through one — actually packing a fire bag. I was glued to the news, learning all the weather patterns associated with the region, fielding calls from friends and family checking in. I was past my surreal honeymoon phase. I was here, a resident, living through all the uncertainty and fear. I’d earned my first L.A. stripe (maybe even two).
— Patrick Jergel, originally from New England, has lived in L.A. for 1.5 years

Putting down roots

L.A. felt alien to me. San Francisco was a city of streetcars and pedestrians. [In L.A.,] I’d find myself helplessly laughing as we would drive around endlessly looking for parking spaces on the block where we were going instead of just parking three blocks away and walking. The endless sunshine was difficult, noisy nights, sirens, but adjust, I did. My work as an RN became a research job in epidemiology. My marriage broke up, and I moved to the beach — all good things, yet I still didn’t feel like a native. Even falling in love, moving in together, starting a record and book store together, and I wasn’t a native.

It took me nearly 10 years, but I had found home, through a magical tunnel under the 101 Freeway, in a place called the Hollywood Dell. I had lived in many areas, but this one was mine. Winding streets, bungalow homes, trees, quiet nights. I could walk the mile to our store, and on summer nights people would park in front of our house, unload their picnic baskets and walk a long two blocks up and down the hill to the Hollywood Bowl. I loved it.

Counterpoint, the store my partner John dreamed and I helped him build all those years ago, is now 46. I love walking to breakfast, to Counterpoint, Trader Joe’s, then home. My neighbors are just that: part of a very real neighborhood. John passed away two years ago at 84 but is still all around me and I am home, in Los Angeles, and I have loved this city for all these years.
— Susan Polifronio, originally from San Francisco, has lived in L.A. for 50 years

Seeing my hometown with new eyes

Please do not forget about us “locals” who have been here all the time. I was born at Kaiser on Sunset in Hollywood way back in 1968, raised in Monterey Park, Alhambra and San Gabriel, then went to USC, and I have lived for the last 25 years on the Westside in Westwood. I have traveled the world and enjoyed so many countries and cities throughout, but Los Angeles is always my home and my touchstone. I believe anyone who lives here, and appreciates and understands the incredible diversity we have here, both in people and in topography, are truly Los Angelenos.
— Barbara Bridges Tasco, originally from L.A., has lived in the city for 56 years

I never considered myself an Angeleno, much less a Chicano, and I think there is a third option that no one talks about, the forgotten third: the Southeast — a place where we were never embraced by these bigger cultures of belonging and pride. A place where you only ever made it if you got out. A place where the grades you got were more seen as the “Cudahy A’s,” and let me tell you, a lot of that felt so true and is true culturally here. But one other thing is also true: You will never find people more committed to the revitalization and growth of our city as you will here, either. That is what made me truly feel like an Angeleno. Seeing people I grew up with, making new friends with people I was always neighbors with and understanding the depths of the culture didn’t make me just feel like I was Angeleno but that I was able to define it as well.

And to me, being an Angeleno is simple: someone who is able to keep their heart and head up and keep moving forward toward a better future with their neighbors.
— Emmanuel Carrera Ruedas, originally from Cudahy in Southeast L.A.

I really didn’t have an appreciation for the culture or what it meant to be an Angeleno until my senior year of high school. That year, I was given California literature as my English class, and over time my love grew not just for Los Angeles but for California. From history to art, to Steinbeck and Raymond Chandler, I quickly learned how much the city of Los Angeles contributes to the product of being an American. Toward the end of the course, and just a few weeks away from graduation, I had so many feelings for the city I was born in and the pride I felt being a natural-born Californian. Now, when people ask me where I’m from, I proudly say that I’m from L.A.
— Izaiah Medina, originally from Huntington Park, has lived in L.A. for 18 years

Not to be cliche, but my whole life [I’ve felt like a local]. I grew up here, my dad grew up here. I do think there’s something about being born and raised in L.A. that can’t ever be captured by moving here. L.A. is in my blood.
— Christina Duval, originally from Santa Monica, has lived in L.A. for 27 years

Becoming part of a community

There have been a few moments, but my first memory of feeling like a local was one night while driving home from an event. I realized that I wasn’t using my GPS and felt this moment of “Wow, look at me getting home all by myself.” Even better, there was a huge, bright full moon that night. It was simple, but it felt like the culmination of what had been a huge transition for me. Another moment is talking to my neighbors while strolling around Echo Park Lake. I live across the street from the park, and it’s one of the things that attracted me to this neighborhood.

I also feel like a local when folks in the shops I frequent get to know me, like my go-to spot for skin care, Credo, in Silver Lake; the Nail Shaman, who keeps my nails healthy and my soul nourished; my favorite grocery stores, Lassens in Echo Park (someone recently shared a great salad dressing recipe with me at checkout, and it was amazing) and Lazy Acres in Los Feliz; and I can’t forget about my favorite farmers markets, Larchmont and Atwater Village, where I often run into friends.
— Shelby Giles, moved to L.A. from Alexandria, Va., has lived in L.A. for three years

Flying back into the city

I struggled a lot when I moved to L.A. I came from Albuquerque, then a kid eager to start college at Loyola Marymount University. When I got here, my excitement somewhat quickly translated into a profound sense of loneliness. Looking back, I think I was simply overwhelmed.

And so when did L.A. become home? It is hard to pinpoint, but I do remember one moment walking off a plane after visiting Albuquerque. My roommate picked me up at LAX (there is not a more pure way to know someone really cares for you than when they say, “Sure, I’ll grab you from LAX on a Sunday evening”). And I got in the car, leaned back in the seat and, before I knew what would come out of my mouth, found myself saying, “Man, it’s good to be home.” He was rightly confused and said “You mean it was good to be home?” And I’ll never forget pausing, reflecting, and quietly saying, “No... It’s good to be here. It’s good to be... home.”

I had met this person who had moved to L.A. years before, and he just felt like the biggest cheerleader for the city. He said something I have shared with other new arrivals in the years since: L.A. is a place for people in the know. I know, that sounds obnoxious, but understand what I mean. L.A. is a city of neighborhoods, so if you come to L.A. and all you do is briefly walk along Hollywood Boulevard or the Venice Boardwalk, I can understand why you might say you don’t like this city. But when you begin to explore it and dive deep into the different neighborhoods, the histories they hold and the communities that call them home, you begin to fall in love with this city. L.A. is a city for people in the know, and when you begin to crack the surface of what it means to really know L.A., I don’t know how you can’t help but fall in love with it.
— Patrick Furlong, originally from Albuquerque, has lived in L.A. for 21 years

When I would travel back from visiting my ancestral home in Tennessee and upon deplaning at LAX, I couldn’t wait to smell the salt air. Or when deplaning at Burbank directly onto the tarmac and you feel like you’re home as you step off the ramp and walk a few quick steps to the terminal entrance, subsequently awaiting your luggage at the open-air baggage-claim carousel. It’s sooo L.A., to walk by the newsstand kiosk with the statuettes of Oscar for sale. (Hollywood Burbank/Bob Hope Airport is iconic!) It is that familiarity with all things Los Angeles that signals being a local, and in my case, a native Angeleno. The appreciation for the fruteria stands on the corners and the taco trucks that pop up and quickly become permanent fixtures. When you’re looking up from Sunset in Los Feliz to see the Hollywood Sign so close, you can practically touch it, then turning your head ever so slightly to see the stunning masterpiece, the Griffith Observatory, looming on the hill.
— Cindy Roche, originally from L.A.

An only-in-L.A. moment

Two years into living here, I won two free tickets to a preview screening of Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Phantom Thread” a month before it was released. My wife (then girlfriend) wore her Haim shirt in case they would be there (they had just begun their professional collaborations), and I teased her. We got to the theater and waited in line for hours to get in (tickets didn’t guarantee entry). Sitting near the back, we watched as the Haim sisters entered right before the movie starts and take their seats in the row ahead of ours. Then I turned around and noticed PTA had snuck in and was sitting directly behind me. After the film, I shook his hand and congratulated him on another great film. In the lobby, the Haim sisters approached us because my wife was wearing their shirt. We talked to them about the film and took a picture. We were buzzing from the interactions, being big fans of all of the above, we drove to the Chateau Marmont for celebratory drinks at the bar. It felt like we had arrived.
— Collin Llewellyn, originally from Clearwater, Fla., has lived in L.A. for nine years

It took a couple of years and there wasn’t a specific tipping point. What makes me feel like a local is being able to describe and debate all of L.A.’s individual neighborhood cultures, quirks, spots and happenings. L.A. is a place so big and sprawling that you couldn’t possibly hope to see or understand it in a week or a month or even a year. Visiting the Getty isn’t L.A., seeing the Tar Pits isn’t L.A. Getting pulled over by a Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department deputy with a chip on his shoulder after everyone but the driver chugged a six-pack in Hermosa on the Fourth of July during an hourlong journey to a friend’s party in Los Feliz — that’s L.A. Knowing it’ll take you 70 minutes to get from work to trivia on a Wednesday but only 25 to get home, that’s L.A. Knowing the sharks in Manhattan Beach, but the dolphins hanging out in Redondo takes a few years before you even have occasion to notice.
— Alex Whittemore, originally from Maine, has lived in L.A. for 13 years

A certain length of time living in L.A.

My wife, who’s from L.A., used to tell me I needed to live in L.A. for 10 years before I could call myself an Angeleno. I said three to four years. That said, I’ve been here for 23 years now, and we’ve been together for over 20 years, but she still says I can’t call myself an Angeleno. She says I’m from a flyover state nobody knows how to spell. But I love her anyway.
— Andrew Work, originally from Minnesota, has lived in L.A. for 23 years

I’d say it takes a minimum of three years to feel properly “settled” as an L.A. transplant, another handful to gain the local moniker. I do think it happens gradually, but what brought it to light was actually leaving L.A. (visiting other parts of the country and realizing which Angeleno traits have subconsciously become your norm, etc.). Like having my Pilates instructor, who is literally named Journey, tell me she missed me as she lit palo santo before a 6 a.m. class that I brought her Susiecakes to do for me too.
— Alex McQueen, originally from Detroit, has lived in L.A. for five years

Appreciating the big and small moments

(Illustration by Stephanie Jones; photo by Icon Sports Wire / Contributor.)

Just a few weeks ago, I found myself feeling aimless on an idle Friday afternoon. There was work I could do but didn’t want to do, so I wondered how I should fill my afternoon. Almost without thinking, I stepped outside my door and started walking toward my favorite fruit stand on the corner of Bellevue Avenue and Benton Way, just before the 101.

Eduardo greeted me with his usual glowing smile and gentle demeanor, standing up from his stool to stretch his arms, and sliced fresh mango and ripe watermelon — my usual order, one he knew by heart. We stood in peaceful silence, and I took in the colorful umbrella and precise flourish with which he handled the fruit, how his craft was an art form, a spectacle to behold, yet so many cars drove by without stopping, missing out on such a vibrant show.

He placed the fruit in a tall deli cup, always watermelon first, then the mango and a garnish of fresh lime juice. Then he started to put the lid on, and I stopped him: “I don’t need it.” Typically, I’d take it home to snack on but that day was different. I decided to walk a block up the street and perched on the stoop of a dilapidated Spanish-style house. There was something enchanting about its worn, terracotta steps. I let the sun warm me from the crown of my head down to the tips of my toes, as I tasted the fruit as if for the first time, juice dribbling down my chin.

“This is L.A.,” I thought. With each bite, the day became ripe with sweet possibility, the flowers were brighter, and I heard the birds sing. I made my way home at a leisurely pace, soaking up the rare opportunity to walk in the land of driving. If you know the magic that your neighborhood fruit stand can bring to an otherwise mundane day, well, you are a local like me.
— Kelly Daly, originally from Wisconsin, has lived in L.A. for eight years

I was at Hermosa Beach, looking for a nice place to stay to feel like a local. We found this hotel with two floors right by the ocean. That morning at sunrise, I entered the balcony, and at that moment I thought, “This is amazing.” The vibe, the silence was actually what I was looking for. After that, I went running to Manhattan Beach, enjoying every moment. That morning I felt like a local in L.A.
— Pamela Moliterno, originally from Italy, has lived in L.A. for one month

As a Bay Area native, I had no love for Los Angeles growing up. In my mind, L.A. was a large parking lot nestled between Hollywood and Disneyland, with many strip malls in between. It wasn’t until college, when I visited a friend at UCLA, that I saw the City of Angels as more than this caricature I had drawn in my mind. Instead, it is a vibrant city with the ocean to the west, mountains to the east and even better weather to the south. In my 30s, my career brought me to L.A. permanently, and I settled in the San Fernando Valley. I jumped feet first into my new life in L.A., doing all the things, including the Walk of Fame. Despite my quick embrace, except becoming a Dodgers fan (go Giants!), it took a moment in the Bay Area to feel like I officially became a local.

I was shopping in San Francisco with my best friend ahead of the Christmas holiday, and we were returning to our car parked in Union Square. As she searched her handbag for her keys, she said, “Keys, keys, keys.” Without even thinking, I began to sing, “Keyes, Keyes, Keyes, Keyes on Van Nuys!” She looked at me like I was insane, so I had to explain the jingle and its ubiquitous advertising in Southern California. At that moment, as cheesy as it was, I realized I was officially a local and Los Angeles was my home — even if I still root against the Dodgers.
— Mika Edwards, originally from San Francisco, has lived in L.A. for 10 years