13 Friends You Need to Survive in Los Angeles

Curate your circle like your life depends on it. In this city, it does.

Let’s be honest. You didn’t move to LA — or stay in LA — because of the weather. (Okay, partly because of the weather.) You stayed because of the people. The specific, slightly unhinged, deeply wonderful people who make the traffic and the rent and the parking tickets feel, somehow, worth it.

This is not a list of the friends you have. This is a list of the friends you need. Curate accordingly.

The One Who Reads All the Emails

She has actually read the school newsletter. All of it. She knows about the fundraiser, the early dismissal, the new drop-off policy, and the passive-aggressive note from the HOA. She synthesizes it, distills it, and texts you the three sentences you actually need to know. Without her, you’d definitely forget the field trip form, you’d show up to soccer practice at the wrong field, and you would absolutely — absolutely — send your child to school on a day off. You possibly owe this person your entire sanity. Also: why are there so many days off of school? Who approved this calendar? Many of us have recommended this friend starts a Substack strictly to keep us organized. But she reminded me I probably wouldn’t read it.

The Spiritual Guru

Part therapist, part alien, fully essential. She knows your human design, your gene keys, your rising sign, and probably something about your past life that explains the thing with your mother. She will tell you stories about how she’s communicated with Pleiadians with the confidence of someone reciting Plato, and somehow — somehow — you will believe her. You can ask this one anything without being judged. Conversations will make you question if anything is real. You absolutely cannot find her outside of LA. [Side note, you can find her on Substack. Because, of course you can. You don’t want to miss out on Jordan Younger’s feed!]

The Over-Scheduler

Camp sign-ups opened at 7am on a Tuesday in February. She was there at 6:58. Your child is enrolled. You didn’t even know it was a thing. She has a color-coded spreadsheet, a reminder system, and zero interest in being thanked — she just cannot believe you haven’t done this yet. She texts you deadlines the way a lawyer sends notices: with urgency and a faint air of judgment. You would be completely lost without her and she knows it and is, honestly, fine with that.

The “I’ll Host” Friend

The rarest creature in all of Los Angeles. Her house works. The kids disappear into some back situation and the adults can actually talk. There is always food, and it is somehow both healthy and delicious, and there is enough of it. Nobody is standing in the kitchen looking stressed. No one is asking people to move their cars. You don’t know how she does it. You’ve stopped questioning it and started just showing up — ideally with wine and zero expectations of reciprocating.

The Soft Influencer (Who Swears She’s Not an Influencer)

She just “shares things she loves.” That’s all. She’s not a brand, she’s not a business, she just happens to have 47,000 followers and a gifting suite situation that would make your jaw drop. Her parties are sponsored and also genuinely the most fun you’ve had all year. The activities are themed. There is a photo moment. The kids leave with goodie bags that are better than any birthday party favor you have ever assembled at 11pm the night before. You leave with a probiotic, a face mist, and something in a very clean white box that you’d never buy yourself but will absolutely use every day. You don’t fully understand her business model. You are not complaining. [She has a substack, of course…Peep + Follow The Good Trade.]

The Legacy LA Friend

She’s from here. Not moved-here-in-her-twenties from here. Like, is actually from here. Her parents are from here, too. She has opinions about what the city used to feel like and she will share them, but not bitterly — more like someone watching a beloved old restaurant get a rebrand. She knows which farmer’s market vendor will hold things for her, which restaurant doesn’t technically take reservations but takes her, and which neighborhood was the neighborhood before the neighborhood was the neighborhood. She is your city in human form. Also she probably has parking.

The One in the Industry

She is not famous. She is somehow better than famous. She knows which screening has the best after-party, which premiere is actually worth going to, and which showrunner is quietly the most interesting person in any room. She gets you in — not in a transactional way, just in a of course you’re coming way — and suddenly you’re doing the things your friends back home ask about with that particular mix of excitement and betrayal and remind you why you left your small time to live in the big city. You never take it for granted. You also never say no.

The One Who Knows Every Restaurant Before It Opens

She’s been to the soft open. She knows the chef’s last project, the investor behind it, and why the one on Melrose didn’t work out. She has a standing reservation at the place you still can’t get into. Dining with her feels like living in the city six months ahead of everyone else, which, in Los Angeles, is the only way to live.

The Contractor Whisperer

She has the guy. Plumber, electrician, tile person, painter — all of them reliable, all of them pick up the phone, none of them have ghosted mid-project. She gives out his number like it’s currency and he still, somehow, answers for her. You have spent actual years of your life dealing with contractors who are not her guys. Grown-adult-crying-on-the-bathroom-floor years. The difference is not small. You owe her your house, your marriage, and your blood pressure.

The Tastemaker

She is not on Instagram in any meaningful way. She doesn’t need to be. She found the ceramicist before the ceramicist had a waitlist, the vintage store before it got written up, the dinner series in someone’s backyard before it became a ticketed event. She recommended the book, the show, the neighborhood, the denim brand — all before you’d heard of any of them. You don’t know how she does it. It’s not a job, it’s not a network, it’s just some kind of cultural radar that operates slightly ahead of everyone else’s. Following her taste is the closest thing this city has to a cheat code. [By the way, she has a Substack…Follow Amuse Bouche!]

The Functional Medicine Friend

She’s not a doctor but she talks like one and she’s right more often than your actual doctor. She found out about your cortisol before you did. She’s already sent you the protocol. Her supplement shelf looks like a very organized Erewhon and she has thoughts about your sleep, your cycle, and your nervous system that are, annoyingly, spot on. You used to roll your eyes at her. Your inflammation is down thirty percent. She has not said “I told you so.” She absolutely has thought it.

The Shamanic Facialist

She will read your aura while extracting your pores. She lights something before she starts. There are crystals involved. At some point she will say something about your lymphatic system that makes you cry a little, and your skin will look genuinely incredible. You have tried to explain her to people outside of LA. You sounded unwell. You stopped. [Side note, also on substack, naturally. Give her content a read Julie Civiello Polier ]

The One Who Knows The Famous People

Here’s the thing no one says out loud: you cannot fully live an LA life without knowing at least one or two famous people. Not in a parasocial,-screenshotting-their-stories way. In a “she texted me about the tomatoes at the Studio City farmers market way.” This friend makes that connection happen. She knows them from somewhere real — the school pickup, the Pilates studio, the dinner that turned into a whole thing — and she introduces you like it’s nothing, because to her, it is. You will never admit how much this matters to you. It matters enormously. Don’t worry. This is a safe space.

The One Who Knew You Before

Before the house, the kids, the version of yourself you’ve been running for the last several years. She knew you at 26, when you were figuring it out, when you were a little bit of a mess, when you were fun in a different way. When you’re with her you stop performing. You laugh differently. You remember who you actually are underneath all of it. She is, in many ways, the whole point.

Find your people. Hold them close. Text them back.

Los Angeles will test you. But it gave you these people. So.