What We Lost: A Portrait of LA in 77 Memories
Samantha Hahn
Today marks one month since the outbreak of the worst wildfires in Los Angeles history. While the embers have finally died down, the devastation left in their wake continues to haunt anyone who has ever called the city home. As the mourning of what we lost begins, we reached for a felicitous way to honor the places that make the city what it is. Through the voices of 77 Angelenos, this story pays tribute to a selection of the thousands of structures that were lost or damaged in the blazes. Those we spoke to talked about their homes—the sites of their children’s formative memories—but also pharmacies, hardware stores, frozen yogurt shops, diners, and schools. The places where they would bump into neighbors, shop for essentials, go to get inspired, and celebrate life’s milestones. The architecturally significant, the ordinary, the personal, and the communal…it’s here, crystalized in a moment of time, each recollection just as meaningful as the next.
And while January 2025 will be remembered for when parts of LA’s history tragically burned, we can all help the City of Angels recover, and in the process, course a new path. Please consider supporting these and other organizations in need: Los Angeles Regional Food Bank, Habitat for Humanity: ReBuild LA, Pasadena Humane, LA Arts Community Fire Relief Fun.
Toppings Yogurt
Tyra Banks
Supermodel and entrepreneur, Westside LA
The Palisades Village wasn’t just a place—it was a feeling. Never just a town—it was a true village, in every sense of the word. It was a place where life slowed down just enough to feel connected, cozy, and personal. It was the kind of sweet, walkable dream where you could ditch your car and simply exist, step by step, on foot: groceries in one hand, a bag of toy gifts for a birthday party in the other, balanced with freshly manicured hands at one of the local favorite spots, while hugging a buddy you hadn’t seen in a while that you encountered in front of Café Vida.
At the heart of it all for our family was Toppings, the sweet and edgy yogurt shop with a cool personality. Black walls framed the space like a chic gallery, but the real art was the row of toppings that stretched farther than your imagination dared. A hundred options? I think so. And the joy came from standing there, wide-eyed, as if you’d stumbled into a treasure chest of marshmallow sauce, sprinkles, mochi, roasted almonds, and more. I loved that they had a whipped cream canister behind the counter, and I’d always ask for a generous squirt.
My son treated Toppings like his personal playground. No matter how hard I tried to guide him with a gentle, “Maybe not to the brim this time,” he’d gleefully ignore me. But the laughter that followed? Worth every ounce of spilled chocolate sauce and gummy worms teetering on the cup. We have years of photos—my little boy in the same chair by the window, starting as a two-year-old with tiny hands barely reaching the table, and growing taller with each visit, yet somehow never outgrowing the magic of that place.
Palisades Village Starbucks
Michael J. Masucci
Media producer, artist, and writer, Hollywood Hills
There are a dozen or so species of feral parrots in Los Angeles. They’re not native to the area, but decades ago they either escaped or were let loose by owners, and now they’ve become free, wild parrots. I remember one day I was sitting outside the Palisades Starbucks in the patio area, and this flock of squawking, screaming parrots flew overhead. They were so loud, and it was as if they were all giving us the finger and vocalizing “hey, we're free.”
That’s the kind of thing that happened in a banal, regular place. A place you go and buy a latte. There would be young people at their laptops—maybe aspiring screenwriters—families on their way to the beach, or high schoolers on cheap dates. It was just this place where life was happening. Not in a big way either. It wasn’t big, it was just Starbucks.
Alison Palevsky
Interior Designer, Pacific Palisades
There was an iconic building on the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Swarthmore built in 1924. I felt the structure was timeless and grand. It most recently housed Starbucks, and I do not think that anyone living in the 90272 hasn’t, at some point, stepped foot inside of, or admired it from afar. I have so many memories of getting coffee there, inevitably bumping into friends, taking my children to shop for clothes next door or just using this particular corner as a meeting point to gather with friends and walk together. It was the heartbeat of the Village.
The Malibu Strip along the Pacific Coast Highway
Malibu City Council meets featuring discussion about PCH safety.
Robert Gauthier / Getty ImagesClive Wilkinson
Architect, West Los Angeles
If you think about it, this historic stretch goes all the way up the West Coast—but in this one little sliver of it, for nearly a century, a series of smaller homes have been built along the shoreline, acting as a small wall separating the road from the ocean. Every so often, as you’re driving along the road, there’s a dramatic break where a home couldn’t be built for topological reasons, and suddenly the ocean opens up and you see how close you are to it, until it quickly closes again as the little homes continue. That feeling of compression and expansion will always stay with me.
Jonathan Grahm
Chocolatier, Benedict Canyon
When I would have people visiting from out of town, one of the places I’d take them to is that stretch of PCH. We’d just drive up and down it because it’s so symbolic of Los Angeles. I really loved that each house was individual and they all had their own characteristics, charm, patinas, and lighting. But they all still felt very cohesive.
One of the first apartments I was looking at was in that area of Malibu right by Moonshadows. I didn’t end up moving there. But I stood on the balcony and I watched humpback whales from the unit. It’s so emblematic of the lifestyle here.
Tiffany Howell
Interior designer, Silver Lake
I [used to live] on PCH right by Moonshadows. Driving down PCH with the sea salt and the freedom and the idea of this beautiful beach community… it was like this sanctuary in paradise.
Living there was like a Pablo Neruda poem. Truly, that is how I felt. I would get up, take walks, and sometimes even the neighbors would come and get my dog without me and walk her down the strip. It was romantic watching the sunsets and feeling so far away but still so wildly Los Angeles at the same time.
Samantha Klein
Content creator, North Los Angeles
There have been really dark times in my life where I’ve gone to Malibu by myself. It’s a place to go for escapism, to not really think about the stresses of the world. Getting to put your feet in the sand, looking out at the ocean, and feeling like everything’s okay here.
[Malibu] isn’t super close to me, and I feel like that distance is actually what makes me appreciate it more. Two years ago on my birthday, [my husband] Aaron rented a pink convertible and drove me to get a lobster roll in Malibu. He just was like, “Wouldn’t it be fun to drive down PCH, go have lunch, and come back?” That was perfect.
Reel Inn
David Pierre Pappalardo
Hairstylist, Beverly Hills
I’m from Marseille in the South of France, and I used to live in New York City. But then I met this Japanese guy who was so into surfing. We would book trips to California to surf. We would rent a VW van in Orange County and drive up and down the coast based on where the waves were good. And on that first trip, we ended up going to Reel Inn.
We just pulled over in our little VW van; it just seemed like a great place. Good waves in front and then perfect fish right up the street. Each time we’d do another surfing trip, we’d make a point to go to Reel Inn.
Paul Ben-Victor
Actor, Pacific Palisades Highlands
I first stumbled upon it in the mid-’80s when I made the leap from New York City to Los Angeles. Back then, it felt like a hidden gem—a slice of Malibu history that was as much a part of the local fabric as the ocean breeze. It was an experience: fresh seafood, surfboards lining the walls, a fish tank, and, of course, the best sautéed salmon with capers I’ve ever had. It was a dish that felt like it could only exist in this corner of the world.
In recent years, it became a regular stop for family date nights, and with our three-year-old Arabella it became a home away from home. Sitting by the window, watching the ocean, listening to the waves, and soaking in the unmistakable Malibu air, it was more than a meal. It was a ritual, a place where our family grew closer, where we felt a sense of belonging. We couldn't imagine Malibu without it.
Noora Raj Brown
Luxury brand consultant and writer, Pacific Palisades
The Reel Inn had a neon sign that seemed to be on stilts, and it looked as if someone had hand drawn a few fish and the restaurant name, set it in neon, and never bothered to look at it again. No matter what your final destination on PCH was—whether it was a business lunch at Nobu or ice cream on the pier—you saw that sign.
Saturday lunch at the Reel Inn was always a treat. We didn't go that often, but when we did, we felt lucky it existed. My husband grew up surfing in Malibu, so he'd take our daughter down to the beach and then we'd go to Reel Inn for fresh oysters and because she loved to watch the fish in their aquarium. We loved sitting out on the patio in the summer with friends, the kids up to their antics, and the rest of us drinking wine and sharing platters of calamari. Life felt simple there, in the best way.
Cholada Thai
Brooklyn Peltz Beckham
Entrepreneur, Los Angeles
Cholada was a favorite date spot for my wife and me. We loved the food and laid-back vibe of the place, but most of all we loved the people. We’ve brought our friends there as well, and my dad too. For us, it was an establishment that provided comfort, good memories, and great food.
Bonita Kye
Fashion designer, Santa Monica
I went to Pepperdine for undergrad, so a bunch of our friends would go weekly to Cholada. It was the best Thai food around. It was just somewhere that felt like home cooking for being far away from home. It was a blue shack and it was very unassuming on the side of PCH. Even after college, living in Santa Monica, my husband and I, whenever we went to Malibu, we would always drive by and it was like a landmark where when we saw it—we knew we were close to home.
Moonshadows
Alessandro Antoniazzi
General manager, Woodland Hills
The place has been there since the ’50s with different names. It became Moonshadows around ’72 or ’73, I think after the famous Cat Stevens song. It was not a “high-end” place, though a lot of people went there for their anniversary, their wedding, their first date. It was a casual but upscale place where people felt comfortable to walk in and enjoy their meal. Our view of the Pacific was stunning. Around this time of the year, November through January, we had a spectacular sunset between five and seven, and we were always busy with people taking pictures.
I have been working at Moonshadows since 2005 and it’s a part of my family, not only because my uncle is one of the owners of the restaurant, but because of the people I worked with. When you have 67 employees, all of them with different personalities, different energy, going to work, there was always a new thing, some new excitement. It was a second home.
→ Support Moonshadows’ employees
Hanane El Moutii
Publicist, Hollywood Hills
If you’ve heard about the celebrities that go there and it’s your first visit, you would probably be shocked to see it from the outside. It’s a bit rundown, a very casual wooden restaurant. But really, it was the view that was the most impressive.
It was a place I was able to let loose in an organic, natural way, to really be one with the ocean. It wasn’t about who you were or what you represented to society, it was just everybody celebrating the essence of life. That’s what Moonshadows was to me.
Side Pie
Mimi Zeiger
Architecture critic and curator, Pasadena
There was a little pizza place in Altadena I used to visit with some regularity called Side Pie. The owner got his start by making pizzas in the side of his yard during the pandemic, hence the name. He later opened a storefront, and they opened the back parking lot for patrons to sit and enjoy their food while seated on colorful picnic tables and umbrellas. It was all very casual, but because of this casualness, and the incredible pizza, it had a community feel. Everyone felt welcome. It was a special establishment that went a long way in creating the fabric of Altadena.
Rancho Bar
Ben Willett
Designer, Altadena
The Rancho was iconic. It had been a local hang for Altadena residents since 1953, and the moment you stepped inside it, you felt its history. Wall-to-wall wood paneling, plaid carpeting, low ceilings, warm lighting, a jukebox, and a pool table that was always busy.
My wife, Molly [Baz] and I started to frequent the Rancho right around the time we purchased our home in 2020. We would belly up to the wooden bar, and order Bloody Marys from our blue-haired bartender. They made the best bloody in town and were fiercely proud of that. We'd take our drinks out to the patio, and sit underneath the mountains dreaming up our new life in Altadena.
George Wolfberg Park at Potrero Canyon
Juan Santiago Rodriguez and Mariana Carvajal
Spirits entrepreneurs, Bel Air
Mariana: When we first moved to California, we stayed with a dear friend for a few months while we looked for our own place. We’d walk to Wolfberg Park, which was a beautiful, wild canyon. I don’t think it was very well known outside of the Palisades, but it was like a little haven you could escape to. That’s the magic of LA that we discovered. You’re in the middle of the city, but in a few minutes you can be immersed in the wilderness.
Every year on the anniversary of my father’s death, I write a letter to him. The last time we did this, I did it there. And there were four deer that were there in the park with us.
Juan: Walking the trail was something we’d do sporadically when we were staying in the Palisades. After we moved, we would still go back from time to time to the Recreational Center and take walks in the canyon.
Antioch Street
Melissa Rivers
TV host, producer, and author, Pacific Palisades
On Sundays, we’d head to Café Vida, but it wasn’t just about the restaurant. Antioch Street was closed for the farmers market, buzzing with familiar faces popping into shops like my friend Jaimie Geller’s jewelry store and Marc Michel Eyewear Studio—the only place I’ve bought glasses in the past 25 years. Then, there was the iconic Elysewalker; I’ve known Elyse since her store was just one room. At Café Vida, I found comfort in my usual order: the brown rice pancakes. Every Sunday, I'd have brunch with Steve, my fiancé, and we'd often go for errands, appointments, or to visit friends’ businesses throughout the week. It was a constant in my life.
I also cherish the moments when my mother would take my son Cooper to the corner Starbucks for his favorite treat: the lemon loaf cake. Those small, heartfelt experiences made Antioch Street truly special.
Enchanted Way
J.J. Martin
Creative director, Milan, Italy
Enchanted Way, in the heart of the Pacific Palisades, is the street where I grew up. There were so many families on that street, and a band of kids that all played together: War in the canyon, flag football on the pavement—obviously, I was the only girl in the group.
I have been living out of America for 22 years now, but Enchanted Way was always such a beautiful anchor point, a point of reference for myself. The street itself looked not so remarkable, but as soon as you went into everyone’s backyards, you were stepping off into this Eden overlooking the valley and the ocean. In my home, we had a huge pine tree in the backyard and a beautiful garden with flower beds. The trees in our backyard all carried so much memory, so much wisdom, so much grace. That’s really what we’ll miss.
Tuna Canyon Park
Evelynn Escobar
Nonprofit founder and activist, Mid-City
Going out on those Tuna Canyon Park trails provides a level of serenity that people don’t necessarily think about when they think Los Angeles. These places that we go to seek solace, rest, recharge, and take some time for introspection are now undergoing their own healing phase. The land will always rebound, it knows what to do, it’s deeply intuitive, and it’s going to heal itself.
[Tuna Canyon Park] is such a beautiful place. You get to see the magic of the ocean and the beautiful views of the lush brush of the mountains and the Palisades. You can go and have this moving meditation. My connection to Los Angeles is the outdoor spaces, that is what drew me to live here in the first place. Even now, most of the time on the weekends, I spend my time outside. I ride my bike by the ocean, I’ll go on a hike.
Piedra Morada Drive
Renee Miller
Creative director, Pacific Palisades
During Covid, Piedra Morada was the place I’d go to escape. Getting to the street was a steep incline from my house, so I used it almost like a challenge to see how far I could walk without taking a break. At the end of the block, there was a small public park and a little tennis club, and you could catch glimpses of the ocean as you walked toward it.
It was one of those neighborhoods where people just seemed to get along. There was one house where a kid would always be playing drums in the garage; every time we were there—usually late afternoon or early evening—the kid was always playing drums.
Pasadena Waldorf School
Eliana Gil Rodriguez
Clothing designer, Eastside LA
We have really close friends whose kids go there and would go to the Elves’ Fair every year. We always thought, ‘Oh, maybe our son will go there one day.’ [The Marchris Mariposa Campus] was like Hogwarts or something, it was completely out of a storybook. It had these beautiful circular buildings and all of these different structures. It was all wood and felt like hobbits lived there. It was so close to nature and felt like exactly the kind of place you would want to go to school if you were a small child.
Melora Hardin
Actor, Los Angeles
Our two daughters were “lifers” at the Pasadena Waldorf School from kindergarten all the way through 12th grade, and Scripps Hall was the centerpiece of the lower school. It sat in the middle of the Paquita Lick Machris campus and was the first thing my husband and I fell in love with when we came to look at PWS for our daughter Rory, who was four at the time. Scripps Hall was an American Craftsman House built in 1904 surrounded by beautiful mature trees. After visiting other schools that looked like cement jungles, we were drawn into this beautiful campus that felt like it would be a magical learning environment for our children.
Scripps Hall was a large, stately home where the kids would go to see Ms. Pam if they skinned their knee. The steps were used as risers for the chorus and the house was the meeting place for tours as well as the background of so many class photos and countless school festivals.
We dropped off and picked up our girls right in front of Scripps Hall five days a week, twice a day, nine months of the year, for a combination of 13 years, and even when they moved on to the PWS High School, which is on a different campus a few blocks away, many of the high school festivals still happened on the lower campus because it was so beautiful.
Frances Anderton
Architecture journalist, Ocean Park
I recall going to a graduation for a friend’s child at the Pasadena Waldorf School and immediately thinking, this is one of those quintessential Southern California experiences from another century. It was a school that harped on the act of making things, and I remember at the graduation a boy who talked about how, at a time when all his friends from other schools were obsessed with their iPhones, he was so pleased the Waldorf school had allowed him to become a good knitter. I was struck by how glorious a place this would be to go to school.
→ Support Pasadena Waldorf School
Palisades Charter High School
Dan Ulin
Youth educator, Hollywood
I guess the best way to describe it is an all-American high school. Did it look like California? No. It could have been dropped down anywhere, but it just had this classic feel to it. A really great, positive vibe.
I originally came to Hollywood 30 years ago to get into the screenwriting business, and Pali High is an iconic place because so many movies were filmed there. And as somebody who now works in education, the school has a special place and its loss really hit me.
→ Support Palisades Charter High School
Eliot Arts Magnet School
Stefan Bishop
Artist, Altadena
My son, True, was attending Eliot Arts Magnet school on Lake Avenue in Altadena. It was a beautiful, century-old building that had so much character. And the school created such a great environment for the kids to express themselves that my son started playing the drums and started dancing. I am an artist, and my wife, Abby [Brammell], is a performing artist, so we were so excited. To see him blossom in these two areas that were completely new to him… we were so proud.
Village Playgarden
Paula James-Martinez
Writer and filmmaker, Sierra Madre
I'm British, and when I imagined this dream of California, it was hippies climbing up into the mountains and eating vegetable soup and singing Kumbaya. Village Playgarden, where my seven-year-old daughter previously attended school, embodied that. The youngest kids at the school would stay in the playgarden, which had goats and chickens, and they would paint and make kites together and sing songs. As they got to four or five years old, the children would hike every morning with tiny little backpacks on, just on the edge of Eaton Canyon. They would learn from the trees and pick olives from the gardens and build their own things through nature. It was like this very surreal dream of what it would be to be a kid.
My daughter would come home every day so dirty, the bath would turn brown. She came home with so many bruises, and with lizards in her pockets, and to me it was the place that formed her.
Saint Marks School
Cienna Benn
Archival practitioner, Altadena
Between my older sister, myself, and my younger sibling, we represent over 20 years of learning at Saint Marks. Our grandmother taught at the preschool there for 17 years. We continued to visit as alumnus as often as we could over the years—for my grandmother’s retirement, harvest festivals, and graduations.
Our school was such a beautifully green and open space for us to play and learn inside and outside the classrooms. Everyone I went to school with lived locally and have been a part of my Altadena community ever since. My best and oldest friends I have today I met at Saint Marks.
The Woodbury Building
Cody Wellema
Hatmaker, Altadena
This building was not some architectural wonder, it was just an old brick building, but this was the cornerstone of the community since it was built in the 1920s. It housed the local hardware store for many, many years. It also housed a lot of commercial businesses, and some restaurants, and barbershops. In the midst of chaos that is Los Angeles, this little building in Altadena was this little slice of small town America. It was something I always wanted as a business owner. What I did, making hats, it was a very old craft, a trade that's dying in America. And I'm very nostalgic in that way, sometimes a little too romantic about things like that. I didn't want to be on La Brea or Melrose. I wanted to be a part of a community, and that's what this building was.
Altadena Hardware
Mara Veitch
Magazine editor, Echo Park
The store was the anchor of a cluster of shops that I often wandered into with my mom any time I dropped by to see her at our family home in Altadena. With our coffees from Café de Leche, we would round the corner and drop in on the florist, stick our noses into the thrift shop, then eye the ever-impressive line at Amara Kitchen. We’d always end up at the hardware store. Even if we didn’t need anything, we’d go in. The shop—located in a high ceilinged yellow brick building—was a holdout among the newer independent businesses on the block. Inside it had that pristine, classic smell—polish, sawdust, rubber. It was full of hyper specific things to fix hyper specific problems. Everyone who worked there was either nice or handsome.
My mom was in it for the cleaning supplies, and I was into the seeds sold in little painted packets by the till. In an old store on a small street tucked high up under a giant mountain, the idea of planting things seemed natural. During the pandemic, I spent a few months back home and managed to grow a stand of coxcombs from one of those packets in the backyard. Those are still there.
Kelsey Sundberg
Interior designer, Altadena
My husband and I lost the house we had just moved into in Altadena. We had spent the previous few months fixing it up ourselves, learning how to do the things that I usually do for my clients. We probably stopped into our local independent hardware store multiple times a day for two months. The owners and staff got to know us—it was always a chatty, friendly, lovely experience. We're hoping there's a way Altadena can remain a place that small businesses like this one can return to and stand a chance against big development.
The Little Red Hen Coffee Shop
Darin Bresnitz
Producer, West Altadena
It had everything that you want out of a diner. It had the old glass and stainless steel coffee pot. It had the griddle. It had red and white checkered wax paper for the sandwiches. It had this patina. I think the sad thing is that you don't get that back. All the nicks and scratches and dents—in the best way possible—all the things that show how much it was loved and lived in, are gone.
The Knoll’s Pharmacy
Don Haselkorn
Former pharmacy owner, Sherman Oaks
I had the Knoll’s Pharmacy for many years. It was a staple in that community.
There was an elementary school up the street. Many kids used to come in after school and buy candy and come say hello to doctor Don, that was me. I used to bring my guitar to work and play folk music when the kids got out of school. I’d play children’s songs.
I hired many kids from the [local] high school. I was their first job. I’d try to teach them something about sales technique and how to treat a customer. A kid that I originally hired, who's about 70 years old now, still communicates with me. A lot of the young women and boys from the high school I still see. Some of them still call me boss.
Francine Haselkorn Lis
Nonprofit development professional, Encino
I moved to the Palisades when I was two and a half, in 1964. My dad owned the pharmacy. I had my first job when I was five years old—my job was to dust. I was particularly drawn to the candy, so I made 25 cents an hour dusting the candy.
When I was 16, I was a delivery girl. I newly had my license, and I would deliver prescriptions for people. A lot of teenagers learned about the ethics of having a job [there]. In the late 1980s, my dad sold the business. It’s now owned by Gordon and Shirley Wong. The next generation, they all know Gordon. It’s a neighborhood pharmacy, and it’s always been a part of my life.
→ Support the Knoll’s Pharmacy
Minik Market
Carmela Maria Beyer
Retail worker, Altadena
Minik Market was my job for the last half of the year. It was a fairly new store, a rarity in Altadena, that was embraced so warmly by our community. This place was my job, but it was something I genuinely looked forward to during my week and had a real connection with our regulars. I could be having a terrible day and a good conversation or hug from a regular could cheer me up instantly. I miss it everyday.
Since my bosses [Jon and Gamze] took over the space the place was filled to the top with fresh produce, local teas, and treats, making our 700 square feet feel like a grocery basket in itself. It was a very new and very small business, so our team worked seven days a week to get produce and bread to our customers. Because it was a little less than a mile from my home, I would usually end up stopping by even on my days off, if only to say hi to my boss or coworkers.
708 House
Dax Miller
Architectural designer and community brigade logistics chief, Malibu
Growing up in the ’80s, I lived a block away from the 708 House on El Medio Avenue. It was “in your face” architecture right in the middle of this quiet little historical neighborhood of Pacific Palisades. To me, it was a tangible embodiment of the 1980s. I’d skate by it with the crazy retro flying buttress in front and the oversized “7 - 0 - 8” painted on the upper level and immediately I’d hear the MTV guitar riff in my head. It had a New Wave–Punk Rock vibe to it, and I really liked that. 708’s dramatic transformation left a lasting imprint on my early architectural mind.
Robert Bridges House
David Hertz
Architect and community fire brigade captain, Malibu
The architect and owner, Robert Bridges, was an early mentor, friend, and employer. Bridges inspired me to become an architect. [The house] made a statement as to the bold vision of an architect and his determination to build his family home on what was considered an unbuildable steep site. I watched him singlehandedly build this home and raise his family in it for over 40 years. I loved the way the house exhibited a confidence of structure, a grace of form, and a beautiful and honest expression of craft and materiality.
Keeler House
Julie D. Taylor
Publicist, Pico-Roberston
It was designed by Ray Kappe. I was good friends with Ray and his wife, Shelly, and in 2020, Anne Keeler, who owned the home, invited me over for a birthday dinner for Shelly. I was extremely honored to be included in this very small group.
Ray’s work just knocks me out. In the Keeler residence, there were great stairs and a lot of glass and wood. Also, a lot of levels; you really had to pay attention. I was there again recently, and Anne took me through every inch of the home. She told stories and talked about her friendship with the Kappes and how so much of the house was designed specifically for her needs. It was a delightful morning. When I left, I thought, I’m going to remember this for a long time.
Susan Von Seggern
Publicist, San Fernando Valley
I was at the house in 2022 for a fundraising event with an organization called Presenting AfroClassical Composers. Anne was so nice to host us, and she had this beautiful piano that had just been tuned; it sounded amazing.
I went to meet Anne and the executive director of [the nonprofit] at the house a few weeks before the event, and we ended up making crepes. We were in this insane midcentury modern kitchen, and I'm just making crepes. I remember the home made me feel very cozy. Sometimes modernism can be a bit cold and austere, but this wasn’t like that. It was open and warm. You could really feel the love that went into it.
Audrey Gray
Journalist, Santa Monica
When you think of a modern California house, you think of post and beam—all those long, full windows, seeing right through the house. And Kappe was doing that, but with a ’70s vibe—he put shag carpet in them and made it look classy, you know? The Keeler House was one of Ray Kappe’s late masterpieces. Teak, fir, concrete, and glass, everything’s really straightforward and simple, but oh my God, what he does with it... it’s incredible. It was like you experienced the elements of nature in an amplified way when you were in there. Light poured through the center of the house like a fountain. My personal dream had always been to spend 24 hours alone in a Kappe house to just follow the sun going through it.
Sam Lubell
Journalist, Santa Monica
I had just visited a month ago. I'd never been there before, but was fortunate to have Anne [Keeler] provide a tour. And like most every home, it’s the people that inhabited them that leave behind their memories. And as she spoke, you could really feel that in this space. But of course, what I will always remember of the home is the architecture. It was just stunning, how it had the ability to somehow lift you up, lift you out, so you're almost floating over the surrounding homes, and in the distance, the ocean. But somehow, in a delicate balance, everything was tethered to the ground by huge concrete slabs and amazing redwood beams.
Octavia Butler’s house
Michael Maltzan
Architect, Pasadena
I always loved Octavia Butler's home in Altadena. I’ve been drawn to her writing for as long as I can remember. I used to cycle by the house all the time, not because it was any different to the other bungalow-style homes in the neighborhood, but because it spoke to somebody who had a particular depth of thinking and foresight and intellect who was living in a very modest house. To me, this really speaks to the quality of the community in a place like Altadena.
Park Planned Homes
Sean Yashar
Creative consultant, Hollywood Hills
I lived in Altadena’s Park Planned community for a short time in my early 20s, and that experience solidified my enthusiasm for design. Designed by Gregory Ain in 1948, it was an idealistic development, almost like a utopia. What I remember most was how it felt like I had stepped back in time to an era when it wasn’t about just living in one house—it was about living within a community. You could really sense what Ain was trying to envision with 28 homes he built around each other.
Holmes House
Greg Goldin
Architecture critic, Miracle Mile
Architect Whitney Smith built the Holmes house in 1941, and it showed that he was a pioneer in upending the idea of a conventional home. You couldn’t see the home from the street, only the low pitched roof frame. And when you entered the house, you quickly saw how it reversed the order of a [typical] home. There was a little hallway that led to various rooms, and culminated in the living room, which was framed by these enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the wooded backyard in a way that you never really felt you were indoors. This was Smith telling us that the interior is simply shelter, and not any more important than the outside world.
Will Rogers’s Ranch
Luis Ortega Govela
Architect, Mount Washington
I used to go there a lot; you could just sit there. There was always someone playing polo or offering tours, so each visit, I’d learn something new about the home. To me, it’s an emblem of how good LA is to its residents. After Will Rogers died, he donated the estate to the city and it was turned into a public park.
The first time I ever took the tour, I learned that Will Rogers salvaged broken pieces of a sidewalk that had been discarded from a construction site. He used it to clad the retaining wall, and it became this beautiful art piece. It’s weird, if you look at the burn photo, one of the only things remaining is that sidewalk on the retaining wall.
John Lesak
Architect, South Pasadena
It had this great living room with a big stone fireplace and exposed wood, and then it was covered in artwork collected over the course of his life. To be able to go in there, it really transported you back in time. It evoked an age of romanticism—maybe I saw it as more romantic than it was—but it was a place to stop, tune out, and connect with nature. My firm worked on preserving the barn and stables years ago, and it left an impression.
→ Support Will Rogers State Historic Park workers
Michael Ashley Schulman
Financial executive, Newport Beach
As a child, I spent a lot of time in Europe surrounded by buildings that were hundreds of years old. I used to live in Boston, and my first place there was older than the state of California. Here, if something is 40 years old, it feels old. Every time I’d hike in Will Rogers State Park, I’d see that ranch house and think “that’s historic. It’s from the ’20s and ’30s and nobody is going to tear it down.” It just felt like history.
The whole grounds were impressive. The house itself was commanding even though there were only two stories and it was built in a nondescript, sort of Craftsman style. But the horse stables, in some way, were maybe even more impressive. They were cream colored with green trim, and it was so wide with this enormous wingspan and a rotunda in the middle. It was like the Spruce Goose.
Benedict and Nancy Freedman House
Dr. Raymond Richard Neutra
Nonprofit president, Monterey
One characteristic of my father [Richard Neutra] and his practice was that he was very interested in his clients’ occupations and how they socialized. In 1949, when he designed the Benedict and Nancy Freedman House, it was for two very talented screenwriters with a young son who later went on to win the Fields Medal in mathematics. Transparency, being able to move through the home while watching over a growing child, was vital in the design. The layout also leaned on my father’s belief that homes should be of both indoors and outdoors.
Mary Ta
Design executive, Bel Air
Every new employee that comes to work for me, I would say, they have to go to certain museums, they have to see certain houses, look at Julius Shulman's photography, etcetera. Seeing the Freedman House was like seeing the Hollywood Sign. It’s a point of reference. And so if you don't have that anymore, it's like this huge missing gap in your education.
Camp Josepho Malibu Lodge
Lee Harrison
Scout executive, Westside Terrace
The building itself tells a large story about all of the people who have come through. There were all of these rectangular blocks of wood where the scouts would put their names. You could look up on the wall and see the names of the scouts throughout history—there were even some famous names up there. I always loved spending time when the camp was quiet and the lodge was empty. I would put my sleeping bag next to the fireplace and it would warm up the whole room.
Theatre Palisades
Lily Blaisdell Hamilton
Theater company owner, London, UK
My theater company did our first actual show there—the Taming of the Shrew. I was 17. I couldn’t believe that somebody had agreed to let us put this on. They taught me so many things about how to put on a production—how to dress a stage, simple stuff. But of course, I didn't know, because I was a teenager. They just were like, we'll teach you. And they basically taught me how to produce a play.
We had no microphones. I think that was normal there, because the acoustics were really cool. You didn’t even really have to project [your voice]. But what stood out to me were the people who worked there. I model [my work] off of what they did for me.
Palisades Branch Library
Steve Guttenberg
Actor, Pacific Palisades
I was there with my dad on the library’s opening day; it must’ve been about 20 years ago. When they opened those doors, they opened the doors to adventure, imagination, and knowledge to people of every age in the Palisades. It wasn't just a building with books in it. It was a meeting place, a venue for all kinds of events, where authors would come and speak, or people from the town were invited to come and talk about their lives. There were spaces for children to not only learn but to play. I spent a lot of time sitting there reading, learning my lines, and writing letters or emails. It was a building that was alive and friendly.
→ Support Palisades Branch Library
Malibu Feed Bin
Rachel Granger
Publicist, Brentwood
Everyone knows the Feed Bin. It was next to all of these really upscale places and then there’s a feed bin on PCH in a bright red barn. If you said the feed bin, everyone knew where you were talking about. I always saw it as an entrance and welcome to Malibu, like once you saw it, you knew you were almost there.
I’ve driven past it for years, but I recently got to start shopping there when I became a horse owner a few months ago. The first time I walked in, I was like, “I can’t believe I’m shopping here,” and I’d just grab stuff on the way to or from the stables. It was really special for me to get to experience it in my own way and become a part of this iconic place.
Wildwood Park
Bryan Mead
Antiques shop owner, Pasadena
There was one specific area called Wildwood Park, near the ravine below Rubio Canyon, with a group of cabin cottages built forby Walter Valentine in 1912. In 1922, he hired Henry Greene of the Greene and Greene Brothers to build one more cabin and update the other three in the Arts and Crafts rustic style. The area felt almost like a fairyland. They were privately owned homes, but they would do an event called Art on Palm, where the homes would be open for a showcase of modern craftspeople. It was really stepping back in time, to see the craftsmen working in the tradition of really what Altadena was built on.
Jennifer Trotoux
Architectural historian, South Pasadena
Architect Henry Greene was so tied to Altadena. He had a real feeling for the landscape. When you walked through the site at Wildwood, you'd see these enormous oak trees and the way that the materials of the homes there responded to the surroundings—these piled stone chimneys and the board and batten siding. He knew how to build for that kind of rustic environment. It enhanced your sense of place in Altadena to see buildings like that.
Daily Drills
Mary Ralph Bradley and Kennedy Crichlow
Fashion entrepreneurs, Pacific Palisades
Four years ago, we started our clothing brand [Daily Drills] as best friends and business partners. As people that never wanted to go into an office, opening a headquarters two years ago changed our minds. With sweeping views of palm trees and the Pacific Palisades, the space was filled with great energy and natural light—devoid of cubicles, it was a place where our employees could enjoy going to work every day. We remember it as decidedly un-sterile and the manifestation of our brand’s peak, with a production room and a sunny, yellow-and-white striped couch. It held memories both physical and experiential: the first-ever check we invested in the business and fabric patches from our third birthday were proudly framed on our gallery wall.
Elysewalker
Elyse Walker
Retailer and designer, Napa Valley
I opened Elysewalker Pacific Palisades in 1999. It started off a little more shabby chic and French country, and over the years the look became more modern. We began with 800 square feet. At the end, we were over 6,000 square feet. It was located in the Palisades Village, which had that real neighborhood feel. I opened one block from my kids’ school, the Village School, because I wanted to be room mom. I picked them up every day, and then when they got a little older, they would walk to my store every day. I could run over to the school for a project or a play, or I could bake cupcakes for Thursday Cupcake Day.
And that was the whole point of it. I became a hub where moms would pick up their kids and say, “Let’s go to Elysewalker!” We kept toys under the couch for them. I’ve changed diapers on that floor in the middle of the store. To this day, there are little packets of gummy bears behind the counter in every single store I have; that was my little way to get the kids to all want to come visit me after school.
I made my best friends there. We used to sit on the floor in the dressing room and giggle. Sometimes we’d cry. I have dressed people for weddings. I have dressed people who are getting divorced and they’re like, “I haven’t been out on the town in 35 years. What the heck do I wear?” I have dressed moms for funerals. I have dressed mothers, daughters, and granddaughters all together, who loved to come to Elysewalker Pacific Palisades because they knew they were going to be welcome.
Molly Sims
Actor, podcast host, and entrepreneur
I’ve got such vivid memories of passing Elysewalker when I was a young model, pointing it out to my friends and saying, ‘This new store has just the best pieces.’ I barely went in there at the time, but now fast forward 20-plus years, and it became my go-to spot for everything—from a quick grab to wardrobe staples to special occasion outfits. It was more than a store to me; it felt nostalgic being there.
The building had this inviting, stylish, warm feel to it. It wasn’t too over-the-top but just the right balance of chic and homey. I loved the way the clothes were always presented—effortless but with an elevated, curated touch. Every time I walked in, it felt like a small escape.
Shoppe Amber Interiors
Amber Lewis
Interior designer, Calabasas
When I was starting to look for locations for my stores, I knew it would be amazing to be in the Palisades. But it was expensive and hard to find a spot. I was in the area for a meeting with Elyse Walker, who I was working for, and when I got back to my car I noticed a little thrift store—it looked like a charming little house—with a “for lease” sign in the window. It was just a magical place right on the street with a huge window and a park bench right out front. We were in a lease within a couple days. The owner was one of the kindest men on the face of the earth. He was so excited for us, he said, “You're going to breathe new life into it!” And that’s how we started. It meant a lot more than I can even describe.
Corpus Christi Church
Marie Carson
Interior designer, Pacific Palisades
I never wanted to live, or raise my family, in any place other than the Palisades. It really was a slice of heaven. And within that slice was Corpus Christi Church. It was the center of the Village. Most parishioners would walk there. My children were baptized there. This past year, 18 people from my family joined me there on Christmas Eve. After the fires, all that was spared was the stained glass windows and, miraculously, the tabernacle.
→ Support Corpus Christi Church
…and many personal tributes to homes
Paris Hilton
Entrepreneur, philanthropist, and musician, Los Angeles
This home was where my husband Carter and I truly deepened our relationship during COVID—just the two of us, completely present, dreaming about the future we wanted to build. Later, it became the place where we brought our babies home, where they heard the sound of the waves before they even understood what they were, where they took their first steps with the sun on their little faces. It was love, safety, and magic all in one place.
Malibu has always been our escape, our place to slow down and reconnect. I spent as much time there as possible, and it was always where I felt the most at peace. Losing this home has been heartbreaking, but I know I’m not alone—so many people have lost homes, businesses, and landmarks that meant everything to them. More than anything, I want to help our community rebuild so that we can all have our beautiful haven back.
Zooey Deschanel
Actor, Brentwood
My parents’ home [in Pacific Palisades] had 14-foot ceilings in the living room, exposed wood beams, stunning Gothic arch details, original mission tiles, and handmade stained glass windows everywhere. It had three round rooms with acoustics so unique you could hear someone whispering across the room as if they were whispering right in your ear. Growing up there, I knew there were bigger houses but I never saw a more beautiful one.
This was where we spent so many of our lives’ greatest moments, from my preschool graduation to my sister’s wedding to my baby shower. Every Christmas, Easter, and birthday celebration. It was filled with the spirit of my parents' incredibly unique style, artifacts, and treasures collected over a lifetime of travel and a love of art and photography. Several times a week I would visit my parents. Their house is where I felt most safe in the world.
Amir Nikravan
Artist, Altadena
My parents’ home, which they lived in for 32 years, was a hub for so many people in the community. Birthday parties with 70 people, cooking fried chicken for everyone, family dinners every Sunday evening in the backyard. These weren’t just get-togethers, they were events. The home included a fireplace that my father built by hand with brick and river rocks that he found after the Northridge earthquake in 1994. When we finally went to see the damage, the home was gone, but there, in the middle of all the ash, there was this monumental rock sculpture. My father's fireplace remained.
Thomas Renaud
Ceramicist, Altadena
The house was turning 100 this year and we had this huge plan to do its centennial birthday. We usually throw a pool party every year for friends and family, so this year we had big plans of doing this 1920s-themed pool party. The house meant a lot to us. We moved in together in that house and that was my partner's first big purchase, having worked in TV and film as a writer for a really long time. It was something he’d saved up for pretty much all of his working life.
Our neighbors were from all different groups of people—a lot of public servants, artists, musicians, and teachers. Our next door neighbor, Ms. Precious—I don’t actually know her name other than Ms. Precious—she was in her late 80s and lived with her two daughters. She worked as a bus driver pretty much her entire life. We would all hang out together. Everyone looked after each other and cared for each other.
David John Dick
Interior designer, Altadena
We lived in a 1930s Spanish home. It had only two [previous] owners—we knew both of them, and they were both welcoming us in to be the new guardians of the home. Everyone we talked to was like, ‘You’ll never leave. You ended up in the best place.’ We met people who lived there for 45 years.
It was the type of neighborhood where everyone walks their dogs. People would put fruit out. I had neighbors who invited us over to dinner. One of our neighbors had a pie drive.
A lot of the streets didn’t even have parking meters on them. It’s quiet. There are trees. It’s an area where bears walk around. We had an old bench with a little rose garden and a persimmon tree in our backyard. It was this magical mountain town.
Evan Chambers
Glassblower and metalsmith, Altadena
We bought our home from a man named Tim Dundon, who went by the alter ego “Zeke the Sheik.” He was a special person and a big part of the community. When we got it, it was in very rough shape, and I took it all down to studs on the interior and restored it myself. Because I loved Tim, and he passed away a few years ago, I saw myself as someone who could preserve it and cherish the neatest parts and people of Altadena.
Victoria Morris
Potter, Altadena
I lost my home and studio. The former was an expression of my heart, while the latter, an expression of my life. Both were truly incredible spaces. My home, which was small and charming, had this magical garden in the back with over 30 fruit trees. We’d often see peacocks walking around. My studio, which was in downtown Altadena, had this cool 1950s-era storefront where I displayed my work, while in the back I had my wheels and kilns. For years I had shared a studio with other artists, so this was the first time I’d pushed myself to build my own space. My studio felt like actualized evidence of my hard work and tenacity.
Caity Shaffer and Shane Butler
Record shop owner, Glendale
Caity: Our best friends Tim [Darcy] and Amy [Fort]’s home represented something to aspire to, a sort of artist’s dream and haven. They hosted so many touring musicians and artists visiting from out of town in the trailer in their backyard, and they created a respite. They had a studio in their house, and they also had a broadcasting station. [Tim is a member of the band Cola, and Amy runs an online community-led radio station, Frozen Section Radio.] The house was cloaked in the shade of all these large ancient trees. There was no cell phone service, so you could really feel like you were in the middle of this amazing ecosystem, and you could hear the animals in the mountains at night. You would hear packs of coyotes.
Shane: So many artists moved up into this area because it was the last little respite of land in LA that was relatively affordable, where you could build a studio and have space. And it was a haven for fostering that kind of collaboration community.
Jen Atkin and Mike Rosenthal
Celebrity hairstylist and photographer, Malibu
We lost our home, a little slice of paradise in Big Rock. It was a dream immersed in nature: countless types of birds, unspeakably beautiful sunsets, caring neighbors, a real community. It was close enough to the city, yet far enough to feel removed—the perfect balance of city life and mountains and the ocean. Oceanside brunches with the kids on the weekends, then to the sand to build sand castles or dig holes, then to the drive-through car wash and maybe some ice cream after.
It was peace. It was inspiration. It was close to family and schools, and it was an open-door escape for our closest friends.
Ricki Lake
Actor, filmmaker, and TV host, Malibu
My husband and I moved into the house on Valentine’s Day in 2021, and he proposed that night. We got married on that land three years ago. We had so many gatherings, it was like a hub for all my friends. We would joke that we never left our house. It was the first time in my whole life that I felt that I was going to live in a house forever.
Sophie Goineau
Interior designer, West Hollywood/Beverly Hills
I started working on [my clients’] home in 2020, and we finished in March of last year. It was a 1965, surf shack-style home, but it was renovated in the 2000s, which took away a bit of the Malibu modernism. We brought it back to the glory of the ’60s with lots of wood, a wave-inspired ceiling, and skylights.
I was there at least once a week for five years. I would drive up a hill, arrive at the house, and get that view. Even during demolition or construction, the view was incredible. Everyone who came into the house felt good there—there was good energy.
Mallory Goldman
Content creator, Pacific Palisades
Our house was built in 1928, and very beautiful and compact, with so much character in its archways and curved walls. We had our son in June via surrogate, and there was a lot of waiting and wishing in this process. His nursery meant everything to us, because it represented one step closer to finally bringing him home. Watching the wavy blue wallpaper go up, hanging the brown plaid roman shades, rolling out the rug, placing the green dresser, my husband and I building his natural wood crib—all these things marked a day closer to his arrival.
It was amazing watching the space transform as we settled into our life with him. All of his favorite books came off of the bookshelf, and there was always a pillow resting against the wall beside his crib, because my husband would lay on the floor there while I rocked in the chair. I saw life in that room for a long time.
Russell Brown
Filmmaker, Hollywood Grove
The home I grew up in was in the Palisades, and it was originally designed in the early 1960s by Boris Marks. It was a modest home, but within it was such a story that could have only happened in LA. Before my family moved in, the home was owned, at different times, by famous architects such as Craig Ellwood and Peter Kamnitzer. And each creative shaped the home around their own vision of work they were inspired by at the time. It was a living museum of sorts.
Interviews by Nick Mafi, Rachel Wallace, Allie Weiss, Sydney Gore, Charlotte Collins, Katherine McLaughlin, Hannah Martin, Maya Ibbitson, and Andrea Lewis
Visuals Editor: Lizzie Soufleris
Illustrator: Samantha Hahn
Social Media Editors: Rebecca Grambone and Emma Tubbs
Special thanks to Mayer Rus, Tracy Shaffer, and Ernesto Macias
Originally Appeared on Architectural Digest
