Fires, ICE Raids, Hollywood Job Apocalypse: Why All My Friends Are Leaving L.A.

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I moved from New York to Los Angeles in 2014, hoping to become a TV writer. But honestly, after almost a decade in New York, the city was starting to wear me down. Just before I left, a rat ran across my bare foot, my magazine had another round of layoffs, and I had a startling realization about the convenient (but cramped) layout of my apartment. Los Angeles felt like a land of opportunity, space, and potential—much like the American West did for pioneers centuries ago. My biggest concern about the move was that I barely knew anyone in California, only one of whom was a divorced mother of a college friend. So, like someone on The Bachelor, I came here hoping to build a social life.

My first year in Los Angeles was filled with what I called “friend dates” – basically first dates without any romantic potential. My friend Adam jokes that New York is a city where things happen daily, while Los Angeles operates on a monthly schedule, and I quickly understood what he meant. Arranging even a casual drink with someone took weeks, with cancellations being common. I even started using my iPhone calendar for the first time just to keep track of everything! When we did meet, we’d try to find a location “in the middle,” but even then, both of us usually faced a 30-to-40-minute drive in heavy traffic. We’d have a drink or two – we still had to drive home safely – and essentially give each other our life stories. Everyone was nice, but no one seemed particularly eager to repeat the experience. This is exactly the period people refer to when they warn that the first few years in Los Angeles can be lonely – the time everyone talks about when offering encouragement, like the “It Gets Better” message for LGBTQ+ youth.

I hit the jackpot with a new friend in 2015 – her name was Doni. She had recently moved to Los Angeles from New York to work on the same TV show as me. She was quick-witted and hilarious, which was essential for the job, but we also had something special in common – we were the same height and wore the same size pants, something I’d never experienced in a friendship before. Being new to town, she was also eager to make friends. She moved just a couple of blocks away, and over the next ten years, we became incredibly close, seeing each other several times a week. We went on road trips to Vegas, playing blackjack with intense focus, and explored new hiking trails in Malibu and taco trucks in Altadena. She was there for both the birth of my daughter and my divorce, which happened around the same time. Doni became a constant in my L.A. life, as familiar as billboards and the notoriously bad traffic on the I-10. Together, we rediscovered our love for the city.

It’s easy to see what happened next. In early 2025, Doni moved out of Los Angeles. She had weathered the COVID pandemic, the writers’ strike, and the wildfires, but recently, the city just didn’t feel sustainable anymore. Despite years of success as a comedy writer, she hadn’t found any work since the strike ended two and a half years prior. The final push came when her agent, the person responsible for finding her jobs, was laid off during mass firings at Paradigm this past summer. As she puts it, “If I wasn’t earning any money, I simply couldn’t afford to stay.” She explains that her work was what kept her in the city, and once that disappeared, staying felt financially unwise.

Over the past year, I’ve seen a lot of people leave Los Angeles. Four of my friends have moved away, and I keep hearing stories from others – a coworker who left mid-season for Michigan, a woman I knew who relocated to Chicago, and even my babysitter’s friend who moved to a safer state to avoid potential issues with immigration enforcement. In fact, a recent report from PODS showed that Los Angeles had more people moving out than any other city in the US for the fourth year running. It’s strange to feel like a city is ‘successful’ at losing its residents.

While official census numbers take a long time to update, estimates from the California Department of Finance show Los Angeles County lost nearly 80,000 residents in 2023 and another 46,000 in 2024. Hans Johnson, a researcher at the Public Policy Institute of California, notes that while L.A. has been losing population for years, the current situation feels more concerning. He explains that both lower-wage, undocumented workers and highly skilled entertainment industry professionals are increasingly vulnerable – the former due to economic hardship, and the latter as jobs move elsewhere or disappear. Despite these challenges, California’s cost of living remains 50% higher than the national average, a situation many find unsustainable.

Beyond the numbers, the overall feeling in Los Angeles is what’s really noticeable. It’s more than just a slump; things feel genuinely discouraging. As my friend Niccole, a writer and actor who recently moved back to New York after a decade here, put it, the atmosphere became overwhelmingly sad and financially strained, leaving her feeling hopeless.

A friend of mine recently left Los Angeles – he reminds me a bit of Dave Franco, so let’s call him Dave – and he was surprised by how people reacted when he told them he was moving. He said no one seemed shocked or asked why; instead, most people told him they were happy for him, or even admitted they wished they could do the same.

The fact that we’re all openly complaining about being unhappy feels like a sign of how far off track we are. Los Angeles is a city where appearances matter – you’re supposed to project success, even if you’re struggling. It’s a place where you pretend to be thriving until you actually are, and constantly express positivity. And Los Angeles is so… Los Angeles. You can go to the doctor for one thing and they’ll inevitably try to sell you something else – like Botox. Drive around Beverly Hills and you’re guaranteed to see a super-thin man driving a Lamborghini with a much younger blonde woman beside him (probably his daughter!). And despite the occasional downpour, locals will swear it never rains. There are even some people in Hollywood who answer “How are you?” by launching into details about a potential project with Spielberg’s company.

You know, what I love about L.A. is that even when it’s completely over the top, it still manages to surprise you in the best way – it’s like finding beauty in the most unexpected places. I’ve had these moments where something genuinely weird happens, and I end up loving it. Like getting into a minor car accident and actually connecting with the other driver, or striking up a conversation with two women at a cafe and discovering they’ve been friends since the 70s, having met in a psychiatric ward, and one of them has wild stories about Burt Reynolds. It’s those little, strange connections that make you fall for this city. Oh, and the fact that it practically never rains helps too!

Los Angeles has faced a series of harsh realities lately, shattering the comfortable ideas many of us had about the city. After the 2016 election, California was often seen as a safe haven from the Trump administration, with some even advocating for secession. Governor Newsom publicly vowed to fight back legally. However, instead of being a refuge, we’ve become a focal point for increased enforcement. ICE raids are now commonplace, and local leaders seem resigned to it. Every week, I see new, disturbing stories online: a writer describing ICE agents at her child’s preschool graduation, a producer sharing a fundraiser for neighbors who were taken from their car right in their neighborhood.

Last January’s fires spread to areas everyone thought were safe, deeply unsettling our community and devastating the lives of those who lost their homes. My friend Jen, who lost her house and all her memories with her two sons nearly a year ago, still feels compelled to drive through what’s left of her old neighborhood in the Palisades every few weeks, as if to confirm the reality of the loss. She describes it as a “wasteland”—miles of dirt and the charred remains of chimneys where entire blocks once stood. Recently, while watching the local news, the meteorologist spoke about preparing for the “Santa Ana winds,” and her voice dropped to a worried whisper, as if she feared speaking the words would somehow make it happen.

The slowdown in Hollywood is having a widespread impact on Los Angeles, affecting everything from schools and restaurants to small businesses. Sara, an actress who also bartends near a major studio, notes a significant drop in her regular customers – crew members who used to frequent the bar during their lunch breaks. She recalls having 20 to 40 customers daily just over a year ago, but now considers it a busy day if she sees three to eight. Pieter Vodden, owner of a gym in Echo Park, reports that revenue is still below pre-pandemic levels, largely due to a decline in business from TV writers. He says his customers constantly express concerns about the industry’s struggles, and that Los Angeles hasn’t regained its previous energy since the pandemic, feeling instead like a series of setbacks. As of September, unemployment in Los Angeles County was 5.9%, higher than the national average of 4.4% – the highest it’s been in four years.

I first heard musician Roddy Bottum articulate this feeling publicly on the podcast How Long Gone. Bottum, who recently released a memoir about growing up in 1970s Los Angeles, said he was struck by how bleak the city felt during a recent book tour. He described Los Angeles as “super-dark,” citing the fires and ICE raids. He noted the contrast with the long-held perception of L.A. as a glamorous and easy place to live – a perception often highlighted by those in New York. Bottum believes Los Angeles is currently facing difficult times and deserves our empathy.

I was working at a coffee shop on Larchmont, surrounded by other writers – you could always tell who we were by the script pages open on our laptops – when a black Escalade pulled up. It was Ted Sarandos, the co-CEO of Netflix! He came in, ordered his usual (apparently his assistant handles even that!), and grabbed a muffin. He glanced around at all of us, but didn’t really see anyone. You could feel the whole room change. It was like being animals in a zoo when the keeper comes near with the food. Everyone’s typing slowed down, and people either stared at him or pretended not to notice. It felt incredibly awkward, like a really bad, unscripted play. And this was before the news came out about Netflix trying to buy Warner Bros. Discovery, which felt like things were about to get even worse for those of us trying to make a living as writers.

Hollywood isn’t the first industry to face major disruption, but having seen the decline of both the print and now the entertainment industries firsthand, I’m struck by how quickly things are changing. Just a few years ago, in 2019, it felt like television was thriving, and most writers I knew – myself included – were regularly employed on shows or had projects in development. Now, by 2024, the number of television writing jobs has dropped by almost half, falling from 3,011 to just 1,819.

While working on this article, I contacted the Writers Guild of America (WGA) – my union – more than ten times, hoping for 2025 employment numbers, but didn’t receive a single response. Maybe that’s a bad sign for the industry, or maybe it’s because I’m behind on my membership fees. Regardless, the situation hasn’t gotten any better. Last October, I asked about a writing job and was told there were only four openings in comedy, with around 1,800 applicants. Those are incredibly tough odds, and they made me seriously consider other career paths… like going back to school, getting into real estate, or even trying OnlyFans.

Even people still employed in Hollywood, or doing relatively well, recognize the severity of the situation. I spoke with a veteran showrunner and executive producer, with over twenty years of experience and a current deal with a major studio, who described the studio lot as feeling like a ghost town. She explained that during the strike, the rallying cry was to “Survive until 2025.” But when work didn’t pick up as expected, she realized they needed a new target date – and started brainstorming rhymes with 2028. While grateful to still be receiving a steady income, she acknowledges it’s much harder to get projects approved, and notes that most of her friends are currently unemployed.

It’s not just the loss of jobs and income; I think many of us are really grieving the loss of hope. Los Angeles, like Boston with its coffee, is a city fueled by aspiration. So many people here describe themselves as “aspiring” something – actor, writer, director. This work demands optimism, because you can spend months developing ideas or writing scripts with no guarantee anyone will even listen, let alone pay you. The HBO show I Love LA captures this struggle well – the journey to succeed is part of the appeal. But even those characters get lucky breaks, or at least earn them. Lately, it feels like those opportunities just aren’t happening for anyone anymore.

The recent news of Warner Bros. Discovery buying companies and Disney investing a billion dollars in OpenAI isn’t exactly inspiring confidence. Another writer I know, Julieanne, who used to be very productive, is now feeling the need for some extra support. She texted me, saying the last two years have definitely been the worst of her career. But she’s not giving up on writing yet, even though a tarot reader advised her to become a baker—and even grabbed her hands for emphasis! She loves writing too much to quit, even if it seems a little naive, and besides, she admits she can’t bake.

I was hiking with Dave a few weeks ago and explaining a project I was working on when he suddenly grabbed my arm, looking really worried. He told me he was also planning to leave Los Angeles.

Dave moved to Los Angeles in 2018 after graduating, hoping to become a screenwriter, but he’s struggled to find consistent work. He says the difficulty wasn’t just about his career, but also about feeling incredibly lonely. He’s made good friends—like me—but noticed friendships here develop at a slower pace. He explains that people often talk about the physical space L.A. offers, like having a house and yard, and it feels like people want that same distance in their relationships too. Making plans is fine, but it’s often followed by, ‘Let’s do it in a couple of weeks—we need some space.’ When he first arrived, people told him it would take a few years to adjust, comparing it to using Retin-A—it’s rough at first, but eventually you’ll see results. He waited for that to happen with both L.A. and the skincare product, but neither ever worked out. He just kept feeling lost and his skin kept peeling.

Los Angeles, like New York City’s subways with their fleeting glimpses of light, has a quality of isolation built into it. We mostly travel by car, and major roads divide communities. A friend who writes for television, and hasn’t been employed recently, admitted he goes to a local restaurant for breakfast nearly every day. He knows it’s not financially sensible, but he explained, “It’s often my only opportunity to have a conversation with someone.”

There’s a noticeable change in how people are acting in Los Angeles amidst the current difficulties. I met Rachel Day, a local, who approached me after hearing me complain about the city’s problems. She explained that reaching out to strangers isn’t common here, making those connections feel especially meaningful, but also a little awkward. It’s a reminder that when times are tough, community often takes a hit. Building that community is particularly challenging in L.A., which has historically lacked a strong unifying cultural voice. (No offense to the L.A. Times, I appreciate your efforts!) I first learned about Kara Walker’s important art exhibit, “Confederates,” currently at MOCA in Downtown Los Angeles, through an article in The New Yorker. I’m actually writing about my experiences as an Angeleno for New York Magazine.

Day observes that people in Los Angeles are constantly subjected to outside opinions and judgments about their city. She feels a disconnect when others criticize L.A., explaining, ‘It feels personal – like someone is criticizing my family.’ While she’s comfortable voicing her own frustrations about living there, she finds it different when others do, as if they’re overstepping a boundary. She believes open conversation is the only way to address these feelings and understand what’s going on.

Could something good come out of this difficult time? It feels like we’re finally connecting as a community. Rachel and I were both cheered up simply by having a spontaneous conversation. It’s strange, but talking to people in Los Angeles about our shared worries actually makes me feel more authentic and free to be myself – even with my anxiety – in the sunshine. I recently ran into an old coworker at Trader Joe’s. She usually boasts about her high-profile work, but this time she dropped the act. We had a real conversation – about how tough things are, but also about finding a way through it. Maybe just sharing the same struggles—feeling like we’re all on the same sinking ship—is helping us connect and relate to each other. And maybe it’s even inspiring us to work together to overcome some of L.A.’s problems. That’s a small win in itself.

A group text with some former coworkers from a sitcom recently lit up again. Out of the twelve of us, two are currently working on TV shows. We started talking about getting together for lunch at Max & Helen’s, a new diner in Larchmont Village owned by Nancy Silverton and TV personality Phil Rosenthal. Then someone shared a picture of the menu, and we noticed a side of jam cost $1.75. That led to some funny banter about the price, as you’d expect from a group of comedy writers. My friend Lew, who lost his home in the Palisades Fire last year and now lives in New York, jokingly adopted the persona of a fire-and-brimstone preacher, texting, “Leave Los Angeles AT ONCE! What you used to do is/was nonsense! Cast off your chains! Open your eyes!” He followed it up with, “Cast OFF your chains. So drunk rn.”

I reacted to his text with a ‘haha’ and closed my laptop, heading to the coffee shop. I guess I’m not quite ready to break free from my routine yet.

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2026-01-05 15:24