We’re walking back to the Metro station from the Santa Monica Pier and a news broadcast catches my ear. “A patent for AirPods that can read your brainwaves,” the voice says. I’m pretty sure that’s an old story, but it still prompts me to look to the side, where I see a cell phone strapped to a large speaker that’s propped up in a wheelchair. Standing next to the wheelchair is the person who I assume wants us all to know that Big Tech is out to read our minds. I think there’s a manifesto printed on the back of the person’s t-shirt, but I’m too far away to read it.
Besides, my attention has quickly shifted to the guy dressed in black and sitting on the ground. He’s fiddling with his synthesizer, making bass-heavy, distorted tunes that sound like something I heard in a downtown warehouse in the late ‘00s, which is probably when this musician was watching Yo Gabba Gabba! Nearly overlapping with the noise-maker is a funky trombonist, dressed in pink and playing over a James Brown track. Closer to the station is the insult comic— at least, I think it’s supposed to be comedy— that we heard on our way to the Pier. Across the street from him, someone is singing, but I’m so busy listening to the insults fall flat that I forget to make note of the song.
It’s been ages since I’ve been to the Santa Monica Pier. To be fair, I was never really a fan of the place. It’s very touristy and, tbh, I still have flashbacks of parking nightmares from the pre-Metro days. Now, we just squeeze into overcrowded trains that many an L.A. resident still swears no one rides.
I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of into the Santa Monica Pier. It’s antithetical to the everycity aesthetic that has been taking over urban environments since the dawn of Instagram. It’s loud, messy and brash in a way that’s unique to greater Los Angeles.
The street preachers were out when we arrived at the Pier. The loudest and, frankly, most obnoxious, of them was one I recognized from downtown. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him in Hollywood too. He might also be the one who showed up at San Diego Comic-Con with an army of protestors one year. I can’t remember. Anyhow, the dude makes tracks, bringing his brand of fire-and-brimstone to sinful corners across the Southland. I think about how street preachers are a lot like podcasters and influencers. They speak loudly and enunciate their hackneyed soundbites to con you, the listener, into believing that they are wise people who can help you change your sad life. The truth, though, is that they’re talking out of their asses and you’re probably better off without their life hacks.
The thing is— and I really believe this might be the difference between IRL and online life— it’s pretty easy to ignore street preachers. You can walk right past them. You can make a “no, thanks” gesture when they try to hand you a pamphlet. It’s not like social media in its current incarnation, where the same bullshit hits the top of your feed no matter how many times you try to ignore it and then, suddenly, you’re sucked into a girl boss life coach cult or whatever. At a certain point, street preachers become just another part of the sound of the city, shouting “blahblahblahJesusblahblahblahHellblahblahblahSin” as you turn your attention towards the breakdancers, the dude who is painted silver and the sound of your own hungry stomach.
We ate at Pier Burger, which encapsulates what I like about this place. The burger joint has a fantastic, midcentury-looking sign boasting that this is the spot for the “last burger on land” right next to a Route 66 icon. Inside, there are cartoony beach scenes that look like they were made in the ‘80s or ‘90s. The food is solid and the prices are on par with the rest of the L.A. area.
The tourist prices are over in Pacific Park. $16 to ride the Ferris wheel? Egads! If you have more than a couple hours to spend, the $40 pass that works for all the rides is a better option, but, still, if you’re looking for an amusement park trip, you might as well pay for Universal Studios, Magic Mountain or Knott’s Berry Farm. But, I digress.
We stop by the Heal the Bay Aquarium and then the carousel, which are the two spots I recommend checking out if you’re at Santa Monica Pier. Heal the Bay has spent the past 40 years advocating for our local environment, with a focus on the Santa Monica Bay. The aquarium is small, but it’s packed with local creatures. It’s a good place to go if you like to be hypnotized by jellies. Plus, you’re supporting the people who clean up all of our crap off the beaches.
The carousel is the jewel of the Santa Monica Pier. It’s over a century old, with hand-carved horses, lots of lovely painted ornamentation and a Wurlitzer carousel organ. Even better, it’s $3 a ride, only a dollar more than what it costs to play a video game in the Pier’s arcade. Plus, right next to the carousel is a soda fountain where you can get legit, old school soft drinks, plus Fosselman’s ice cream, at a not-outrageous price. Frankly, I’m shocked and disappointed that the Looff Hippodrome, where the carousel and soda fountain are located, isn’t packed. A carousel ride, cherry cola and a scoop of pistachio ice cream is basically a perfect day. This might be the telltale sign that something is wrong with our society. People just lack an appreciation for the details.
The real amusement at Santa Monica Pier, though, comes from the people-watching. Fishers gather at the end of the pier. We see a group of men playing cards while they wait for something to bite. On the beach, there’s more to see and hear. You can tell who the Santa Monicans are because they are walking very expensive-looking dogs, the floofy kind that are always ready for a selfie. They may also be carrying a shopping bag from an influencer-approved yoga store.
As we walk along the beach, I see a techno viking in cheetah print pants bopping to a very Berghain track coming from his phone. An older guy bikes along to a house banger. An elderly man in a sweater vest freestyles over a hip-hop beat. Someone bumps “Squabble Up” from a car and a remix of Jackie Moore’s disco classic “This Time Baby” thumps out of one of the restaurants. Somewhere in the distance, T.A.T.U. is singing “All the things she said/All the things she said…” from a cel phone.
Most of what I like about Santa Monica Pier is in the details, the little quirks of the place that don’t really translate into social media-friendly content. I think most places that are worth an afternoon are like that, but they’re also a dying breed.
Liz O. is an L.A.-based writer and DJ. Follow on Instagram or sign up for the weekly, Beatique newsletter for updates on new stories and gigs.
Listen to the January, 2026 Beatique Mix.
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