There’s a Dodgers/One Piece mashup mural standing on a short, strip mall wall right outside the Little Tokyo Metro station and it’s probably the best visual representation of the neighborhood at this moment. Monkey D. Luffy, the manga/anime’s main protagonist, is pitching with a rubbery arm that curves into a D and O as he releases the ball, an IYKYK reference from artists Wizard’s Crew for those who have at least some familiarity with One Piece. The rest of the Dodgers name trails behind the character in ribbon-like cursive writing, bringing together the two pastimes that have been driving hordes of visitors to this historic, downtown Los Angeles neighborhood in recent years- anime and baseball.
Little Tokyo is as historic as it is of-the-moment. Over on 1st Street, you might notice the small plaque noting where the first Japanese-owned business opened in 1884. Also on First Street, you’ll find Fugetsu-Do, the mochi shop that has been around for over 120 years. At the Japanese American National Museum, which is temporarily closed for renovations, you can walk through a timeline of the community’s history, and there are cultural events throughout the year, like Nisei Week, which begins on August 15. But, the neighborhood gained new, regular visitors in the ‘00s and ’10s with the rising popularity of Japanese pop culture. That’s when I spent a lot of time here reporting, mostly for L.A. Weekly, because there were so many events like J-pop parties, concerts, fashion walks and cosplay gatherings.
Then came the 2024 baseball season, with Little Tokyo embracing new Dodger Shohei Ohtani and the team winning the first of their back-to-back World Series Championships. Today, a Shohei mural by Robert Vargas rises up the side of the Miyako Hotel and a banner congratulating the baseball superstar on his 50/50 status hangs right next to the Fugetsu-Do sign.
Little Tokyo is the point where L.A.’s nerds and jocks converge. It’s where you can splurge on Dodger merch, anime figures and city pop vinyl, watch the game at Far Bar, shop amongst Japanese street fashion devotees or join in a Pokémon Go meet-up. Then, maybe you’ll pick up a matcha, get some mochi to take home and squeeze into a too-small ramen joint for dinner. All this has made it one of the most visibly popular destinations in Los Angeles.
Where the rest of downtown is frequently the subject of “L.A. is going downhill” rants, people still flock to Little Tokyo. Even after last year’s ICE raids and subsequent protests, it remained poppin’ while the surrounding areas turned into ghost towns. It’s truly a bizarre phenomenon. I have even seen responses to posts of the “Downtown is scary. There are homeless people and it smells like pee,” variety that recommend visiting Little Tokyo. Like, have you actually been here recently or you just basing your knowledge on influencer content and Google AI overviews? Because all these things that scare off the “But, is it safe?” crowd exist in Little Tokyo too. Similarly, gentrification has also impacted the neighborhood, including one of its best loved restaurants.
Anyhow, I’m spending a Saturday afternoon in Little Tokyo against my better judgment. Saturdays are the worst day to come here. The sidewalks surrounding the Japanese Village Plaza are as crowded as a mall in the 1990s, even when it’s August and the temperature downtown is somewhere around 91 degrees. Today, part of the crowd is because the Dodgers are set to play the Red Sox in the evening. But, the anime kids are also out here in packs.
I walk down Central, passing by both vacant storefronts and bustling businesses, and catch the first pungent whiff of pee about a block-and-a-half away from the neighborhood’s only public bathroom. Every nasty city smell is intensified in this heat. I’m just glad there’s not a pile of fresh puke lurking in the corner. You probably think I’m mentioning this as a diss on Little Tokyo, but I’m not.
Frankly, I think that this era of aspirational content has warped everyone’s expectations of what a city should be. People expect a neighborhood to be clean and safe, but also filled with people and fun. You know, like Disneyland, but authentic. That’s not realistic. Even the neighborhoods that are a total vibe will be a little grimy in a city that’s home to millions of people. Still, I also think it’s our right, and obligation, as residents of this city to complain that the city doesn’t have enough public toilets. (Or trash cans. Sheesh, if you don’t want litter, you need more than a few randomly scattered, overflowing trash can per neighborhood.)
The other thing about existing in a world that’s optimized for the algorithm is that people assume there is something wrong with a place that isn’t visibly popular. Take the Little Tokyo Galleria as an example. Located on the corner of 3rd and Alameda, it’s the neighborhood’s actual mall. Anchored by Daiso and a grocery store that charges Whole Foods prices, I suspect it’s one of those places known more to people who live downtown than visitors. The first floor gives dead mall vibes, but it’s still a good place to shop. There’s a K-beauty store where I re-up on moisturizer, a home goods shop with great sales and a Korean corn dog joint that I like a lot. I get a corn dog for lunch and eat as a string of K-pop videos play in the background. The only song I recognize is the one where the girls sing “Fancy fancy fancy” ad nauseam. I fixate on the row of instant ramens across from me. Cheesy ramen? What’s that?
For a while, I’m the only customer here. Then two teens, one dressed in casual Lolita, walk in, followed by a small family and then a punk dude with killer studded denim vest and white creepers. I see them all again upstairs, where there are a bunch of vendors set up like a convention artist alley. These pop-up markets happen often at the mall. Today’s is organized by a group called Creepy Dollz and it’s very goth, rave and punk-adjacent Harajuku style, like a copy of Fruits Magazine from the early 2000s. The booths are filled with vintage clothes, spiky jewelry, kandi kid accessories and handmade dolls. The soundtrack mixes styles like vaporwave and drum ’n’ bass. It feels like the real world version of the old, good internet is sandwiched between two kawaii mall stores.
Real life moves slower than TikTok trends, but, back in the heart of Little Tokyo, between 1st and 2nd Street, you can get a glimpse of what’s popular online without having to scroll. We have clearly hit peak matcha IRL. It is ubiquitous. While there are still a few remnants of the 2010s sneakerhead phenomenon, that’s mostly been replaced in the last year or so by blind box shops. Both record stores, Going Underground and Salt Box, have Angine de Poitrine in stock. Inside one of the old school gift shops, Trader Joe bags are laid out on the shelf. Next to them is a super cute Miffy bag in the style of the viral tote.
Even the Dodger stuff takes on a kind of meme quality in Little Tokyo. The One Piece mashup mural is an example of that. So are the chibi-style Shohei Ohtani and Decoy merch that you’re bound to find in gift shops and the Dodger Hello Kitty plushies in the Sanrio store.
At the new Kinokuniya, there’s a Shohei Ohtani x Skater John t-shirt on display near the entrance. It’s not far from a collection of Los Angeles-branded Hello Kitty plushies, plus displays for JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure and Alien Stage, the latter being a webseries about a singing competition where the winner advances to the next round and the loser dies. (Yes, I’ve watched it. Yes, I recommend it. )
On my way back to the Metro, a large crowd is gathered near the FedEx on 2nd Street. They’re clearly not here for baseball and are all staring at their phones. “Is that a Pokémon thingie?” a guy about my age asks a kid who is no more than 10. I walk towards the crowd. It’s totally a Pokémon thingie. TBH, I didn’t know people were still into that.
Sometimes, a neighborhood pops because it’s part of a moment. In the case of Little Tokyo, it’s multiple, overlapping moments. Whether that’s a good or bad thing is something people who didn’t actually read this will argue in the comments and it’s not really the point. If there is a point, and I’m not completely certain there is, it’s that you can’t really plan for one neighborhood to become a destination for both the nerds and the jocks. It just happens.
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.
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