If you’ve been on a plane, you would have noticed a certain passenger habit, and maybe you’re someone who does it. But a travel expert has revealed why it can do more harm than good
I see travellers make the same mistake every time I fly(Image: Getty Image/Stock Image)
Regardless of the flight, be it long-haul or short-haul, I always see passengers make the same infuriating mistake – but it can be hazardous.
We all know the feeling; we’ve just landed, the seatbelt sign has been turned off, and we’re eager to disembarkthe plane and get through airport border control as soon as possible. Some travellers have the added pressure of trains and pre-booked taxis to catch, while others have family waiting for them in the arrival hall or vital flight connections to their final destination.
It’s understandable that passengers want to leave the plane as soon as possible, but this can result in a mass of people crowded together in the narrow aisles. Time after time, I see travellers scrambling around the cabin, getting out of their seats, grabbing their suitcases from the overhead lockers and standing in the plane aisle -before the plane doors have even opened.
It can take up to 20 minutes, sometimes more, for travellers to start leaving the plane, depending on the location, aircraft, and overall process, and during that time, it can get progressively congested. Instead of remaining in their seats with ample space, passengers are shoulder to shoulder in the aisle, bags lodged between their knees and arms stretching above people’s heads, with the risk that at any moment, a personal item could be dropped on an unfortunate nearby traveller.
While there’s nothing stopping them from getting out of their seats when the plane is parked at the gate, and the captain has turned off the fasten seat belt sign, it can cause absolute mayhem. I understand if you’ve got places to be, but overcrowding the aisle and selfishly filling it with your suitcases won’t make departing the plane any quicker or easier, and it frustrates me every time.
Not only can it cause disorder in the aircraft, but it can also be more dangerous than just an annoying passenger habit. “Even when an aircraft has safely arrived at the gate, and the seatbelt signs have been switched off, standing up immediately can still create avoidable risks, “Gavin Lapidus, company director at eShores, exclusively told the Mirror.
The travel expert at the luxury tour operator explained: “While many travellers are eager to leave the aircraft as soon as it lands, standing up immediately rarely gets anyone off the plane faster. Instead, it increases the likelihood of trips, falls, bumps, and luggage-related injuries.
“Waiting until the row ahead begins moving allows passengers to disembark more safely and efficiently, while reducing risks for both fellow travellers and cabin crew.”
Gavin added: “From a crew perspective, passengers crowding the aisle before the doors are opened can make it more difficult to carry out essential post-landing procedures. Flight attendants need clear access throughout the cabin and must be able to respond quickly if an issue arises. A congested aisle can slow communications, impede movement, and create additional hazards.”
So once the queue to leave the plane starts moving, by all means, get out of your seat and prepare to grab your bag from the overhead lockers. But until then, be patient. Aimlessly waiting in the aisle before the doors open won’t speed up the process, especially when you still have to wait for the passengers in front to leave; it really isn’t worth it.
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The Writers Guild of America sued Paramount on Tuesday, alleging that the company’s planned $111-billion acquisition of Warner Bros. Discovery violates federal antitrust law. The union said that with fewer competitors, the merged Paramount-Warner Bros. Discovery business would be able to lower costs by reducing writers’ wages and work.
“Writers will be paid less and have fewer employment opportunities,” the WGA said in its lawsuit.
The move comes a day after California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta led a coalition of 12 Democratic state attorneys general who filed a federal lawsuit to block Paramount Skydance’s $111-billion merger with Warner Bros. Discovery.
Bonta has separately asked a judge in San Francisco for a temporary restraining order to hold up the deal while his case is pending in court.
“We feel we have a very strong case,” Bonta said Tuesday during a town hall meeting. “This proposed merger will raise prices. It will lower quality. It will reduce output. It will hurt the American people, and it’ll hurt the the economy and competition.”
The writers guild’s missive creates a second line of attack against tech scion David Ellison’s industry-reshaping deal.
Ellison’s proposed merger has been moving closer to the finish line after securing approvals from the U.S. Justice Department and numerous other foreign governments. President Trump, an ally of Ellison’s billionaire father Larry Ellison, favors the deal.
David Ellison wants to close the deal by September to avoid a higher payout to Warner Bros. Discovery shareholders.
A Paramount spokeswoman said the company is reviewing the lawsuit.
The proposed merger has sparked fears in Hollywood that it would bring thousands of job losses — similar to past consolidations, including Walt Disney Co.’s 2019 takeover of Fox entertainment properties.
“The Writers Guild of America will not stand idly by as Paramount attempts to violate our country’s antitrust laws and deepen the contraction entertainment workers already feel,” said Writers Guild of America East President Tom Fontana in a statement. “This proposed combined entity would be the largest employer of writers, with tremendous power to suppress our wages, eliminate opportunities for emerging writers, cut jobs across the industry, and produce less programming, affecting the range of storytelling. This merger is not inevitable and we are fighting to stop it.”
The California Supreme Court is poised to rule in a lawsuit that has pitted the state’s court reporters — the workers who create transcripts of court proceedings — against victims of domestic violence and other vulnerable litigants.
The case will determine whether to end a long-standing prohibition on the electronic recording of most civil court proceedings, enabling the use of modern technology to create a “verbatim record,” which is crucial to appeals and other legal challenges.
Advocates say a decision in favor of electronic recording could end a years-long judicial crisis virtually overnight, producing legal records and preserving the right to appeal in tens of thousands of cases in civil, family and probate hearings where court reporters are rarely provided. Participants in the civil proceedings can hire private stenographers to maintain a record of what’s said, but their services can run thousands of dollars a day.
“In many, many courtrooms throughout the state today, there is nobody there, and there’s not going to be anybody there,” attorney Sonya Winner told the high court during oral arguments in Los Angeles last month. “The court reporters the court has on staff are off doing felony trials,” making electronic recording the only alternative for most civil litigants.
Everyone agrees the lack of court reporters is a crisis. Lawyers on both sides have urged the high court to establish a clear right to a verbatim record in civil hearings.
The divergence is over whether the worker shortage is improving slowly or still getting worse, and what the Supreme Court should do about it.
California’s largest public sector union and the court reporters it represents warn the decision could allow the state’s court systems to stop hiring stenographers.
Court reporters say their duty to maintain an accurate record is a profound public trust that can only be performed by a human being, who can intervene to ensure everyone is heard and who bears responsibility if a transcript is missing or incomplete.
Despite California’s sluggish job market, hiring for court reporters remains brisk, bolstered by tens of millions in funding from Sacramento, a recent change in state law and aggressive recruitment by some of the country’s largest court systems, including Los Angeles, Orange and San Diego counties.
Lila Scott, a TV writer, is among those seeking to join the profession. Like a lot of Hollywood talent, she had been struggling to find steady work in recent years.
The “Unicorn Academy” writer was trolling government job sites when she stumbled across a listing for court reporters in Los Angeles — and then another, and another.
“I thought, ‘What the heck is this?’” Scott recalled as she set up for a class at Downey Adult School.
Scott is now in training to become a “voice writer,” a form of note-taking that relies on a device called a stenomask — something like a cross between a podcast mic and a nebulizer — to produce a transcript. Voice writers repeat every word spoken in court along with a sequence of formatting commands to voice recognition software.
“You use your mom voice when you’re dictating,” said another Downey student, 40-year-old Wanda Port. “That stern mom voice, that’s the one you use.”
Traditionally, court reporters have used 22-key steno machines to rapidly take down every word said by lawyers, judges and anyone else who speaks on the record during an official proceeding. The licensing process for these stenographers is significantly longer and more difficult than what voice writers undergo.
A change in state law in 2024 allowed voice writers to become licensed as “certified shorthand reporters,” opening a new pipeline for court staff.
About half of the court reporters hired in California since 2024 have been voice writers, data show.
“Of the 300-plus students we have, it’s about 50/50,” said Jennifer Shenbaum, who directs the Downey program.
The current hiring blitz follows more than a decade of decline, after California’s court systems shed about a third of their reporters amid a protracted budget crisis in 2012. Labor leaders say new licenses have jumped ninefold in recent years, and court reporting classrooms across the state are full.
Diana Van Dyke, a Los Angeles County Superior Court reporter and a shop steward in Service Employees International Union Local 721, credits much of that growth to the expansion of paid internships, signing bonuses and other aggressive recruitment tactics funded by the Legislature and promoted by the union.
Students training to become court reporters practice on stenotypes and stenomasks during a speed-building class at Downey Adult School.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
At Orange County’s Cypress College, which offers court reporter training, job fliers boasting six-figure salaries paper the walls. A pamphlet from the Central District of California that touted “front-page Federal cases” hung in the window of a court reporting classroom, where students practiced typing 200 words per minute.
“By the end of the third test I can’t feel my fingers — but it’s worth it!” said Asia Mendez, a trainee-stenographer.
While advocates for court reporters say humans can still do the job better than machines, the fact that many hearings occur without any official transcript at all has drawn concern from top state officials.
Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta has called the situation “untenable.”
“This is the rare case in which the current application of a statute violates procedural due process,” Bonta’s office said in a brief urging the state’s high court to allow recordings.
Such a ruling would be especially important for survivors of domestic violence, who often find the family court system weaponized against them, said Jennafer Dorfman Wagner, director of programs at the Family Violence Appellate Project, which brought the suit that is now before the California Supreme Court.
“People who want to exert power and control over an ex-partner will find whatever foothold they can and use it,” Wagner said.
Without a record of their proceedings, litigants can’t prove what happened in the courtroom, or appeal if a judge denies a restraining order or approves a custody arrangement that leaves them vulnerable to further violence.
California’s court systems have also thrown their weight behind the plaintiffs in the case.
“California has long led in areas of access to justice and technology, but in this area, it lags far behind the rest of the country, and behind the federal courts that are in this state,” said Mark Yohalem, an attorney representing the state’s superior courts.
The justices, too, seemed eager to embrace electronic recording in cases where no court reporter is available and litigants cannot afford to pay for one on their own, repeatedly pressing lawyers on exactly how such a ruling might be written.
Although the decision would not affect criminal proceedings, the high court judges have expressed concern that court systems may use their ruling to roll back the broader recruitment push as a cost-cutting measure — a worry labor leaders share.
“Electronic recording is cheaper,” said Justice Joshua P. Groban. “It allows any court to just say, for example, that no more court reporters are needed.”
When advocates for the Family Violence Appellate Project told Groban and the other justices hearing the case that such a move by the courts would amount to “bad faith” and should not weigh on their decision, the judge appeared skeptical.
“Either bad faith or fiscal responsibility, depending on the budget that year,” Groban said.
• American playwrights, recognizing that identity is more complicated and slippery than ideology, have been shedding fresh light on what it means to be an American. • Writers such as Young Jean Lee, Tarell Alvin McCraney, Quiara Alegría Hudes, Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, Jeremy O. Harris, Ayad Akhtar, and Bess Wohl have been creating drama from the multidimensional, intersectional realities of characters whose backgrounds refuse to be compartmentalized into a single category.
The American democratic experiment stands on shaky ground. Not since the Civil War have these proverbially United States been so disunited. As the nation throws itself a grand old 250th birthday bash in Washington, the mood in much of the country is more funereal than festive.
All-out partisan warfare has sown chaos. Republican legislators, taking their lead from a president who sees half the nation as his personal enemy, have put their own party’s interests over the republic’s. Staying in office has become the only thing that matters. The values imparted to me throughout my public school education — equal opportunity, impartial justice, respect for expertise, basic honesty — have been abandoned by a new breed of politician that has turned governance itself into a blood sport.
Where can one turn for reassurance that America’s best years are still ahead? Would you believe me if I said the theater? I’m not toeing the line for my field. I’m merely calling attention to a development that’s been gaining strength since I first reported on it in 2015. A cohort of playwrights, breathtakingly diverse demographically as well as aesthetically, has been rejuvenating American theater.
These writers aren’t on a sociological mission. They’re not trafficking in grievance or appealing to a particular political base. They let their plays do the talking. And they’ve been trying to have a conversation that isn’t hijacked by the most doctrinaire voices in the room.
From an institutional perspective, the American theater is in bad shape. The triple whammy of the COVID-19 closures, inflation and technological disruption has left everyone hurting. The Mark Taper Forum had to suspend programming for more than a year, smaller companies still in operation are producing fewer shows, and producers everywhere are gravitating toward the bankably familiar.
But despite this difficult terrain, it has been a boom time for American playwriting. For more than a decade, I’ve been teaching a course at the California Institute of the Arts called American Drama Now, and each year the selection of plays has become harder to whittle down. I designed the seminar partly around theater offerings in Los Angeles to connect students to recent developments in the field and to consolidate awareness that something special is happening in the American theater.
The current generation of playwrights has revealed itself to be remarkably resilient and independent. It has had no other choice. By the time many of these rising talents were accruing debt in graduate writing programs, the dream of a sustainable career in the nonprofit theater had already gasped its last breath.
When Wendy Wasserstein, Tony Kushner,Craig Lucas and Jon Robin Baitz emerged in the late 1970s and ’80s, it was still imaginable that a chosen few playwrights could make a living via the regional theater circuit, that constellation of companies founded as an alternative to the Broadway model.
That prospect was growing dimmer a few years later when playwrights such as Suzan-Lori Parks and Lynn Nottage came into prominence. But hope was still alive in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Regional theaters such as Seattle Rep, the Guthrie, the Goodman and Baltimore Center Stage remained committed to their missions while New York nonprofit companies continued to hold the line off-Broadway.
When did the picture change? In 2009, “Outrageous Fortune: The Life and Times of the New American Play” was published by the Theatre Development Fund, and one of the key findings in this study written by Todd London with Ben Pesner and Zannie Giraud Voss is that “there is no way to view playwriting as anything but a profession without an economic base.” A chasm had opened between the network of increasingly corporate-minded nonprofit theaters and the artists this system was built to serve.
The situation has grown bleaker in the last decade and a half as commercial pressures have ramped up and media consolidation and digital shortsightedness have obliterated arts coverage. Yet there’s been an unexpected upside. Theater artists who have come of age in this period have been released from the burden of having to conform to notions of regional theater respectability.
Instead of worrying about the timid taste of subscription audiences, these dramatists have been writing for themselves and their communities, dreaming up plays that don’t have to fit into institutional slots or stay within the staid bounds of traditional proscenium house decorum. The irony is that in not trying to pass muster with more conservative theatergoers (and their fastidious institutional guardians), playwrights have been winning over not just critics but also formerly squeamish artistic directors and perennially nervous Broadway producers.
The politics of identity for them is a lived experience. And as dramatists, they’re uniquely positioned to appreciate the conflicted loyalties and communal tensions of American life in dramatic rather than dogmatic terms. Whatever agendas they may personally espouse, these writers are too alert to the messiness of history and human nature to be rigidly ideological in their work.
The ongoing war between woke and anti-woke factions is a fatuous melodrama best left to the satirists. The goal of playwrights grappling seriously with what it means to be an American today isn’t to score social media points but to shed light on the fractured reality of our collective experience.
Characters in plays by Young Jean Lee, such as “Straight White Men,” are often “trying on masks to see what might prove effective in a given situation.”
(Lawrence K. Ho / Los Angeles Times)
Identity is not a fixed fact but a raucous collision of parts. No single category can contain the Whitmanesque multitudes jockeying for position inside us. Race, religion, ethnicity, gender, age, sexuality, class, disability and geography don’t line up in perfect political harmony, and each social marker tells only a fraction of the whole story. (Money, the great unequalizer, may be the most taboo subject of all.) “We are not only but also,” the sociologist and cultural historian Todd Gitlin wrote in his 1995 book “The Twilight of Common Dreams: Why America Is Wracked by Culture Wars.” We also overlap and often even clash with ourselves.
Discussion around identity can be dangerous. How can anyone be expected to navigate the minefield? Tribalists and traditionalists have controlled the terms of the battle, one by simplifying, the other by denying, the way privilege has shaped our compound selves.
Playwrights know better. They understand the way oppression, which falls disproportionately on the marginalized, has warped all of us. History, whether acknowledged or not, is etched in our souls.
It is a long-held tenet of the theater that the most interesting characters, like the most interesting people, are defined by their schisms and paradoxes. (How else could Hamlet have maintained his centuries-long hold?) Dramatists are more cognizant than ever of the sociopolitical import of these contradictions and they’ve been chronicling the way this historically freighted baggage emerges in the drama of everyday life.
All the world is indeed a stage and all its inhabitants merely stock players, as Jaques lays out in “As You Like It.” Hegel described Shakespeare’s characters as “free artists of their own selves.” The truth where we and our contemporary stage surrogates are concerned is somewhat more constrained. Culture and representation largely determine the range of our performance possibilities.
Plays such as Branden Jacobs-Jenkins’ “Appropriate” reexamine “the canon of great American family dramas … to uncover the stories that have been suppressed.”
(Craig Schwartz)
Jacobs-Jenkins has recognized perhaps more acutely than any of his peers the way dramatic forms have locked us into set scripts about our lives. He tackles genres — adapting a Dion Boucicault melodrama in “An Octoroon,” reexamining the canon of great American family dramas in “Appropriate” — to uncover the stories that have been suppressed in the dominant white middle-class narratives that would prefer not to think of themselves as political.
Lee’s standout identity plays — “Straight White Men,” “The Shipment” and “Songs of the Dragons Flying to Heaven” — reject the illusion of stable, coherent characters propagated by psychological realism. The figures in her uncategorizable works are in experimental flux, trying on masks to see what might prove effective in a given situation. Even “Straight White Men,” which uses the old home-for-the-holidays genre as a springboard, can’t help spinning away from the drama’s droll hyper-naturalism toward something resembling performance art. (Not even straight, white men want to be confined to a box, even a relatively plush one.)
“Fairview,” by Jackie Sibblies Drury, “theatricalizes the experience of the white gaze.”
(Jeff Lorch)
In “Fairview,” Jackie Sibblies Drury theatricalizes the experience of the white gaze, ultimately reversing the comfortable position white theater audiences have traditionally held. Bess Wohl’s “Liberation,” this year’s most decorated play, reanimates the history of the 1970s feminist movement by questioning what it could be leaving out of the picture. “The Balusters,” by David Lindsay-Abaire, brings the current culture wars to the stage with unique sensitivity through the squabbles of a neighborhood association torn between protecting its town’s heritage status and coming to terms with the more pluralistic demands of the 21st century.
“Fairview,” “Liberation,” and “The Balusters” are extremely funny plays that also happen to be deadly serious. If philosophy begins in wonder, trenchant social drama seems to start in laughter.
What do theatergoers want? They don’t just want to look; they also want to be seen. Isn’t that what any of us wants when gazing into the mirror held up to nature, as Hamlet describes the theater? To be granted a more expansive view of ourselves and others?
E pluribus unum, the motto of the United States, is so fundamental that it’s printed on our currency. There’s perhaps no place where the truth of this phrase — out of many, one — is more regularly realized than at the theater, where strangers transform over the course of a show into that mysterious organism we call an audience.
Gitlin ends “The Twilight of Common Dreams” with a plea: “For too long, Americans have busied themselves digging trenches to fortify their cultural borders, lining their trenches with insulation. Enough bunkers! Enough of the perfection of differences! We ought to be building bridges.”
A coalition mindset doesn’t mean denying history or pretending that America has been a level playing field. It’s been anything but in this “melting pot where nothing melted,” to quote the rabbi whose eulogy sets Kushner’s “Angels in America” in motion. But history happens to all of us, not just a select few. And to be an American is to be embroiled in the great democratic experiment that has been defined by division from the beginning. Empathy, the nuclear fusion of playwriting, is expanded when we’re allowed to take in more of our patchwork selves. Today’s dramatists have been extending a generous invitation to their compatriots: We’ll show you our complexity, if you’ll show us yours.
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Eddie Huang has never felt lighter. Last month, after his debut novel, “Come Undone,” finally released, something shifted.
“I have a family. I feel healed,” he said over coffee and short ribs in Santa Monica hours ahead of a live talk with Ottessa Moshfegh, the bestselling, critically acclaimed author of Huang’s favorite book, “My Year of Rest and Relaxation.”
“People always write me off as a personality or a multi-hyphenate,” he said. “It’s a nice way of saying I’m not really good at anything. But I didn’t have any of that this time.” He leaned forward, serious. “I have to be honest. I do think the Knicks are a big, big part of it.”
His beloved Knicks winning the championship, he said, kept him from spiraling over the book. In person, Huang subdues his ironic braggadocio with polite eye contact and rolling belly laughs at his own jokes. For years, audiences have watched Huang resist whatever box you put him in. His particular brand of cultural fluency — a rapid-fire mix of food, fashion, basketball, politics and pop culture — is what made the “Gua Bao Bad Boy” impossible to categorize.
For most of his career, Huang has seemed constitutionally incapable of standing still. Chef. Memoirist. TV host. Filmmaker. Lawyer. Comic. Podcaster. His first book, “Fresh Off the Boat,” became the longest-running network sitcom centered on an Asian American family, even as Huang publicly distanced himself from the show. Since leaving post-fires L.A. for New York, he’s reopened Baohaus — returning to the kitchen that built his career. Waiting for him at home after the book tour is his wife, Natashia Perrotti, and their 2-year-old son.
Now there’s “Come Undone,” fiction that Huang called his most honest — and vulnerable — work to date.
“It’s sort of this next-gen auto fiction type thing that is creating its own rules,” Moshfegh said ahead of their Q-and-A. “It made me think about my own appreciation for the experience of male heterosexuality and how much it’s been commodified.”
The book follows Hubie, a globe-trotting food-show host drifting through Chateau Marmont, Madeo, Nobu and other “dirtbag L.A” (as Huang coins) spots. He meets Janine, his equal in appetite and id, sending him into a tailspin of yearning and loops of Sky Ferreira’s “Everything Is Embarrassing” on sadboi walks. The “two walking red flags” decide to try to make it work.
Huang called the novel an “autofictional riddle.” The puzzle isn’t especially difficult if you’ve followed his relationship with Perrotti, who co-hosts their podcast, “Canal Street Dreams.” Marrying a writer, she’s learned, often means finding out what he feels by reading it. “We’ll get into a fight,” she said, “and I’ll wake up to a Substack article about it.”
It’s also part of the private life she’s since conceded. “It’s annoying,” she added. “But now I can read it, and maybe understand him a little bit better. He’s trying to communicate through the writing, like sending somebody a song and saying, ‘I want you to listen to these lyrics.’”
The novel goes further, drawing from experiences the couple has never discussed publicly. In the novel, Hubie and Janine’s relationship pivots after an ectopic pregnancy ends in loss. Perrotti said the scene is fictionalized but mirrors a similar experience they had early in their own relationship.
“It brought us closer together,” she said. “It was the catalyst for us realizing we were serious.”
Before Huang could finish the book, the life he was writing about had to fall apart. “This book was very much about breaking up with your family to start your own,” he said. “There was a lot of anger in the book that had not been resolved.”
By the end of 2024, Huang had stopped speaking to his mother. The break followed what he described as a blowup at a Cheesecake Factory. It also unlocked the ending he’d been chasing.
Eddie Huang.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Looking back, Huang thinks the earlier versions failed because he was still arguing with her. He’s still trying, in some way, to communicate with her through his writing. “If there’s one person I wish would read the book,” he said, “it would be my mom.”
There were other chapters he had to close the book on, mainly Hollywood. His foray into fiction coincided with the writers’ strike, drying up all his income and future projects. That same year, he became a father. “I had to accept and realize that my value was not in making money,” he said. “Because for three years, I couldn’t.”
He recalled a particular low point researching life insurance policies. “I had to rebuild my whole self. Really love myself despite not being able to offer anybody anything.”
That new certainty didn’t make Huang any less willing to pick fights. Last year, as his documentary “Vice Is Broke” — an autopsy of the media company behind “Huang’s World” and its eventual bankruptcy — awaited release, Huang said distributor Mubi shelved the film after he boycotted the company over Sequoia Capital’s investment in an Israeli defense technology startup. (Mubi denied this and said it still planned to distribute the film.)
The ghost of Vice still lingers in today’s media ecosystem in what he called our “era of cartel journalism:” creators navigating a world of blurred incentives and corporate interests. He traced this instinct to challenge those systems back to Socrates’ “gadfly” — the person whose job was to annoy power. “As a writer, you should be challenging people,” he said. “If your memoir can be turned into a sitcom, it probably wasn’t challenging.”
Eddie Huang.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
After the 2025 L.A. fires drove his new family back to New York, Huang went back to cooking. He worked pop-ups, reopened Baohaus and found himself alongside line cooks half his age. In March 2025, he rewrote the novel in five days. That same month “was the first month I didn’t overdraft my credit card,” he said, with the majority of his income today coming from the restaurant. It’s allowed him to make films, write books and walk away from deals he doesn’t believe in. “Being a chef is the anchor that allows me to maintain my artistic integrity.”
For years, comparisons to Anthony Bourdain followed Huang everywhere. The two eventually became friends.
“He was one of the few people who was as advertised,” Huang said. “Nicer and more generous in person. And wounded.”
Bourdain is the only real person who appears in “Come Undone” under his own name.
When Huang mentions him, he stops talking. He covers his face. Tears come.
“I don’t believe in God,” he said, “but I asked the universe why for many, many years.”
Bourdain’s suicide, he said, was one of the reasons he walked away from “Huang’s World” in 2018. At the time, few people understood why. “It was Tony. It was family. It was everything.”
Eddie Huang.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Now, looking back, Huang thinks he was writing “Come Undone” toward a different ending than the one he’d imagined.
“This book is a guy saying, ‘I don’t want to be like my biological father,’” he said. “And, in the most respectful, loving way, I don’t want to go out like Tony.”
He paused. “I needed to name the sadness in me. I needed to allow myself to be loved.”
Huang is already writing another memoir about getting back into the kitchen. Still, he said, these days, he’d rather write fiction.
Rudi, an L.A. native, is a freelance art and culture writer. She’s at work on her debut novel about a stuttering student journalist.
Beaches in the UK are set to be busier than ever during the summer months, but there’s one hidden gem without any crowds that has unspoilt golden sand and pristine blue waters
This beautiful beach in the UK is by far my favourite, and it never gets busy(Image: Getty Images)
Beaches can become overwhelmed with holidaymakers, particularly during the summer months, but there’s one hidden gem boasting golden sands that I return to time and again.
The sight of densely packed umbrellas, desperately searching for somewhere to settle down for the day, weaving through swimmers while drifting on a lilo and fighting over the last Cornetto at the ice cream stand, is hardly what you’d call a relaxing day in the sunshine. And with the UK basking in balmy temperatures, British beaches are anticipated to be more crowded than ever.
To be fair, you can hardly blame anyone for descending on their nearest stretch of coastline when the UK is blessed with glorious sunshine. After all, there’s nothing quite as refreshing as a dip in the rolling waves with a gentle sea breeze on your face.
Yet there are plenty of alternatives, well away from the heaving masses. So, for that perfect coastal day out, there’s one breathtaking shoreline in Wales that I cannot recommend highly enough.
Tucked away on the south-western tip of the Pembrokeshire coast in West Wales lies the spectacular Marloes Sands Beach. Just a 30-minute drive from the town of Haverfordwest and sitting on the boundary of the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park, you’ll be welcomed by miles of unspoilt golden sand and inviting blue waters set against dramatic, rugged landscapes.
Framed by towering coastal cliffs with unique rock formations, it not only offers a stunning backdrop for a seaside outing but also keeps it somewhat under the radar. So for my family and me, who visit regularly, we’re treated to plenty of room and expanses of golden sand.
We’ve never had to battle for that coveted patch on the beach or fretted about accidentally splashing into someone in the crystal-clear waters — it truly is a haven away from the crowds. What’s more, dogs are permitted on the beach throughout the year, so they’re free to race about, plunge into the surf and dig for gold until their hearts’ content.
And that’s not all. Marloes Beach has even been graced by Hollywood, as scenes from the film ‘Snow White and the Huntsman’, starring Kristen Stewart and Charlize Theron, were filmed there in September 2011.
Yet with any hidden gem destinations, there can be drawbacks.
There are no amenities on the beach, so you’ll need to come prepared and bring your own provisions. The walk down can also be somewhat demanding.
I mean, I’ve always relished the 0.5-mile winding path down from the National Trust car park, passing through meadow fields, but understandably, when you’ve got children and picnic hampers in tow, it’s more of an ordeal. But after the trek down, armed with a sun umbrella and bodyboard, it’s absolutely worth it for a day on this pristine stretch of coastline.
What’s more, on your way back up, you can treat yourself to an ice cream from the van that’s occasionally parked close by, or just a short distance from the car park, there’s the café, Runwayskiln, serving up sweet treats and chilled drinks.
Just make sure to plan your visit and check the tide times beforehand. At high tide, sections of the beach can become cut off, so provided you plan ahead and keep track of the time, you’ll be basking in the sunshine in your own little slice of paradise.
Do you have a travel story to share? Email webtravel@reachplc.com
We made it. With just days left in Phase I voting, this week marks the last issue of The Envelope, and the last edition of this letter from the editor, until we return with a crop of newly minted Emmy nominees in August.
How do “Industry” stars Myha’la and Marisa Abela want the series to end? Let’s just say they are as unsentimental about their characters as series creators Mickey Down and Konrad Kay.
“I want there to be a huge statue of Harper Stern in front of J.P. Morgan,” Myha’la says of her hard-charging trader. “And a bird s— on her arm.”
“In her mouth,” interjects Abela, who plays Harper’s No. 1 frenemy Yasmin Kara-Hanani.
After the laughter ringing through the room subsides, though, Abela does allow for a moment of reverence — for the HBO drama if not for the disreputable people who populate it. “I don’t know if I need Yasmin to be happy at the end of it,” the actor says, reflecting on her character’s emergence as a Ghislaine Maxwell type in the Season 4 finale. “I know I want it to feel worthy of everything that has come before… What I love about the show is that [the writers] don’t often backtrack. You commit to something and then you have to live with the f— fallout. Which is savage.”
Though he joined The Envelope’s 2026 Emmy Writers Roundtable to discuss the return of another beloved comedy, “The Comeback,” we couldn’t resist asking Michael Patrick King about the intense fan reactions to his “Sex and the City” revival “And Just Like That…”
“What happened was, it was really well made, but it wasn’t their Carrie,” he said. “Even though you stand behind it, you go, ‘Wow, that’s a surprise. I thought that they would be interested in 57-year-old women who still hadn’t figured everything out. And instead they wanted them to be 35 and still allowed to be lost.’”
For more juicy tidbits from the minds of of TV’s top writers, be sure to check out the full conversation, which also included Megan Gallagher (“All Her Fault”), Jonathan Glatzer (“The Audacity”), Andrew Guest (“Wonder Man”), Bruce Miller (“The Testaments”) and Sonja Warfield (“The Gilded Age”).
How Connor Hines won over Ryan Murphy
Writer Connor Hines, who translated the real-life relationship between JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette into FX’s major hit “Love Story.”
(Evan Mulling / For The Times)
While our On Writing series of screenwriter essays are always revealing — about the inspiration behind a series, the process of adaptation or the making of a major plot turn, to name just a few — I don’t remember one as candid about the art of the pitch as Connor Hines’. In this week’s issue, the writer behind “Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette” explains how he prepared to present his vision for the new anthology’s first season to one of TV’s most powerful producers, Ryan Murphy. As it turns out, landing the meeting is not the (only) hard part.
“I spent roughly three months in the trenches with [producers] Brad [Simpson] and Nina [Jacobson], deepening and refining my presentation [to Murphy] — one that I’d recite in the shower, on runs, at Trader Joe’s, while I drove,” Hines writes. “It was a crash course in storytelling, producing, and understanding the alchemy that propelled so many of Ryan’s shows into the zeitgeist.”
At the beginning of Mary H.K. Choi’s wildly entertaining presentation for her new novel “Pool House’” at Skylight Books, she reveals she won’t be reading.
“Readings are boring,” she says, tapping her Prada loafers. “It’s like you’re watching someone else play video games.”
Instead, she and Yasi Salek, host of the hit podcast “Bandsplain,” spend the evening riffing on literature, coolness, autism diagnoses and a literary perennial: unrelenting pain.
“How is your mother wound?” Salek asks in her signature vocal fry most often heard ad-libbing about the band Weezer. Salek reveals she is in Jungian therapy, adding, “What Carl says, goes.”
Throughout the discussion, Choi describes her novel as a challenging read — calling it a “gross, decaying meat soup.” She jokes that her career as an author feels like a “Make-A-Wish Foundation wish,” bewildered by any attention her work has garnered. Yet dozens of eager readers have packed into the independent bookstore, spilling into the aisles with copies of the novel balanced on their laps.
“Publishing is so slow, it’s like giving birth to a lawn chair,” Choi remarks. Later, she professes tedium with the resurgence of an alt-lit scene.
“Don’t you find that everyone has to be cool right now? Why is everyone so cool?” Choi asks Salek.
Let’s be clear: Salek and Choi are very cool. Salek sits cross-legged, dressed in all black, with a heart tattoo on her forearm that reads “books.” Before “Pool House,” Choi authored three New York Times bestselling novels. Salek recounts dropping out of her MFA program at Bennington College in 2020 to start what would become a cult-classic podcast.
Book-themed sugar cookies sold at a past Little Literary Fair at Hauser & Wirth.
(Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
“I love that you started a podcast instead of getting an MFA,” Choi replies.
Like Skylight Books, independent bookstores across Los Angeles have become gathering places for readers and writers alike. Authors ranging from household names to debut novelists regularly draw enthusiastic crowds. Increasingly, bookstores are functioning not only as retail spaces but as community hubs.
A few blocks from Echo Park Lake, local favorite A Good Used Book has transformed Sunday mornings into one of the neighborhood’s liveliest recurring gatherings. Visitors browse used books while enjoying charcoal portraits, handmade jewelry and Hawaiian shaved ice. Buy a book and you might even end up on the store’s coveted Instagram Story — the hottest plug in town.
“It feels like in a city as big as Los Angeles, books are still underrepresented. So there’s a lot of room to grow, and that’s exciting,” says Chris Capizzi, who founded the bookstore in 2017.
Earlier this month, the Los Angeles Review of Books hosted its annual Little Literary Fair at SCI-Arc, drawing hundreds to literary panels and workshops on zine-making, publishing and finding an agent. Vendors from across California filled the space, representing independent presses, bookstores and literary magazines.
“I find writers based [in the L.A. area] to be socially incisive in equal measure as being experimental, innovative and just fun,” says Emily VanKoughnett, the events director at the Los Angeles Review of Books. “I love the L.A. lit scene because it invites people to explore pockets of the city and connect over writing.”
This summer, literary events across Los Angeles are continuing to draw readers into bookstores, community spaces and alternative venues alike. The city’s literary scene remains as weird, profane and sentimental as ever.
In this week’s episode of The Envelope podcast, Rachel Sennott discusses finding the voice of “I Love L.A.” — and finding her footing as series creator — during a tumultuous time in her life.
Kelvin Washington: Welcome to The Envelope, Kelvin Washington alongside you know who, Yvonne Villarreal, Mark Olsen. Always great to have you two here and spend some time with you. We talked about it earlier, we had Emmy season — a few weeks ago we discussed it. But now Emmy nominations are on the way. Yvonne, I’ll start with you, just maybe someone, a show, a couple of things you’re looking at saying, “Hey, I would love to see this or that person nominated.”
Yvonne Villarreal: I wanna give some shout-outs to the women right now. I was really frustrated when Rhea Seehorn didn’t get love until the final season of “Better Call Saul,” and I’m hoping — and I do have a lot of hope — that she will be recognized for “Pluribus.” [I] was a really big fan of “The Comeback” this season. I would like to [see] Lisa Kudrow get in there. Show-wise, I would like to see “The Testaments” in there. I don’t know how much of a dark horse that one is, but that’s my pick for show.
Washington: You’ve been riding “The Testaments.” What about you, Mark?
Olsen: I’m sort of leapfrogging over nominations, and I’m just thinking about what would be exciting on the show. And last year, I remember Stephen Colbert won for talk show kind of right after his show had been canceled, and that seemed like a very exciting moment. And so this year, with Jimmy Kimmel, where this is the first Emmy cycle since he had his suspension last year, and really has been in the news, I just think if he were to be nominated and then to win, that just would be such an exciting moment at the show. What’s he gonna say? I just would really love to see that.
Washington: Yeah, he seems like he would have some things to say, right? Because just kind of the nature of who he is. We’ll have to wait and see. And just for me, a couple of people. Just a fan of this particular person, Janelle James is hilarious to me. She plays in “Abbott Elementary.” She plays that role great. And then this one is no real surprise, probably 50-plus-year career, but Martin Short. Every time I see him, he’s amazing, steals the scene. So those are folks that just jump off on the radar for me.
All right, I’ll get to you, Mark. You had a chance to sit down with Rachel Sennott of “I Love L.A.,” creator and star of it. Tell me a little bit more about that.
Olsen: She’s been kind of a real, like, bright light on the comedy scene for the last few years in films like “Shiva Baby,” “Bodies Bodies Bodies” and “Bottoms,” and, you know, she also was like a writer as well as a performer. And so with “I Love L.A.,” which is a look at sort of like the young creative class in Los Angeles, she is the star of the show, she created the show, she writes on the show, she’s executive producer, she actually made her directing debut with one of the episodes. And so it’s just exciting to see her sort of really like come into her voice and come into her own with this new show.
Washington: Kind of reminds me a little bit of, you know, now maybe a decade ago Issa Rae’s surge in L.A. and comedy creating, and then Riz Ahmed, who you spoke with last week — same thing creating and starring and stuff. Seems like that’s the energy [we’re] getting from a lot of the young talent. Well, here is Mark and Rachel now.
Rachel Sennott, creator and star of HBO’s “I Love L.A.”
(Evan Mulling / For The Times)
Mark Olsen: We’re here with Rachel Sennott, creator, executive producer, writer, star, and for the first time, director on the show “I Love L.A.,” as well as co-creator and writer on “Big Mistakes.” That’s a lot.
Rachel Sennott: When you say it like that, I’m like, “Oh, my God.” And I’m also a friend, daughter, let’s not forget girlfriend. Yeah, those are all things that I am doing. And I am so grateful and having so much fun doing that.
Olsen: Hopefully this isn’t something that just I get a kick out of, but we’re here at the L.A. Times offices in El Segundo, and the Randy Newman song “I Love L.A.,” one of the first lines in the song is “Rolling down the Imperial Highway.” And we are in fact on Imperial Highway.
Sennott: We’re here right now. We’re living it.
Olsen: Tell me about the title of the show, its relationship to the song and what was it that you liked about having the show called “I Love L.A.”
Sennott: We were between two titles for a while, “I Love L.A.” and “Climbers,” and the reason we went with “I Love L.A.” is because in the process of making the show, I moved here from New York and I had a hard time when I was first here. And in the process of filming the pilot, I really fell in love with L.A., and I think getting to make something here, I all of a sudden saw L.A. through this lens where everything was like a movie. I would go on my walks that I usually go on. I would walk through my neighborhood, I would go to my spots, and I just saw it through this different lens, and I was really falling in love with it in the process of making the show. And I think with “Climbers,” that title fell a little bit — it was a double meaning of like social climbers and then also, being the age that I am, where I feel like ever since I got to college, ever since I became an adult, there’s been this chaotic energy in the world and uncertain ground where things never felt expected. It was always unexpected events. Graduating into COVID and then there was a strike and everything. So I feel like Sisyphus, where you’re always pushing the rock up the hill and it’s never enough. But we were worried that “Climbers” would seem too negative … We didn’t want to set people up already judging the characters.
Olsen: And then what has it been like for you learning to be a showrunner in making “I Love L.A.”? It’s funny, your co-showrunner Emma Barrie, she mentioned how you were very organized, but she was struck that you had everything in a pink binder with horses on it. So it was you trying to learn this new thing while also holding on to your essence.
Sennott: I feel so grateful for everyone who works on the show with me. I learned a lot from Emma. I learned from Lorene [Scafaria], who inspired me so much as a director. Aida [Rodgers], our producer, Amy [Gravitt] and Allie [Wasserman] at HBO; Max [Silvestri], who’s one of our EPs and writers. Showrunning is a million different jobs, and some of the jobs I’d done before, some of them I hadn’t, and I felt like I got to see different people shine in certain things, people who are more talented or more skilled at structure than me, people who have directed before, people who understand shots and basically learn from everyone and see that everyone wants the show to be the best it can be. They’re bringing stuff to the table. And so I benefited from everyone else’s skills and talents and just being like, “If you know how to do this better than me, I’m gonna learn from you and watch you and hopefully take from that so I can do my job better.”
Olsen: In a lot of the press as you’ve been talking about the show, you’ve been talking a lot about the concept of the Saturn return and this sort of chaotic period people have in their late 20s. You yourself now are 30 —
Sennott: Yes, I made it. I literally just finished. I was relieved, but my Saturn return was the process, getting the show picked up and the first season of the show. That was my Saturn return.
Olsen: Can you already feel that something has settled or things are different somehow?
Sennott: Yes, a thousand percent. My Saturn return, the dates that it was the strongest were the month around when the show got picked up. Making the pilot was so amazing and I learned so much. And then I was in this moment where I had to pick — basically, I couldn’t take on acting jobs because I was gonna hopefully do the show, but I didn’t know if the show was picked up yet or not. And so I had to say no to certain things and kind of take this leap. At the same time I went through a breakup, and then I got arrested for having CBD in the Cayman Islands. And it was just a very chaotic month of my life where I was like in jail for six hours on a break with my boyfriend, so he, like, had no idea where I was, and I was like, I don’t even know if I have a show, I just said no to this other thing. I just felt like I didn’t know what was happening. I’m someone who it’s hard for me to take risks sometimes, and that was a big risk and leap into what I thought I should be doing. And then the rest of it was learning for the first season how to do a job I’d never done before. Obviously, I still have more to learn, but I think that was a big Saturn return for me, the roller coaster of it.
Olsen: It’s so interesting to hear you say that you think of yourself as a person who’s afraid of risk, because that’s not my impression of you.
Sennott: You’re like, “Stop taking risks. Chill on the risks, every second.” No, I think it’s more [that] I didn’t necessarily believe in myself as a creator on my own, and that was really scary for me. That was the risk, I think.
Olsen: Because especially in building up to making “I Love L.A.,” in your career, I feel like you’ve created this comedic persona for yourself. What is the biggest distinction between the Rachel I think I know and like the actual you?
Sennott: You mean the characters that I play? Or like the persona?
Olsen: These sort of hard-charging, very ambitious, but maybe not always understanding of themselves characters, and you. I’m just interested in how you see the distinction between that persona and the actual you.
Sennott: Well, I hope that the characters that I’ve played have been somewhat different from each other. I think “Shiva Baby,” that character, was a little bit more anxiety-inward. Alice in “Bodies” was way more outward and kind of no filter, said every inside thought. Maia on “I Love L.A.,” I think, is kind of bitter in the beginning of the first season and is pinning her failures, blaming them, on her friend. All of those characters, I always draw on some element of myself. I think all actors, you have to find some connection to the character. But I think I’m hopefully more grounded and balanced and mature than the character. I hope.
Olsen: You’ve talked about how “I Love L.A.” really explores the foibles and challenges that people have leading these very, like, online lives and the way that people nowadays are really sort of tethered to their phones all the time. Is that something that you feel like you grapple with yourself? Is it something you yourself have had to kind of get over?
Sennott: I would say I started my career on the internet, and I grew up on the internet, and basically, I created a different sort of persona on the internet that was based in truth of a time when I was in my early 20s in New York, and it was a lot more messy and a little chaotic, and I was just going through things in my life at that time [that inspired] — I say “writing,” but like the tweets, the jokes, the videos, whatever, that were coming out of me. And then I felt I changed, but I still wanted to kind of project that character. And so I actually ended up putting that character into Tallulah [played by Odessa A’zion]. And I think Maia was a little bit more the version of myself when I first moved to L.A. and I felt isolated and it was during COVID, and I felt I was kind of gripping onto my friends in a codependent way. And so I think the show is sort of dealing with, whether or not you’re an influencer or person online, anyone who’s grown up on the internet is projecting some sort of version of themselves. So I think it was that I was trying to explore.
Olsen: You mentioned that the character of Tallulah is this version of you that you used to be. So what was it like for you creating this character that was almost like your id unleashed?
Sennott: It felt like I was separating myself from her. At first, [it] maybe could have felt like a caricature. And then when we cast Odessa, who is so talented and just, as an actor, she has such depth and range, and I think she asked questions and brought so much to it. Then it actually made me sever myself from the character, and the character became its own thing that she brought to life.
Olsen: Your character, Maia, in some ways is the audience surrogate, she’s kind of the most “normal” character on the show. And considering that in “Bottoms” or “Bodies Bodies Bodies” you often were the outrageous character, what has it been like for you to play this character that’s a little more self-contained?
Sennott: It’s been fun. I think we sort of found her during the first season. I feel that Episodes 6 through 8 are really where the show finds its footing and where we find what’s the comedy of Maia. It takes a little for her to kind of crack open, what’s funny about her as a character, but also I think Tallulah is almost like an agent of change for her — Maia was set in her ways and sort of struggling and depressed, and I think Tallulah puts her on track, and she’s going through her Saturn return and all that stuff. And so I think we get to see at the end of the season and just having been writing Season 2, I think that we get see her do a lot more fun stuff.
Olsen: It’s funny, as viewers, a lot of times people say, “Oh, you know, there’s this show you should watch, it really gets going on like Episode 3” or whatever. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard a creator say before, like, “Oh, 6, 7, and 8, we figured it out.” Do you feel you knew that in the moment, or has that only come to you as you’ve been working on Season 2?
Sennott: I think as we were editing the first season. Tone is something that you can say, like, “We want it to be like, this needs this, and it’s that and that and the tone of that.” But tone is what you find in the edit. I think you shoot different versions of a line, of a scene, and then you piece it together. And I think for me, that’s when I felt like, “This is the tone of the show. This is the world of the show.” And in writing Season 2 as well, just living more in that world.
Olsen: You kind of touched on this, but the characters on the show, they kind of skirt this line between being endearing and annoying. What is it that you like about that?
Sennott: Because I think that’s how people are. I am not interested in seeing perfect people or people who are flawed in a way that’s not actually real. So I love all the characters. I think Alani [played by True Whitaker], for example, is someone where you could really easily be like, “Oh, a nepo baby, she’s so privileged, whatever.” I think she’s the character with the biggest heart. She’s the best friend out of the whole group. She cares for everyone. She’s so deeply sensitive. And she’s actually been through a lot of s— and she drops these little things, these clues where you’re like, “Gee, she went through something crazy but is choosing to look at life half-full,” and I think that’s fun. I like the characters who make you feel or expect something of them and then show you another side. Charlie [played by Jordan Firstman] I think does that as well, where you meet him and you think he’s a little acerbic, he’s a little judgmental, and then he goes through loss and grief when Lukas, spoilers, Lukas Landry dies, RIP Lukas. That’s really hard for him. I’ve been friends with Jordan for so long, and I love him so much. I think he’s so talented. But I think he showed a totally new side of himself with the character.
Olsen: I agree. I found those scenes very touching. There’s an emotion there that’s kind of unexpected. Another moment that I really like in the show is Odessa’s character, she wants to change a dinner reservation to five people at 8 o’clock. And then you have to spend hours trying to make that happen. And I really appreciated how it’s something that sounds like it should be simple, and for some people it’s no big deal. But then for other people, it’s the biggest hurdle imaginable. Did you like that the show explores this sort of proximity to ease? Sometimes you end up at this party in a big, big house, but it’s not your house. Was that something you wanted to explore about life in L.A.?
Sennott: Totally. There’s also something specific to L.A. and specific to the industry we’re exploring — which is the internet as opposed to Hollywood — that I would say is relatable to me, to anyone in their late 20s, early 30s. When you’re in your early 20s, everyone’s sort of grouped together or feels like they’re in the same bucket. It’s like, “Oh we’re all doing this same thing, we’re all roommates, we’re all in school together, we’re all whatever.” But people make decisions that you don’t even see. I feel like the first time I found out that one of my friends had a SEP IRA, I was like, “When did we all decide that we’re getting SEP IRAs?” And it was a friend who loves to party, and I was thrown. Now I’m panicking I didn’t do that. Or who’s getting in a serious relationship, whatever. People start making decisions in their late 20s, all of a sudden everyone’s off on different paths. It’s like, “Wait, you’re getting married, but you’re still partying the way that we did when we were in college.” This person is moving, this person is changing their career path. And so you all of a sudden feel a little bit betrayed or on your own, and it’s isolating, and that is something that, yes, we’re doing it through a specific lens of L.A. and this world and these characters, but I think it’s really relatable to people at that age.
Olsen: I’ve heard you describe yourself as a zillennial cusp.
Sennott: Yeah, I’m cusp, and I feel like I relate to a little bit of both.
Olsen: But do you feel a pressure for the show to feel like some sort of a generational statement, to capture these kind of big-picture things?
Sennott: No. Ayo [Edebiri] and I were texting each other because there’s always an article that’s like, “Turns out these b— are 30. Yeah. They’ve been lying the whole time. They said they’re Gen Z.” I’m like, “I didn’t say anything. I was born in ’95. I’m 30.” Call me what you want, but I was just writing to what I feel at the time. I think people who grew up on the internet in the way that I did will relate to it, but I think you can relate too if you’re older or you’re younger.
Olsen: As people are writing about the show, they very frequently are referencing “Girls,” “Insecure,” “Sex and the City.” But I’ve heard you reference “Entourage” quite a bit. Could you explain that?
Sennott: “Girls” and “Sex and the City” and “Insecure,” all of those shows, all HBO shows, are formative to me as an artist. I remember watching “Girls,” I was in high school and looking at colleges with my dad and we went and toured [New York University], and in the hotel room that night, he was like, “I heard so much about this new show, ‘Girls,’ we should watch it. And it was the episode with Patrick Wilson where they f— in his nice apartment the whole time, and we turned it on and my dad was like, “OK, you can watch this later on your own, this is for you.” And I remember going to bed being like, “I’ve gotta go to New York, like whoa, this is crazy.” I think naturally those were already gonna inspire me. “Entourage” and “Atlanta,” those were two references that I mentioned a lot when we were making the show. “Entourage” because I feel I got to come up in this industry with my friends, and when I’m with my friends I feel completely invincible, and so there was that aspect. It was like, “I wanna see ‘Entourage’ but from a different point of view and perspective and a slightly different industry.” And then “Atlanta,” there is already having a family relationship and friendship on top of managing. Like how [Earn] manages Paperboi. And then I think “Atlanta” did such a great job of capturing a city that has almost magical realism elements to it. And L.A., a lot of the time, there’s things that happen here that are crazy, that feel almost unreal, but they are real. So that was a big inspiration for the show as well. Like the opening of the show, sex during an earthquake. That’s happened to me, but it also feels a little ridiculous, but it happens in L.A.
Olsen: You mentioned earlier that in waiting for the show to come around, you felt you were having to turn things down or you were really having to sort of change your mindset in a way. Can you talk a little more about that? With the show “Big Mistakes” that you created with Dan Levy, is that one of the things that you had to step away from or readjust how you were gonna be involved because of the fact that you were going to have “I Love L.A.”?
Sennott: I was more talking about acting roles. When you step into a creator role, it’s a different mindset than acting jobs and you have to commit to a longer time period. When you’re just acting in things, you can pop in, pop out and you leave set and you’re like, “I love you guys so much. I’ll see you in a year at the premiere,” which is fabulous too — love doing that. But when you are creating something, you’re in it from beginning to end, and you really wanna give your all to it. So I think I was more talking about just, like, betting on myself as a creator, as opposed to just acting.
Olsen: And how has that felt now that you’re on the other side of it, with one season of “I Love L.A.” made? How do you feel about having made that decision, having bet on yourself like that?
Sennott: I think it’s changed me, in a way where I’m so happy I did it. And it’s sometimes harder and there’s more parts to it, but I feel more in myself creatively than I ever have before, I think.
Olsen: It changed you how?
Sennott: Just because you all of a sudden see all the different parts of the process of making something and all these different jobs that maybe I wasn’t as aware of before. And I think there’s also something beautiful about popping into something and acting and just being like, “I am present as my character. This is what I am thinking about. I’m thinking about what does the character want.” And that’s amazing too. But I feel so lucky to have been able to experience other parts of making something.
Olsen: What was it like learning how to switch hats, especially during production? I would imagine you have a producer brain, you have an actor brain, then for one episode you have a director brain.
Sennott: I had to like sort of take it day by day. There are days where it’s a lighter scene for me and I can be on the side approving locations, taking meetings during lunch. There was a day where I had two sex scenes, for Episodes 6 and 7. So we shot the end of 7, the fight scene with me and Josh [Hutcherson], and the sex scene where it’s Maia and Dylan but she’s fantasizing about Ben. It was a lot. And so I was like, to Emma and Max and Aida, “Let’s not do any other meetings today in the middle of the day,” and they were like, “Totally got you.” That day I was more focused. I really needed to be present in the scene and have this be my main focus. And then on a day where I’m shooting like, “you’re texting on your phone” and “you’re walking on your walking treadmill,” I can do other stuff. So I think it was just taking each day as it comes and having so much support from the rest of the team.
Olsen: It’s wild to think of just one day providing all this material for the show. Just a single day could be so pivotal.
Sennott: Yeah, totally. A lot can happen in a day and then other days you’re like, “I’m just opening doors.” You never know.
Olsen: How did you come to conceive of how you kind of wanted to depict the online world, how people text, whether they’re FaceTiming and things like that? The show obviously exists with that world, as part of it, but you didn’t spend a whole lot of time animating texts. How did you come to conceive of how to depict people’s online life?
Sennott: I wanted it to feel how it does in the real world, which is the internet is just a big part of everyone’s life, but people aren’t explaining it to each other all the time. So we wanted to have the internet feel like the real internet, but our own internet. We didn’t want to ever reference anything that would date us because the internet moves so fast. So, like, Coke Larry, for example, when Dylan gets made into a meme, whatever, that’s our own thing, but it moves the same way as the internet does. And we tried not to have too much phone screens, texting, whatever. Like for example you [just] see snippets of Tallulah making videos or posting or whatever. In “Entourage,” you don’t really see that much of Vince acting. You see all the stuff around it. So that was sort of our model for the show.
Olsen: You directed the final episode of the season. Do you expect to be directing more in Season 2?
Sennott: Yeah.
Olsen: And how did you find the experience? What did you like about it?
Sennott: I loved it. You’re just in every aspect of the process. You are thinking about everything, and it was so engaging and exciting, and afterwards I felt fried, and I like crawled onto the edit couch and I was like limp and it took a lot out of me. People describe it like giving birth. And then you’re like, “I gotta do it again.” So that’s kind of how I felt on the other end.
Olsen: Can you talk a little about that final episode? The show is called “I Love L.A.” You send the main characters to New York for the final episode, which has turned into kind of a controversial decision. A lot of people have talked about that. Can you talk just a little about deciding to end the season in New York?
Sennott: I think it was because it was sort of addressing the fact that these girls went to school in New York together. They lived in New York and they chose to move to L.A., and I think when you do that there’s always going to be the push and pull of the two cities, and going back to New York, it was almost like getting a chance to get back together with your ex and being like, “You know what, there’s a reason it didn’t work out.” And they end the episode with, “I miss L.A.” So I think that’s kind of what we were aiming to do.
Olsen: And then before we wrap up, I should be sure to ask, is there anything that you could tell us about Season 2? What can people look forward to?
Sennott: It’s sort of what we were talking about earlier, Episodes 6 through 8, I think, I just feel we’ve locked in to our tone, we get to see other sides of characters we haven’t before, we go deeper on certain characters. And I think there’s some fun stuff that we set up in the finale that we get to explore.
Hasley was a veteran TV writer who taught screenwriting classes at UCLA Extension. He was also a friend of Caitlyn Jenner and helped write the former athlete’s motivational book “Finding the Champion Within,” according to his biography.
The L.A. County medical examiner released Hasley’s identity Tuesday but had yet to rule on his cause of death.
More than two dozen personnel with the Los Angeles Fire Department responded to a report of a hiker in grave medical condition off Nichols Canyon Road near Hollywood Boulevard shortly before 7 p.m. Saturday.
A helicopter was used to reach the patient and allow paramedics to provide urgent medical care. They were unable to save him, and he was declared dead shortly after, according to the LAFD.
Hasley hailed from Pittsburgh and played university football before venturing to Hollywood to pursue his dreams as a writer. He wrote on 37 episodes of “The Smurfs” in the late 1980s and early ’90s as well as several episodes of “Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids,” according to IMDB. His TV writing credits also included “Swift Justice,” “Ghost Stories,” “Murder, She Wrote,” “Young Riders” and “Highway to Heaven.”
He was able to channel his love of sports while working with NBC on the network’s project “Star Salute to the U.S. Olympic Team,” where he met Olympic gold medalist Caitlyn Jenner, according to his professional biography.
The pair became friends, and Hasley went on to help write a book about Jenner’s philosophy on overcoming adversity in sports and life. He was commissioned to ghostwrite several other motivational books including “Passion, Profit, & Power” for hypnotist Marshall Sylver and “The Slight Edge” for self-help expert Jeff Olson.
Hasley loved sharing his passion for writing with students at UCLA and described the process of writing as akin to assembling a puzzle, where one tries many different combinations of pieces before finding the perfect fit, according to his teaching biography.
“I personally believe that when you know your characters well enough they will start dictating their actions,” he wrote. “When that happens writing becomes a euphoric experience.”
In addition to teaching and writing, he enjoyed golfing, horseback riding, fighting City Hall over an environmental issue, volunteering in soup kitchens and speaking to youth organizations, according to his bio.
Hasley was formerly married to actor Robin Riker, best known for her roles on “Brothers” and “The Bold and the Beautiful.”
He lived in the Hollywood Hills not far from where he suffered the medical emergency. A neighbor told the New York Post they had seen him earlier Saturday carrying groceries home. “It’s very sad he had to die all alone like that,” the neighbor said.
Times staff writer Sonja Sharp contributed to this report.
In the age of Ozempic, the buzziest hardcovers are getting smaller — and slip right into your Baggu. At Book Soup in West Hollywood, the bestselling hardcover fiction display is marked with laminated cards that denote the book’s place in the top 10, with each one cut snugly into the popular hardcover frame of 6-by-9 inches. But lately, more of the books rising to the top wear the placard noticeably looser.
I should know, I work at Book Soup so I spend a lot of time staring at this display and can tell you, the answer to this problem is definitely to print out smaller cards cut to the little sister “trim size” of 5-by-8 inches — or 5½-by-8¼ to be specific.
While the New York Times bestsellers from 2025 skew in favor of the 6-by-9 trim, the popularity of 5-by-8 books appears to be on the rise. Current utilizers of the smaller cut include the buzzy Vanderbilt heir Belle Burden’s “Strangers,” George Saunders’ darkly humorous “Vigil” Lena Dunham’s millennial-tinged tell-all “Famesick” and the infamously tablet-sized “Transcription” from Ben Lerner.
1/5
“Strangers: A Memoir of Marriage” by Belle Burden (The Dial Press)
2/5
“Famesick: A Memoir” by Lena Dunham (Random House)
3/5
“Vigil: A Novel” by George Saunders (Random House)
4/5
“Transcription: A Novel” by Ben Lerner (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
5/5
“Lost Lambs” by author Madeline Cash (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
Gretchen Achilles is the director of interior design at Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Achilles recently implemented the 5-by-8 cut for one of this year’s breakout hits, “Lost Lambs” by Madeline Cash. “It’s a tone,” she says. “Smaller trim sizes have an intimacy. … You want to echo what’s going on in the text as an experience for the reader.”
According to Achilles, FSG frequently implements the 5-by-8 trim size. She said that length is the No. 1 factor when deciding to employ it, followed by genre. She listed literary fiction, memoir, biography, and essay collections as the defining genres of the smaller size books.
Caroline Mason is a writer in New York whose debut novel “An Endless Cycle of Evenings” from Hyperion Avenue is slated for 2027; she runs the Instagram account @literarycrushes. Mason described a 5-by-8 hardcover as shorthand for a specific book she seeks out when she is in a bookstore because it often signals a character-driven novel. “It’s my favorite kind of book,” Mason says. She adds that it’s also Instagram-friendly.
“Holding the book up to take a photo of it is easier,” she says with a laugh. “Although I do sometimes still drop it.”
Dahlia de la Vega is an L.A.-based Bookstagrammer who runs the page @ofpagesandprint. According to De la Vega, she finds the shrunken books more approachable. “When I sit down to read a small hardcover, it almost feels like I’m reading a journal,” she says. “Whereas when I read a large hardcover, it almost feels like I need a journal to jot down notes about what’s happening.”
Ethan Mann, my colleague and a supervisor at Book Soup, told me he remembers the place he was both mentally and physically when he purchased a 5-by-8 hardcover copy of “The Parade” by Dave Eggers. (Right before the pandemic struck at CSUN campus store at Cal-State Northridge). “It’s easier to attach relevance to the specific feel of [the book] because it seems one of a kind,” he says.
Mann adds that hardcovers are sometimes a tough sell on the floor. They are often derided for their cost, and customers declare they will wait till the paperback comes out. But the smaller hardcover has the benefit of fitting into nearly any bag.
Esther Margolis is a publishing veteran and the founder of Newmarket Press. She says that the 5-by-8 hardcover is nothing new. According to Margolis, the smaller trim size was previously the industry standard for U.S.-based publishing houses, and any fluctuation is due to the evolution of printing technology.
“Unlike for mass-market paperbacks, hardcover books were shelved, so it didn’t matter that the books were different sizes,” Margolis says. “They didn’t have to fit into a pocket.”
The popularity of the 5-by-8 hardcover is, at the very least, indicative of a shift in what I witness consumers at Book Soup seeking out. With social media making it easier than ever to connect over the act of reading, or looking like you are reading, cover design and presentation — and how it cuts through the noise of the attention economy— is perhaps a factor too.
“A small hardback is like a Labubu,” my co-worker Mann says. “ The feeling in your hands isn’t just about books — it’s about all cute things. … We like small things we can control.”
The success of the publishing industry could never rest on the tiny shoulders of the small hardcover. It may not even represent any changes in production. But on the bestsellers display at your favorite local indie, it represents the small pleasure of palming a near-pocket-size book in your hands.
And, yes, maybe Instagrammability too.
Messinger is a writer in L.A. who runs the Substackadumbmessinger.
The union representing workers employed by the Writers Guild of America have reached an agreement on their first contract, ending a strike that lasted nearly three months.
The pending contract includes seniority and layoff protections, higher wages and outlines provisions for progressive discipline and a stepped grievance process, the Writers Guild Staff Union said in a statement Friday.
The union represents 116 members, who work in areas including legal, communications and residuals. They will vote on proposed contract in the coming days.
“Once ratified, the WGSU strike will end and Writers Guild staff will return to doing what we do best: defending the writers’ hard-fought gains and helping them build collective power,” the WGSU Bargaining Committee said in a statement.
WGA also said in a statement that they “are pleased to have reached a tentative agreement” with the union for its first collective bargaining agreement.
If ratified, members would see a minimum of 12% increases in pay for all Writers Guild staff over the course of the three year term. The salary floor would rise from $43,000 to $57,000. The staff would also see better protections against AI.
The strike began in February, weeks before the WGA was set to enter negotiations with the major studios, with the workers accusing their employer of bargaining in bad faith.
