The Only Place Where Winter Means Wearing a Scarf with Shorts

Winters in Los Angeles: A Season Like No Other

Let’s get one thing straight: winter in Los Angeles is not real winter. We know it. You know it. Somewhere, a New Yorker just read that sentence and started foaming at the mouth. But darling, while the rest of the country is layering up like Michelin Men and digging cars out of ice tombs, we Angelenos are reaching for... a light cardigan. Maybe.

Winter in LA is a vibe. It’s cozy, confusing, and completely committed to its own version of the season. It’s also, frankly, fabulous.

You wake up to grey skies and a brisk 58 degrees. You panic—should I bring a jacket? Is this the end? By 2 p.m., the sun is blazing and you're sweating through your turtleneck. This is the emotional whiplash that is LA winter weather. But let’s be honest: it’s glorious. You can hike in the morning, eat lunch on a patio, and still post a moody rain selfie before dinner (with the Valencia filter, obviously). It’s the kind of weather that makes you feel dramatic and productive at the same time.

And when it dips below 65 degrees? Fashion Week hits the streets. Angelenos emerge in beanies, trench coats, and scarves the size of small canoes. It’s not about staying warm—it’s about the aesthetic. We don’t need layers—we choose them. Think: ankle boots with no socks, oversized sweaters with bike shorts, or a leather jacket thrown over yoga pants. Because what is winter if not a reason to finally wear that one wool coat you bought during a manic online shopping session in July?

Now let’s talk about rain. When it rains in LA, the entire city treats it like an act of God. Instagram feeds turn into weather stations. People cancel brunch. Traffic becomes a psychological thriller. But let’s not pretend we don’t love it. The sound of rain on a rooftop in Silver Lake? Cinematic. That first whiff of wet asphalt (aka petrichor) in the air? Pure euphoria. We don’t get much rain, so when we do—it’s a holiday. Also: umbrellas? Absolutely not. We will get drenched in the name of fashion.

The holiday decorations only add to the fun. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like a Christmas tree on the beach or a plastic snowman sweating it out in front of a bungalow in Echo Park. Winter in LA is full of delightful contradictions: palm trees wrapped in fairy lights, menorahs glowing on apartment balconies, and inflatable Santas chilling next to agave plants. It’s like someone put December through a blender with a surfboard and a turmeric latte.

And yes, the whole “ski in the morning, surf by sunset” thing is real. Drive two hours to Big Bear and you’re carving slopes by mid-morning. Drive back down, and you’re catching waves in Malibu before golden hour. It’s ridiculous. It’s magical. It’s aggressively LA.

Winter is also the time when the locals reclaim their city. The tourists thin out. The theme parks chill out. You can get a dinner reservation in West Hollywood without invoking dark magic. Runyon Canyon isn’t packed with people taking conference calls mid-hike. Parking at the Grove is... possible. Even Trader Joe’s feels less apocalyptic. For three glorious months, it’s like LA exhales.

But the sunsets? The sunsets are the real main character. There is nothing like a winter sunset in Los Angeles. The angle of the sun, the post-rain clarity, the light bouncing off downtown buildings—it’s visual poetry. Colors you didn’t know existed show up: blush, lavender, apricot, muted teal (yes, even here), all layered like an oil painting you’d hang in a modernist gallery. And then someone flies a drone through it, obviously.

And yes, it’s still cuffing season here, just with more vitamin D and fewer parkas. People start looking for someone to go to the Melrose flea market with. They ask, “Wanna split a seasonal matcha?” That’s our love language. You may not get snowed in with a lover and a roaring fire, but you will get flirty eye contact over vegan hot cocoa at a pop-up holiday market. And isn’t that just as good?

Meanwhile, wellness never takes a holiday. While the rest of the country is curled under weighted blankets, LA is in a eucalyptus steam room meditating through Mercury retrograde. Winter here is when we "slow down"—meaning we only take two Pilates classes a week instead of four. Juice bars still have lines. Your neighbor is still doing a 3-day sound bath retreat in Topanga. Balance, darling.

Perhaps the best part of LA winter is this: you can pretend it’s winter without the consequences. You get the mood, the vibes, the cute outfits, and the peppermint mocha—all without frostbite, snow shovels, or seasonal depression. Want to build a snowman? Drive to it. Want a cozy fireplace? There’s an app for that. Want to wear flannel pajamas and pretend it’s cold outside? Go for it—just maybe crack a window.

In the end, winter in Los Angeles is an experience built entirely on vibes, aesthetics, and a refusal to suffer unnecessarily. It’s dramatic without the weather trauma. It’s fashionable without function. It’s cozy with options. And most importantly, it’s ours.

So grab that oat milk latte, wrap yourself in your most unnecessary scarf, and bask in the 64-degree sunshine. Winter has arrived—in its own, absolutely fabulous, slightly delusional LA way.

Namaste and SPF 30, babe.