If you want to go to the Hollywood Bowl, you have to really want to go to the Hollywood Bowl. It is one of the most frustrating landmarks in a city that has made arduous travel an art form. I can think of numerous times when I’ve had both the opportunity and the interest to go to the Bowl and passed. I went so far as to skip an LCD Soundsystem concert at the Bowl in 2018 that I had already bought tickets for. Instead, I slept. The only thing that could roust me from my peaceful slumber was the most grotesque vision imaginable: an undulating river of red lights in front of me. The choked arteries of traffic winding down the hill from the Hollywood Bowl. I awoke in a cold sweat, comforted by the realization that I was still at home. There were no cars. I was safe.
Going to a show at the Bowl is not a “night out.” It is days of planning, recon and meal prep. And this year, it’s only going to get more complicated. The L.A. Phil, which manages the Bowl, opted to close parking lots to make room for more ride-share and shuttle bus traffic. L.A. Phil interim executive director Daniel Song told The Times in March, “People don’t like getting to the Bowl, but everyone loves the Bowl. So if there’s a barrier [for] someone to be able to come to the Bowl, we’re going to try to fix that and we’re going to try to mitigate that as best as we can.” The theory behind scrapping 350 of the Bowl’s 1,700-plus parking spots is to have fewer cars going in and out of the area on a concert night. I guess I don’t see how that helps if people who would otherwise drive still take Ubers or Lyfts or taxis. Those are still cars, last I checked.
The Hollywood Bowl says Lots B and C will be closed off to concertgoers driving to the venue this season, except those who purchase accessible parking passes.
I like to compare going to the Hollywood Bowl to a hike or camping trip, with its myriad hazards and environmental concerns. When do we eat? What’s the weather like? Should we pack a blanket? Everyone has their Hollywood Bowl ritual, the tidy little agenda that helps alleviate the chaos of L.A.’s most stunning existential crisis. Besides the obvious, I struggle the most with what to wear. I want to dress up, because I dress up for everything. I dress up to clean out my rain gutters, so I’m naturally going to want to dress up for John Williams night. That’s just how I am. But the Bowl often demands sensible attire. A suit and hard-bottom shoes mean you’d better not walk. This is summer in Los Angeles, so you should wear something that breathes. Linen, perhaps? Just stay away from shorts. This is not Venice Beach or a family barbecue in Reseda, for God’s sake.
You can tell people struggle with the dress code at the Bowl. It’s an elevated experience that demands a sense of reverence, but it’s also an event that requires one to lug a cooler full of cheese up a hill. You could show out, but should you? The Bowl is not a fashion show (unless it very much is). A band T-shirt just might be enough for you to get by. In 2015, I went to the Bowl to see Grace Jones, with Future Islands opening. Obviously, I bought a Grace Jones T-shirt that night and I still like to wear it to the Bowl as a sort of ancient (2015 feels like centuries ago) relic. And I almost always bring some sort of jacket. I beg of you to please bring a light layer, because even when it’s the deepest, darkest days of summer, there will be a breeze at night.
The Bowl is a place where I would not be shocked to see adult men in flip-flops mingling with a family of four in matching caftans. Like other cultural institutions in Los Angeles, no one would dare tell you what to wear.
The Bowl is a place where I would not be shocked to see adult men in flip-flops mingling with a family of four in matching caftans. Like other cultural institutions in Los Angeles, no one would dare tell you what to wear. I feel a similar sense of sartorial drift at the Music Center. If I’m going to the opera or a musical at the Ahmanson, shouldn’t I look nice? Well, yes, but also, my rule of dress is always to adapt to the occasion.
The Bowl is not a monolith. How you should dress for Vampire Weekend is totally different from how you’d dress for Harry Connick Jr.’s Fourth of July Fireworks Spectacular. The wide range of programming and vibes means you really can come as you are. But who are you? Dress defines identity, or maybe vice versa. But clothes and sense of self are inherently connected. Even if you put almost no effort into what you wear, that says something. Primarily, it says, “I put almost no effort into what I wear.” Music functions in the same way, illustrating in broad strokes who you want the world to think you are. When I mentioned I saw Grace Jones, I’m sure you, dear reader, made some assumptions about me. Probably first and foremost that I must be incredibly cool. Also, pretty old. And that I probably own a skirt. If I told you I saw Depeche Mode at the Bowl, you’d assume I have an all-black wardrobe and smoke weird European clove cigarettes (one of those things is not true).
They are a middle finger to the gods of couture and good taste. But the thrill of the Frankenstein object is that it could be a means of self-expression or a gateway into DIY craftiness.
The Bowl is, in many ways, the preeminent place in Los Angeles to declare who you are, a music mecca that requires an Oregon Trail-esque commitment to traveling and an outfit to match. The Bowl is a place where everyone in L.A. can congregate. It’s a holy cathedral of culture that admits all (for a fee). I’ll even allow you to wear shorts to Harry Connick Jr on the Fourth of July. Begrudgingly.
Like camping, as soon as you actually get to your destination, you remember why you made the effort in the first place. The Hollywood Bowl is one of the most stunning man-made marvels in the entire city. The grand outdoor setting, the perfect acoustics, the dramatic lighting, the eerily illuminated cross in the background. Bowl season is a chance to revel in the majesty of L.A., to commune with the spirits. Or just have too much wine and develop a headache the next day. As Daniel Song said, everyone loves the Bowl, so we make the effort. Most of the time.
When we try at anything, we tell the world that something matters to us. Nothing illuminates the inner spirit quite like effort. Making the attempt, in whatever form that takes, shows people what we prioritize, whether if it’s getting dressed, listening to music or simply taking in a sunset after a long summer day. When we go to the Hollywood Bowl, we can take satisfaction in knowing that we got out of bed, we got in a car or on the subway, we walked up a hill. We tried. It matters.
