The Brief

Carly Usdin was the kind of kid who spent a lot of time in imaginary worlds: reading comic books, imagining superheroes and watching David Copperfield specials.

Whenever their parents hit the garage door button, Carly liked to stand next to it with their arm out, as if they were controlling the lifting and lowering of the heavy metal gate.

Carly Usdin in 2023.

(

Natalie Chudnovsky

/

LAist

)

Listen 28:31

Apple

Spotify

When Carly Usdin moved to Los Angeles, they became obsessed with getting inside its iconic members-only club for magicians, the Magic Castle.

The Castle: Part 1

When Carly Usdin moved to Los Angeles, they became obsessed with getting inside its iconic members-only club for magicians, the Magic Castle.

Subscribe

• Apple
• Spotify

Carly knew they didn’t have real magical abilities, but in pretending they found something they needed — a sense of power.

“I think many kids feel powerless,” they say, “but especially the kid that I was, getting teased at school for being smart and being queer and being Jewish, and not even knowing I was queer yet, and wanting out of that so badly.”

Carly Usdin as a child.

(

Courtesy of Carly Usdin

)

Carly did get out. They left their small town in central New Jersey, became a filmmaker and married their now-wife. And then in 2013, at the age of 30, they moved to Los Angeles.

In L.A., Carly was reminded of their childhood interest in magic, and started to get curious about why there were so few famous women magicians. At the time they were identifying as a woman, their gender assigned at birth (they now are non-binary and trans). While in a research rabbit hole, they started reading about the Magic Castle, an exclusive members-only Los Angeles club for magicians and lovers of magic.

Carly had heard of the Magic Castle. They knew it had a reputation for being frequented by celebrities, that its former president was Neil Patrick Harris and that it was invitation-only. And Carly desperately wanted to get in.

Besides being invited by a member, there are several workarounds to getting into the Magic Castle — for example, if you book a stay at the Magic Castle hotel. But gaining longer-term access is more difficult.

“I started doing research into the Magic Castle,” Carly remembers, “and I found the Magic Castle website and it said ‘we offer adult magic classes.’ And the kicker is that while you're enrolled in lessons, you basically have a temporary membership to the castle.”

The Magic Castle in Hollywood on Oct. 13, 2021.

(

Valerie Macon

/

AFP via Getty Images

)

Carly had found a backdoor into the Castle.

And Carly was aware they didn't fit the magician stereotype. Actually, that’s what made them excited about it.

“If you say magician, you get a very specific image in your head," says Carly. "It's probably an older cis white heterosexual man, because that has long been the archetype of the magician in American popular culture. So I was like, I'm gonna infiltrate. I'm gonna take my queer self in there, cause it's a space that's clearly not meant for me.”

Why is the Magic Castle a big deal? 

The Magic Castle , or just “The Castle” as many members call it, is run by the Academy of Magical Arts. Just a few blocks from the tourist center of Hollywood, the Castle, with its stained glass windows and turrets, looks like a French chateau plucked out of a Disney movie. It was built as a private home around 1909. And then in 1963 it opened as a private clubhouse for magicians, complete with a liquor license.

An evening at the Castle requires not only an invitation but adherence to a dress code, an admission charge, parking fees and the purchase of an entree. If you throw in a cocktail, that’s at least a $100 night out. There are no photos or videos allowed inside. The exclusivity of the experience is part of the allure.

Besides its mystique to the layperson, the Castle is an important institution in the world of magic because being a member, or better yet, a booked performer, serves as a stamp of legitimacy.

“There isn't a Ph.D. in magician,” says magician and Castle member Paul Draper. “So, when I'm auditioning for a television show, when I speak to an event planner, the first question I'm asked is, 'Have you ever performed at the Magic Castle?'"

Magician Kayla Drescher performs at the Magic Castle on Oct. 13, 2021.

(

Valerie Macon

/

AFP via Getty Images

)

The Castle is also a coveted and somewhat rare performance venue, especially in contrast to the kinds of gigs that sustain many magicians.

“You know who doesn't wanna watch magic? A bunch of people at their company holiday party. They wanna get drunk and just talk about how weird the year was,” says magician Kayla Drescher.

But at the Castle?

“People actually put in the effort to come watch magic,” says Kayla. “They're all dressed up and they're so excited to see you.”

Membership at the Castle comes with other benefits: access to its library, spaces to workshop tricks and a place to connect with some of the best magicians in the world.

“You have all these magicians that have performed here, you have all this history,” says Kayla. “There's a library of all these books with secrets. The guy who made the Statue of Liberty disappear for David Copperfield? He's just sitting at the bar. All the people, all the tricks, all the stories, it all just exists in one place.”

Beginner's magic

Carly was full of nerves driving to their first class at the Magic Castle in the fall of 2014.

Inside, there was a small reception area lined with bookshelves and no doors. Unsure of what to do next, Carly examined the bookshelves, drawn to one particular statue of an owl.

“The people working at the front told me you have to say the magic word in order for the owl to grant you admittance to the Castle,” says Carly. So they spoke the magic words (“Open Sesame”) and the bookshelf pulled back to reveal the Castle.

“Just that moment alone, I was giddy,” Carly says. “Basically you're in a parlor-looking bar area and there's like a big old timey fireplace. The color palette is like reds and golds and purples. All the wood is old, dark wood. It is Victorian, dark, moody, so much old art and old artifacts of magic. It feels like exactly this thing that's plucked out of time.”

The Close-up Gallery at the Magic Castle, in Hollywood on Oct. 13, 2021.

(

Valerie Macon

/

AFP via Getty Images

)

The Castle can feel maze-like, with its various floors and bars. Every week there’s a new schedule of booked magicians performing at the many theaters, from the intimate Close-up Gallery to the larger stage at The Palace of Mystery. There are tables for magician members to set up impromptu shows. And a self-playing piano takes song requests (if they’re directed to the ghost of Irma — and yes, she also takes tips).

After several wrong turns, Carly found their way to a small instructional classroom. And they were delighted by every aspect of that first class.

“It felt like being back in school,” they say. “We went over the rules of being a magician. Some of the primary ones being, you don't do the same illusion for the same audience more than once. Obviously, you do not reveal your secrets.”

Carly remembers the initial classes being focused on card tricks: how to handle a deck, different ways of shuffling and grips. And Carly was delighted that they learned it all easily.

Carly has obsessive compulsive disorder — OCD. In high school, before they got proper care, they had a tough time focusing because of it. But learning magic tricks engaged their attention in a very specific way.

“When I was doing these tricks, I wasn't experiencing my OCD symptoms," Carly says. "It's just this perfect blend of mental and physical working in harmony where you have to be paying attention on both levels really closely.”

Carly Usdin practicing close-up magic, circa 2014-2015.

(

Courtesy of Carly Usdin

/

Courtesy of Carly Usdin

)

Carly was in love. They didn’t want to become a professional magician, but they were constantly thinking about magic, carrying a deck of cards everywhere to practice, savoring the feeling of delight that came with successfully pulling off a trick.

After the beginner course ended, Carly took Magic 2 and then Magic 3 and Magic 4, learning coin tricks and more complicated illusions. After class, Carly would catch magic shows at the Castle with their classmates.

And they noticed that the Castle’s demographics matched their initial assumptions.

Stepping back in time

Several current and former Magic Castle members have described the experience of going to the club as stepping back in time, which comes with charms and also, drawbacks. Most glaringly, the demographics of the Castle.

A shelf hangs at The Houdini Seance Room at The Magic Castle on Oct. 24, 2008.

(

Angela Weiss

/

Getty Images North America

)

Several members have described the club as mostly white and mostly male. In an email, a Castle representative said the club doesn’t keep data on the race of its members and did not provide data on the gender of members, either.

But according to one former member who gathered numbers from a Castle membership representative, in 2019 magician membership was 12% women.

Numbers of women performers at the Castle are even lower — the Castle’s own records identify only about 8% of performers over the last three years as being women.

That tracks with national estimates of women magicians in the U.S. For much of its history, performance magic in the Western world was exclusively male.

For magic historian and Magic Castle member Angela Sanchez, the story starts as far back as the Witch Trials in 16th century Europe.

“In a patriarchal society, for women to know something that men do not, is a bad thing. And so to be accused of being a witch is to be accused of having secret knowledge that a man does not have access to,” says Angela. “And so this notion that a witch, a woman who holds power, is adverse to what a woman should and ought to be, is something that cues you into how women in magic are generally treated in Western European societies.”

At the same time as women were being burned at the stake for witchcraft, there were men who earned money doing magic tricks at carnivals. In the 18th and 19th centuries in Europe and the U.S., magic made its way from street entertainment into Broadway theaters and the parlor rooms of upper classes.

There were some famous women magicians, notably English performer Adelaide Hermann, who was billed “the Queen of Magic,” as well as female assistants who would vanish or levitate, but many onstage assistants at the time were boys and for the most part, magic was a field for men.

And then in 1921, magic introduced a new role for women: being in peril.

John Shryock and his daughter Jasmine, 16, rehearse before their performance at the Magic Castle on Oct. 13, 2021.

(

Valerie Macon

/

AFP via Getty Images

)

In 1921, illusionist P.T. Selbit specifically called for women to participate in what would become an iconic trick: sawing a woman in half.

“This was very much a situation that would go forward in branding magic with very clear gender roles,” says Angela. “The magician is a guy in a tux and a woman on stage is the individual who gets sawed in half, split apart and lit on fire.”

Carly was seeing echoes of this history at the Magic Castle in the ways that some magicians spoke about or interacted with women onstage, but they also saw signs of progress. They recalled their magic class being fairly diverse, and were inspired by a women magician’s group at the Castle, co-founded by Angela.

Carly dreamed about starting a group for queer magicians. Of getting to spend as much time as they liked in the immersive magical space of the Castle. And of being able to invite whomever they wanted.

Carly realized that they wanted to become a member.

The audition

There are different levels of membership at the Castle (for example, Junior, or Associate for magic-lovers) but to become a Magician Member requires several steps, including an application with essays and, most nerve-wracking for Carly, an audition.

Carly Usdin at the Magic Castle.

(

Courtesy of Carly Usdin

)

Carly had heard horror stories about people bombing auditions and about how hard it was to impress the panel.

They picked out four tricks that they practiced for months.

“I was full of fear and dread driving there,” Carly says.

Carly remembers about five other people auditioning. All of them, hanging out at the bar, getting called downstairs, one … by one. Until finally … it was Carly’s turn to go before the panel.

“And I went in and there was like, I wanna say four or five magicians in there. I don't believe any of them were familiar to me, but they were all cis men. It was an incredibly intimidating room. They do a little interview. And then they're like, all right, show us your tricks.”

It didn’t go as smoothly as Carly had practiced.

Carly Usdin with a spread of cards.

(

Natalie Chudnovsky

/

LAist

)

“The thing with close-up magic especially, is that it's all about your hands,” Carly says. “And the thing with anxiety is that my hands were shaking. I felt like I fumbled stuff and it wasn't as clean as it could have been.”

The panel stopped Carly, telling them they had seen enough. Carly felt like they’d blown their chance and went back to the bar to wait for the bad news.

“And then they came and, and got us. And so we had to go back to the room downstairs. And they're like, congratulations, all six of you made it. And I wanted to cry.”

Carly was officially a member.

They were on the inside of this private, exclusive, prestigious magicians club. For Carly it was like being handed a golden key, because members can invite any guests they want. It meant Carly could open up the Castle to their friends ... people who didn’t necessarily look like the typical magic showgoer.

(

Courtesy of Carly Usdin

)

“I had no misgivings of like … I'm gonna change the face of the community,” Carly says. “It was on a very small scale of like, I just wanna bring my friends and then from there, if I can start a group for queer magicians, that would be really cool.”

Did Carly think the Castle would be receptive?

“I really didn't know.”

In Part II, Carly finds out. Coming Dec. 6, 2023. 

All you have to do is grab a drink with a friend, eavesdrop at a coffee shop, or open your eyes to see that entertainment professionals in L.A. are hurting these days. Last year there was a 16% decline in filming in the region, according to Film LA, and between 2022 and 2024, L.A. County is estimated to have lost more than 42,000 motion picture-related jobs.

I know this pain, personally. I was a TV writer for years, but my last writer’s room job was in 2021. Luckily, I was able to pivot to copywriting as I continue to work on my own projects, but I do wonder what the rest of my colleagues are up to. Where have the thousands of highly skilled entertainment professionals gone?

Turns out, school.

Specifically, to become therapists.

I first noticed this trend over a decade ago in 2013. I had just moved back to L.A. from New York and I started seeing a new therapist. Over the course of our sessions, she revealed to me that she used to be an actor — and quite a successful one. She was a co-star on a hit sitcom for nine seasons.

But despite the consistent work, she wasn’t fulfilled. She said acting was mostly sitting around in a trailer waiting and she craved more intellectual stimulation. So she went back to school and became a therapist, the irony being that she never fully escaped Hollywood. Today, as an L.A. based therapist, she spends most of her days listening to frustrated actors and writers complain about the biz. Ahh, the circle of life!

Not only was my therapist a former actor, I started to notice more and more of my peers and friends making the switch. I met Alan, 40, who prefers to be anonymous because he doesn’t want his patients knowing about his private life, at a co-working space. We both belonged to a charming apartment-turned-writer’s haven in Silver Lake.

At the time, Alan was a busy film producer, plugging away at his own feature script on the side. But despite having a shiny career working with hip actors and directors, he wasn’t happy.

He remembers going to schmoozy parties where everyone would name drop and brag about what they were working on.

“I had all those fancy things to drop, too, but it meant nothing, it didn’t make me feel any better about myself,” he said. “If I can’t even talk about what I’m up to without feeling sad, that’s kind of a problem.”

Alan started to realize maybe producing wasn’t his destiny. He was going through the motions. Things started to fall into place when he started therapy.

“Therapy made me feel more like myself. I just felt a little bit more enlivened… the rest of the week kind of deadened me,” he said.

He loved how real and deep the conversations were and became intrigued by the idea of becoming a therapist himself. He started taking a few psychology classes and was instantly hooked. Now, he has a thriving private practice and hasn’t looked back.

Primal emotions

Julie Mond is a therapist and an actor. Unlike Alan, Mond still loves acting, it’s not something she grew out of. She just needed a more stable career as she continued to pursue her passion. Becoming a therapist has actually liberated her to focus on the kind of acting she actually wants to do. Because she’s financially stable she can now pick and choose the kinds of projects that feel worth her time.

When I ask Mond why so many entertainment professionals become therapists she reflects on a couple of things. She said performers and directors crave “connecting authentically, being present moment-to-moment, being real and honest. We’re digging for these primal emotions.” All things you have to do as a therapist.

She also has another theory: “A lot of artists go to therapy. Many of us who become therapists have been in therapy and it's changed our lives. I think people in L.A. have been on a healing journey and want to give back.”

Charley Lang, who teaches at Antioch University.

(

Jaymes Mihaliak

/

Courtesy Charley Lang

)

Even though I'm personally meeting more people who are becoming therapists, I wondered if it was an actual trend or just a coincidence.

So I talked with psychology professor Charley Lang at Antioch University to get his take. Lang, who's been teaching psychology for 30 years, said that in his graduate classes, at least 50% of the students come from entertainment careers.

When I asked why they make the switch, he’s blunt: stability.

That’s why Lang himself became a therapist decades ago.

Lang was an actor on Broadway, but eventually hit a wall.

“I had a nice career as an actor, I essentially got to do everything I wanted to do," he said. "But then I was in my late 30s and I was like, ‘Do I always want to be praying for another guest spot on a sitcom in order to feel secure and OK?’”

Does he have any regrets or miss acting? On the contrary, he tells a story:

“I had become a therapist and stopped acting and a friend of mine was directing a play at the Ahmanson and he was like, ‘Please do this play.’ And I was able to figure it out and I was just dipping my toe back in to see what it was like and it was a six-week run of the play. And at the end of the first week I remember standing in the wings waiting to make my entrance and thinking, ‘Oh my god haven’t we already told this freaking story?’ It was like Groundhog Day. It was the same story over and over.”

As a therapist, he said he loves that every day is different.

The point isn’t that working in entertainment is bad and therapy is perfect. To me, the takeaway is that it’s never too late to make a change. That just because something used to work for you doesn’t mean you’re committed to doing it forever.

Or in Mond's case, maybe there is a way to continue doing what you love, but more sustainably.

In today’s fragile and volatile job market, it’s nice to know that you can always begin again. Just because a job or career ends, doesn’t mean your life is over.

If, in the future, I’m too fried, burnt out, or tired of the rollercoaster of being a writer, maybe I’ll embark on a second career.

But until then, I’m still riding the dragon.

Folks, we’ve reached peak art-weird. There’s a group show opening Sunday in an abandoned Sizzler. I am not making this up. Get your fill at the art fairs around town — Frieze, The Other Art Fair, Butter and Felix, for starters — or explore some of the neighborhoods with galleries, like Melrose Hill, West Hollywood and the Arts District. You’re sure to see a lot. It’s almost like we live in a city where you could just wander around and randomly come across things.

If music is more your thing, Licorice Pizza has your go-tos. On Friday, German singer-songwriter and producer Monolink’s "The Beauty Of It All Tour" stops at The Wiltern, Brandi Carlile is with The Head And The Heart at the Forum and the Fiery Furnaces are at the Masonic Lodge. At the Peacock Theater, there’s an epic “Legends Of Hip Hop” bill with Big Daddy Kane, Kurtis Blow, Kool Moe Dee, Melle Mel & Scorpio from The Furious Five, Doug E. Fresh, KRS‐One and more. Saturday, experimental hip-hop group Clipping is at the Fonda, and the artist formerly known as June Marieezy — (((O))) — is at a cool new Chinatown venue called Pacific Electric. Or you can spend the whole weekend at Ace Mission Studios in Boyle Heights, immersed in Factory 93’s two-day underground techno festival, Skyline L.A.

Elsewhere on LAist, you can visit the community hub East L.A. Film Shop, dance like it’s the 70s at the immersive theater experience Brassroots District: L.A. ’74 and head to the new Studio Ghibli exhibit at the Academy Museum with superfan Makenna Sievertson.

Events

Amadeus

Through Sunday, March 15
Pasadena Playhouse
39 S. El Molino, Pasadena
COST: FROM $48; MORE INFO

(

Jeff Lorch

/

Pasadena Playhouse

)

Our friends at the L.A. Times called the new production of Amadeus at Pasadena Playhouse a “marvel to behold,” and I don’t think you can get a bigger rave than that. Tony winner Jefferson Mays plays Salieri in director Darko Tresnjak’s (A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder) take on Peter Shaffer’s 1979 play about the rivalry between Salieri and Mozart in 19th-century Vienna.

Spooky Stories After Dark

Saturday, February 28, 7 p.m.
The Wolves
519 S. Spring St., Downtown L.A. 
COST: FREE, TWO DRINK MINIMUM; MORE INFO

One of my favorite L.A. Instagram follows is Spooky Foodie, aka Ansley Layne, who goes to restaurants in L.A. and tells all about the ghosts haunting your favorite haunts. She’s bringing her ghost stories and encouraging you to tell your own at Spooky Stories After Dark, a Moth-inspired storytelling competition night at The Wolves downtown. After each story, the speaker will be interviewed by Spooky Foodie and co-host Your Cousin Trev. You can also expect some surprise celebrity guests.

Sleep, a film by Andy Warhol featuring John Giorno

Friday, February 27, 5 p.m. to 10:30 p.m.
Marciano Art Foundation
4357 Wilshire Blvd., Mid-Wilshire
COST: FREE; MORE INFO

Film stills of John Giorno in Andy Warhol's Sleep. New York, NY, United States, 1963. Photo credit: Andy Warhol. 8 x 10 inches, b/w, photographic print.

(

Studio Rondinone/Courtesy of the John Giorno Collection, John Giorno Archives. Studio Rondinone, New York, NY.

/

Andy Warhol

)

It’s not every day you can screen Sleep, the 1964 groundbreaking avant-garde film by Andy Warhol, so take advantage and grab a ticket for this evening at the Marciano Art Foundation. Coinciding with their John Giorno: No Nostalgia show, the film is five hours and 21 minutes of artist and poet (and Warhol’s then-lover) John Giorno sleeping, so needless to say, you probably don’t need to be there the whole time. The galleries will be open throughout the entire screening, so it’s also a fun chance to see some late-night art!

Black History Greens Festival

Saturday, February 28, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. 
Virginia Ave. Park 
2200 Virginia Ave., Santa Monica
COST: FREE; MORE INFO

(

Courtesy City of Santa Monica

)

Check out three greens-cooking demonstrations with local chefs at the Black History Greens Festival in Santa Monica. The day also features family activities, including book readings and giveaways, plus performances. KJLH radio’s Arron “BOBO” Arnell returns for a second year as the master of ceremonies, and DJ Dense will be spinning throughout the event.

48th L.A. Chinatown Firecracker-Lunar New Year Celebration

Saturday, February 28 to Sunday, March 1
943 Broadway (starting line), Chinatown 
COST: FREE; MORE INFO 

(

Courtesy Firecracker 10K

)

Usher in the Year of the Fire Horse with the annual run/walk in Chinatown, plus a celebration with lion dances, music, a dog contest and more. Saturday features the long 20-mile run and century bike ride, while Sunday is a festival atmosphere with the 5K and 10K races, fun runs, kids' activities and more.

Opera Noir at L.A. Opera’s Akhnaten 

Saturday, February 28, 7:30 p.m.
Dorothy Chandler Pavilion
135 N. Grand Ave., Downtown L.A. 
COST: Opening night from $134, other performances from $44; MORE INFO

(

Craig T. Mathew

/

L.A. Opera

)

L.A. Opera welcomes back Philip Glass’ opera about ancient Egypt, Akhnaten, featuring John Holiday as the title king and mezzo-soprano Sun-Ly Pierce as his queen, Nefertiti. The opera is on at the Dorothy Chandler through March 22, but opening night is also Opera Noir, an event with the San Fernando Valley Chapter of Jack and Jill of America, which brings Black artistry and community together with opera. No matter which night you go, get there early for a pre-performance talk with Dr. Tiffany Kuo in Stern Grand Hall one hour before every performance.

Art Fairs

You have your pick of art fairs and related art events all weekend long. From the big Frieze Art Fair, which has been the jewel of L.A. Art Week since its launch here in 2019; to Felix, which makes a very cool use of space at the Hollywood Roosevelt; to The Other Art Fair in a new Culver City location (with art you might actually be able to afford for your wall); to the Black-artist focus of Butter in Inglewood, there’s really no shortage of places to see the newest artists’ work as well as old favorites.

Frieze L.A.

Through Sunday, March 1
Barker Hangar
3021 Airport Ave., Santa Monica
COST: FROM $79; MORE INFO 

Butter

(

Courtesy Butter

)

Through Sunday, March 1
Hollywood Park
1011 Stadium Drive, Inglewood 
COST: $60; MORE INFO

Felix Art Fair

Through Sunday, March 1
Hollywood Roosevelt 
7000 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood
COST: $75; MORE INFO

The Other Art Fair

Through Sunday, March 1
3Labs
8461 Warner Drive, Culver City
FROM $30; MORE INFO

Post-Fair

Through Saturday, February 28 
128 Fifth St., Santa Monica
COST: $12; MORE INFO

We're in for another warm and sunny day in SoCal.

Daytime highs for the beaches will reach the mid-70s and up to the low 80s more inland. Downtown L.A. will see temperatures up to 83 degrees.

Temperatures for the valley communities and the Inland Empire will reach the mid-80s. The western San Fernando Valley will see temps in the upper 80s, up to 89 degrees for Woodland Hills.

In Coachella Valley, expect another day with highs in the 90s, up to 96 degrees.

Friday is expected to be the warmest day of the week.

Newly released data from the city show that Los Angeles police officers use minor traffic stops as a way to investigate Black and Latino people on suspicion of committing a more serious crime at a higher rate than their share of the citywide population.

The LAPD adopted a policy about so-called pretextual stops and began tracking the practice in 2022.

In a report released at the end of January, the city’s chief legislative analyst found that Black people were involved in nearly 31% of pretextual stops conducted by LAPD officers between spring 2022 and fall 2025. According to 2023 Census estimates, Black people make up 8% of the city’s population.

According to the report, "Hispanic/Latino" people, who make up just less than half the city’s population, were the subjects of 56% of pretextual stops.

That analysis, along with a separate report by LAPD, found that of the more than 760,000 people involved in traffic stops between spring of 2022 and fall of 2025, 9% to 10% of them were stopped pretextually.

Chauncee Smith, an associate director of the racial justice-focused nonprofit Catalyst California, said LAPD’s data is “under inclusive” since it relies on officers subjectively deciding when a stop is pretextual.

He said an analysis of data from Catalyst California, published in February, demonstrates that pretextual stops don’t result in evidence discovery enough to make up for the negative impacts of the practice.

“It's affecting the lives of many Black and Latinx Angelenos on an everyday basis,” Smith said, adding that pretextual stops often result in harassment, dehumanization and excessive ticketing or fining of communities of color.

Pretextual stops 

Police sometimes use violations of the vehicle code to stop drivers and investigate them for a more serious crime unrelated to the traffic stop, such as possessing drugs or firearms, according to Deepak Premkumar, a research fellow for the Public Policy Institute of California.

 ”Law enforcement officers see tons of violations, and we give them a lot of discretion to determine who they should stop and when,” Premkumar told LAist.

A plausible example of what a pretextual stop could look like is if police see a car matching the description of one that was involved in a crime in the area, then pull that car over for a broken taillight, Premkumar said.

The policy the LAPD adopted in 2022 outlines that officers:

• Can only conduct pretextual stops as long as they are “acting upon articulable information” that the person is close to a serious crime that’s worth investigating. 
• Should minimize stops for minor equipment violations, such as broken taillights, unless the violation “interferes with public safety.”
• State the reason for the stop, whether pretextual or not, while their body-worn cameras are filming.

Despite the adoption of the policy, Catalyst California’s analysis found that the proportion of all officer-initiated stops that are for minor traffic violations has “remained relatively constant since 2019.”

Racial disparities

The analysis from the city’s chief legislative analyst included a comparison of pretextual stop rates for different ethnic and racial groups in L.A. compared to their share of the citywide population.

The analysis found that "Hispanic/Latino" and Black people were overrepresented in data on pretextual stops compared to their share of the population.

L.A. Police Capt. Shannon White drafted the department’s report of the same data, which did not include an ethnic or racial breakdown of those involved in pretextual stops.

At a Los Angeles Police Commission Meeting in February, when she presented the department’s analysis, White said Census estimates for the city don’t necessarily align with “the actual breakdown of our suspects of crime,” who, theoretically, are the subjects of pretextual stops.

“When you look at the actual breakdown of our suspects of crime…what you will find is that they skew towards communities of color for various societal reasons,” White said.

According to the LAPD’s analysis, people in Central and South L.A. were subjects of pretextual at higher rates than in the Valley and West L.A.

Some commissioners at the meeting questioned that disparity.

“Something just doesn't add up,” Commission President Teresa Sánchez-Gordon said. “Is it racial profiling? Is that bias? Implicit, explicit bias that's in the report?”

Discovery rates

The police’s analysis found that searches during pretextual stops yielded contraband, such as firearms and other weapons or drugs, in about every 3 in 10 cases. “Narco-related” evidence is what’s most commonly found in the searches.

Catalyst California’s report looked more specifically at different kinds of searches and how likely they are to lead to evidence discovery.

The nonprofit found that since 2022, when officers used consent-only searches during stops for minor traffic violations, they discovered evidence 3% to 10% of the time. The rate was similarly low when the person stopped was on parole or probation.

According to Catalyst California’s analysis, the type of search most likely to lead to discovery of evidence is when there’s an existing search or arrest warrant for the person stopped.

“This was likely because they occurred in situations when there was a higher likelihood of a significant violation, beyond mere pretext,” the nonprofit's researchers wrote.