The Brief

There are a few strongly held beliefs in Southern California. We judge travel by time instead of distance, In-N-Out is a must, and some locals really lean into that Valley Girl accent.

The accent went from a simple place signifier to a stereotypical white girl phenomenon.

It’s a dictionary entry. A movie, twice over. A stereotyped demographic. All under the guise of the “Valley Girl.”

The roots of the ‘Valley Girl’

My interest in the "Valley Girl" origins started with a conversation with a stranger at a concert entrance. People around us were speaking with that familiar upward inflection and creaky voice.

"You know, the accent came over from Hawai‘i," he asserted.

That statement got me thinking. What do I actually know about the accent and how it grew? I began to dig in.

(As for Hawai‘i, my later interviews with linguists showed there's little truth to that. But reader, if you know of evidence to the contrary, send it my way!)

Before the ‘80s, being called a “Valley Girl” usually meant you were just from a valley area. What valley? Basically any in California. If a Woodland Hills woman won an award, headlines would often read something like “Valley Girl wins big.” The same goes for Santa Clarita Valley women, and so on.

But things largely changed in 1982 when musician Frank Zappa released his best-selling single ever, the Grammy Award-nominated song “Valley Girl.” There, his 14-year-old daughter Moon Unit Zappa riffed lyrics inspired by the teenage girls she grew up around in the San Fernando Valley.

“Encino is, like, so bitchin’,” Moon said with a lot of rise in her voice. She sang of shoe stores in the Galleria, mini-skirts, and repeated teen lingo that would make today’s Gen Alpha say “barf me out.” Her improvised lyrics were an amalgamation of teenage things she heard and saw.

It’s not the sole reason for the term’s popularity, but Zappa’s song gets a lot of credit. (By the way, there was a response to that song called “Marina Men.”)

Sometimes called Val Girls and Valspeak, there were even books published before about how to eliminate that particular Valley Girl sound.

But Zappa’s buzz helped make it popular. Reseda even held a "Valley Girl" contest that year. Ironically, the winner was from La Verne in the San Gabriel Valley, and a judge went on record as saying, “Valley girls are from everywhere.”

A portrait of musician Frank Zappa on April 23, 1980.

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Rob Brown, Herald Examiner Collection/Los Angeles Public Library

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An undated photo of Moon Unit Zappa, the daughter of musician Frank Zappa.

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Herald Examiner Collection/Los Angeles Public Library

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He was probably onto something. While the accent is associated with Southern California, Teresa Pratt, an assistant professor of linguistics at San Francisco State University, said the term gets evoked in other places.

“They can’t even name the actual valley,” Pratt said, “but they know that it’s, like, somewhere around L.A.” (And yes. Pratt has a sort of valley girl accent, in case you were wondering).

“Nobody’s thinking about geography,” they added. “That’s how language works, right? You label something and then it takes on its own life.”

How did it start?

Pretty much all linguists can agree on one thing — no one knows for sure. (Or should that be ‘fer sure’?) New speech patterns arise unpredictably and how and why can be hard to track down. Where people first start noticing a way of talking may not even be when it started.

For example, when it comes to "uptalk" — the rising intonation at the end of a sentence that’s associated with “Valley Girl” — no one can even say which country it started in, although theories abound.

(It’s been associated with a speaker’s insecurity, or even our dwindling attention span. As in, "If I ask this as a question will you look away from your phone?" Meanwhile the UK blames a popular Australian soap opera that brought antipodean uptalk to British TV.)

The same goes for the overuse of “like.”

What is known is that growing up, we develop our accents by absorbing how people talk around us, so in a place as racially and culturally diverse as California, we sometimes get influenced by multiple speaking styles.

For example, some Californians’ accent can be traced to Chicano English. Linguists also know that "Valley Girl" is strongly associated with the California vowel shift, which is when the pronunciation of vowels happens in different parts of the mouth compared to other states.

Just watch Saturday Night Live’s famed skits about “the Californians.” The skit is exaggerated, but there’s some truth to it. Pratt says the accent is found across the state.

The ‘Valley Girl’ persona

The 1983 "Valley Girl" movie poster art, featuing Deborah Foreman and Nicolas Cage.

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Courtesy Everett Collection

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Norma Mendoza-Denton, a linguistic anthropology professor at UCLA, says what linguists understand as the standard California accent, which is closely associated with “Valley Girl,” is often identified with whiteness. It makes sense given that the valley was initially populated by white families living in tacitly segregated suburban subdivisions.

Class and intelligence are also at play. While plenty of different people speak like “Valley Girls,” the imagined girl is a ditzy one with money to spend. Moon Zappa did, after all, use the teen slang she heard hanging out at the mall.

“Sometimes you will have a stereotype that’s so strong that it sort of carries along into the broader consciousness of the population with it,” said Mendoza-Denton.

Society dug its heels into the “Valley Girl” trope as an easy target for misogyny toward young women. Just watch the Valley Girl movie or Clueless, and you’ll see women characters deploy a roster of slang with a certain dress, but they’ll also be depicted as air-headed and shallow.

The accent’s influence

A girl in 1982 may have jinxed us when she suggested that no one would remember “Valley Girl” in six months.

More than 40 years have passed, and there are still big ways the trend impacts public perception.

Pratt says while things have been added to the idea of the “Valley Girl” character, the social analysis of her hasn’t changed much.

“Now she has a Starbucks cup or something, which wasn’t true 20, 30 years ago, but the core of her orientation to consumerism has not changed,” they said. “It’s still superficial. It’s still vapid. It’s still without any deep meaning.”

She’s modernized, so to speak. It’s less about Moon’s lavish mall trips and probably more today about smoothie excursions at Erewhon.

But with popularity, a reminder to not forget who actually makes up our home.

“It’s a bummer when L.A. gets stereotyped as like surfer dudes and white girls,” said Tyanna Slobe, a linguistic anthropologist at Dartmouth College. “That erases the linguistic variation in L.A.”

Angelenos looking up Saturday may have noticed a particularly striking sight — a vibrant sunset framed by clouds.

Tropical moisture coming in from far off the coast could explain it.

“One thing that might have played a role in making it look awfully nice yesterday was those high clouds that were moving in,” Robert Munroe, meteorologist with the National Weather Service, said. “The way the sun was hitting the high clouds made some bright yellows and oranges in the sky. That moisture is actually related to probably mostly Odalys.”

An early sunset at yesterday's "Be The Light" 5K event in Valencia last night.

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Jenn Baughman

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Jenn Baughman

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Odalys is the hurricane (since downgraded to a tropical storm) churning off the coast of Mexico, along with Hurricane Polo.

Neither is expected to make landfall here, but they're forecast to bring high surf, dangerous rip tides and potential flooding to coastlines already battered this month by Hurricane Marie.

The bright side is Munroe said those high clouds from yesterday will be sticking around through at least today, which could make for another pretty sunset this evening.

An earthquake with a magnitude of 3.6 struck off the South Bay at about 8:40 a.m. and was reported as being felt as far as Oxnard.

The U.S. Geological Survey says it was centered about four miles west-southwest of Hermosa Beach. More than 1,500 people reported feeling it within the first hour after it struck. [You can report what you felt to the USGS.]

No significant damage has been reported, which is typical at this low of a magnitude.

The quake was below the threshold of 4.0 magnitude that triggers an alert on the ShakeAlert app.

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Courtesy ShakeAlert

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We have earthquake resources

We don't want to scare you, but the Big One is coming. We don't know when, but we know it'll be at least 44 times stronger than Northridge and 11 times stronger than the Ridgecrest quakes in 2019. To help you get prepared, we've compiled a handy reading list:

• Your guide to surviving the Big One
• For earthquakes, forget the 'go-bag.' Here's how to prepare
• How to not get life-threatening diarrhea after a major earthquake
• 10 earthquake-related questions to ask your landlord immediately
• How to prepare for an earthquake if you have a disability

Listen to our podcast

On a Sunday night at the Mexican restaurant La Popular in Claremont, diners are eating to a soundtrack that starts with cumbia and jumps to J Balvin and Bad Bunny before landing on Luther Vandross.

That’s the aim of DJ collective Compás Discoteca — to bring connection and community through live vinyl mixing at La Popular and El Balcon in Ontario.

How Compás Discoteca was born 

Ricardo Carlos, Elias Ruiz, Albert Piña and Adrian Silva have been friends for about two decades. They all DJ as a hobby and often share music. On a night out in 2024, they saw a sign: a parking space for a “compact car,” minus two letters.

“The C and T are missing — compá. Like, ‘We're compás,’” Carlos said, recounting that night.

A "Compás Discoteca" turntable mat.

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Dañiel Martinez

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LAist

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Their DJ collective, Compás Discoteca, was born. “Compás” means “buddies” in Spanish and “Discoteca” means “nightclub."

Seasoning the scene

When Compás Discoteca first formed, the members said Southern California’s vinyl-listening scene was more focused on track selection, letting songs play out in full. The collective wanted to bring more life to the experience by mixing music live.

“It just seemed a little stale,” Silva said. “I feel like we helped to bring some seasoning to that.”

They also wanted to play genres people wouldn’t normally hear together.

“You might hear us jump from funk to cumbia to hip-hop to disco, soul to house. We're just trying to take people on a journey with us,” Silva said.

Each compá takes their turn at the turntables for two 30-minute sets. And each brings their own sound.

Three of the "compás" pose for a picture in between their sets.

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Dañiel Martinez

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LAist

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Silva is the “party-starter.” He gets people dancing.

Carlos has a Latin bent, taking influence from his Puerto Rican, Salvadoran and Creole roots.

Ruiz lives for “jaw-drop moments” and brings records he thinks will surprise his fellow DJs.

Piña spins rare world grooves in the funk and boogie vein.

“He probably gets the most Shazams from us and from the audience,” Ruiz said of Piña. “But most importantly, you feel like you're hanging out and with some good music.”

Albert Piña prepares looks through a box of vinyl records during his DJ set at "La Popular" in Claremont.

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Dañiel Martinez

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LAist

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Feeding off the energy

Compás Discoteca DJs at El Balcon in Ontario on the first Friday of each month and at La Popular in Claremont on the third Sunday.

The vibes for Sundays are chill, they said, and Fridays are for letting it all loose.

“There's like an energy there, like, ‘Oh, man, we made it through the week.’ We try to feed off of that,” Piña said.

Along Highway 62 in Joshua Tree, a stack of high school lockers holds something the High Desert was missing: a real New York-style bagel.

For that, you have DIY baker Richard Lee to thank.

“I want a bagel. What do I do?” Lee remembered thinking after moving to Twentynine Palms in 2023 from Los Angeles, where he had lived for more than a decade.

The Bagel Portal off Highway 62 in Joshua Tree.

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Richard Lee

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Courtesy 29 Loaves

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It wasn’t just any bagel the born-and-raised New Yorker was craving, but the kind from back home that gives “a little crunch” when you bite into its crust — with a “chewy, softer” inside and a taste Lee calls “ineffable.”

“Like maybe a sourdough or an Italian bread,” he said.

Taught by YouTube, tested by family in New York

Richard Lee converted his garage in 29 Palms to make bagels.

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Courtesy 29 Loaves

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A tinkerer by nature, Lee launched 29 Loaves in early 2024, bringing bagels he handcrafts in his licensed home operation to Twentynine Palms, Joshua Tree and surrounding communities.

“I went to the culinary school of YouTube,” he said, having watched more than 100 videos on how to make a bagel. At first, he relied on his own taste buds as a guide, before sending his creations to his family in New York to taste.

After months of overnight shipping, Lee said, “Even a UPS store is asking me, ‘Why are you doing that?’”

“I know it makes no sense,” he told them. “That's how I operate.”

29 Loaves serves up New York-style bagels to Joshua Tree and other desert communities.

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Courtesy 29 Loaves

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Eventually, his sister gave the thumbs-up. To be extra, extra, extra sure, Lee went to folks living in the desert with New York ties to get their blessing.

“Attention is an ingredient,” Lee said of his bagels. It’s a philosophy he’s honed while running his other business providing IT services, which he now operates remotely.

“Garbage in, garbage out,” he said. “If you make a mistake or something falls on the bagel and marks it, it’ll end up that way as a finished product.”

Why bagels mean so much to him

Lee, whose father is Korean and mother is Brazilian, said his bakery is ultimately about food memories — and draws inspiration from what he ate growing up. The only other baked good 29 Loaves sells is pão de queijo, a gluten-free Brazilian cheese puff he makes.

Richard Lee handmakes New York-style bagels at his home operation.

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Courtesy 29 Loaves

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But nothing rivals bagels. Sundays were often bagel days in his childhood home in the Long Island suburbs. As a teenager working for his father, Lee remembered they would make detours off the Long Island Expressway to grab fresh bagels.

“They were nice and plump, and they were so hot,” he said.

Father and son would eat them straight out of the bag — no cream cheese, no nothing.

“Those were the types of memories that I wanna bring here,” Lee said.