Sure, everyone seems to be falling in love with their Hinge dates lately, but that doesn’t mean the good old-fashioned meet-cute is dead and gone—especially when the sun comes out and everyone’s searching for someone to put sunscreen on their back. And if Love Island has taught the world anything, it’s that nothing sparks romance like donning a swimsuit and flirting with strangers.
Looking to couple up (sans cameramen) with your own perfect match? Here are 10 hotel pools in San Diego where you might meet your soulmate this summer.
Kimpton Alma
Courtesy of The Kimpton Alma
Kimpton Alma San Diego
Who You’ll Find: Your Pet’s New Step-parent
Do you find it ridiculous or adorable when someone brings their dog everywhere? If you lean toward the awww side of the spectrum, your soulmate could be at Kimpton Alma. The dog-friendly hotel attracts people who wouldn’t dream of leaving town without their fur baby. If you want to be a step-parent to a cute pooch, spend a few minutes by the pool or rooftop bar and start a conversation with a hottie by complimenting their pet’s Prada collar or shiny coat.
Town and Country Resort pool
Courtesy of Town and Country Resort
Town and Country San Diego
Who You’ll Find: Jet-Set Single Parents
The pool at Town & Country is filled with families spending their vacation days in sunny San Diego. But don’t worry, scattered around the deck are plenty of single parents ready to mingle and chat about life with three children under age 10. If you’re looking to Von Trapp the situation, this is where to spend your weekend days with the kids. Plus, their Twister water slide is open to adults, and what’s not to love about that?
Kona Kai Resort pool
Courtesy of Kona Kai Resort
Kona Kai Resort & Spa
Who You’ll Find: The Good-With-Their-Hands Type
Point Loma is a haven for sailors and seamen captaining sailboats around Shelter Island and in America’s Cup Harbor. So it’s no surprise the people you’ll find lounging near the Kona Kai pool are the same people holding up a dorado in their dating app photos. They tend to get a bad rep, but you wouldn’t be disappointed if your significant other brought home fresh ahi for dinner each night, right? Plus, we hear they’re good with their hands—you know, keeping track of all those jib and main lines.
Hard Rock Hotel San Diego – Sunburn pool party
Courtesy of Hard Rock Hotel San Diego
Hard Rock Hotel San Diego
Who You’ll Find: Bronzed Beauties & Washboard Abs
Sometimes you want the chaos and revelry of Vegas without the hassle of the 15 or the lost-luggage roulette you play every time you check your suitcase on a flight—which is why San Diego has the Hard Rock Hotel in the Gaslamp. The property’s pool is the place to go if you’re looking for bronzed, highly tattooed men spraying Champagne during every beat drop and women wearing high heels to show off their assets. You know the people you see on Instagram who somehow always make it behind the DJ stand at the club? That’s the energy you can expect here.
The Pendry
Courtesy of The Pool House
Pendry San Diego
Who You’ll Find: Your Secret Instagram Crush
If the Hard Rock gives Vegas, think of the Pendry San Diego as the Coachella of pool parties. The smell of spray tan fills the air as girls and guys wear as little clothing as legally possible—and snap the social media photos to prove it. Fridays and Saturdays are popping at Pendry; however, the Pool House turns it up a notch on Sundays (we see you, industry folks). All-weekend warriors and IG influencers will meet their match here. Do it for the follow.
La Jollans live for La Valencia’s day pass because the pool area offers wifi, so you can work from a lounger and mingle with other people who are sipping cocktails and moving their mouse every few minutes to keep their Slack status on “active.” Grab a Torrey Tea, take your AirPods out, and don’t be afraid to spark a conversation with that good-looking single a couple of chairs over.
Hotel Del Coronado pool
Courtesy of The Hotel Del Coronado
Hotel del Coronado
Who You’ll Find: Your Sugar Dad…Person
Come July, Coronado becomes a who’s who of well-to-do Arizonians escaping the heat for the summer. If dating someone who views the Waste Management Open as their Olympics is up your alley, find a chair poolside at The Hotel Del. The clientele dresses ultra-preppy and wants you to know they have enough money to afford the hotel’s expensive beachside casitas—and, while many of them are likely married retirees, gossiping with them puts you one step closer to a blind date with their hot-shot lawyer son or doctor daughter.
Fairmont Grand Del Mar pool
Courtesy of The Fairmont Grand Del Mar
Fairmont Grand Del Mar
Who You’ll Find: Well-to-Do 40-Somethings
The Fairmont Grand Del Mar is tucked behind one of San Diego’s wealthiest neighborhoods. The poolside vibe is old money meets country club chic—the men probably spend more money golfing monthly than you do on rent, and the women sport expensive athleisure and tennis bracelets with perfectly wrinkleless foreheads. The resort guests and members of The Grand Golf Club can access the pools here, so grab a cocktail and wait for the honeys to exit the course.
The Cassara Carlsbad, pool
The Cassara Carlsbad
The Cassara Carlsbad
Who You’ll Find: Singles Who Enjoy Working Out on Vacation
It’s no fancy aquatic center, but you’ll likely find the athletic type around The Cassara Carlsbad’s quiet pool with its dedicated lanes for lap swimming. (The nearby Equinox doesn’t have a pool, so locals hit this place up to practice their backstroke.) These are the same types of people who run 5Ks with their families on holidays, so before you make eyes at the Michael Phelps look-alike across the water, make sure you’re willing to put in 3.1 miles before breakfast on Thanksgiving.
The Seabird
Courtesy of The Seabird
The Seabird Resort
Who You’ll Find: Like, Totally Chill Brahs, Dude
This quintessential SoCal spot makes for the perfect soulmate-searching destination if your type has sun-bleached hair and is typically glued to a surfboard. Slip into the hot tub at The Seabird, which overlooks Oceanside Pier, and scope out wetsuit-clad singles. Your bird’s-eye view will allow you to separate the groms from the rippers.
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Molly Delmore is a freelance writer and content creator from San Diego. When she’s not checking out San Diego’s newest restaurants, bars, and shops, she’s planning her next trip to the mountains to snowboard or a new country to explore. Her work has been featured in San Diego Magazine, Mashed, and Tasting Table.
I hadn’t noticed him when he and his friend walked into Waterfront Bar in Little Italy. When Ryan (not his real name) came up and began introducing himself, I didn’t think much of it.
And then, I looked up. Six-foot-three, wearing a flat-brimmed hat and large grin—my five-one self was suddenly glad that I became a rock climber during the pandemic. Within minutes we were chatting and flirting. His hand began to graze my lower back as he spoke.
And then we kissed.
Smooching in bars at 40 isn’t my idea of romance, but if you make it to the top of the Empire State Building, you don’t miss out on the view.
At the other end of the bar, in a fun twist, my ex John was shooting his own shot with multiple women. There are some days that seem more scripted than others. Maybe I really am living in a rom com—or at least a comedy. Most days the rom feels elusive.
Ryan got my number and texted me the next day, but I didn’t hear from him again until three days later, when I reached out. The Lion’s Share in downtown was throwing an anniversary party, so I asked him to be my plus-one.
He was wishy-washy about his answer up until the event started. He agreed to show up a little late. This was the first time something inside me wondered if he was the commitment type, but it was still early.
I got butterflies when he arrived. He was immediately affectionate, stroking my back and complimenting my outfit. We kissed on barstools in a dark corner later that night as we sipped on tequila sodas and beer.
As we chatted over the next couple of days, I let him know that I didn’t want to be the only one asking the other person to hang, but still, I invited him to watch the Super Bowl with my friends and me. He said he’d let me know.
When he didn’t show and instead asked if I wanted to come by afterwards, I declined, feeling that sense women get when a guy only asks to hang late at night.
A few weeks after meeting Ryan, my matchmaker set up my first date with a pre-vetted person: Connor. He’s 44. A lawyer. He goes to therapy. He’s active and an avid traveler. He wants a family and loves pupusas (the food of my Salvadorian roots).
On paper he seemed like a catch.
My matchmaker let me know we’d be meeting at Stone Brewing in Liberty Station and gave me his number the day-of. First dates are always a little nerve-wracking, but meeting a complete stranger (save for three mediocre photos and a quick bio) was a bit less intimidating.
When he walked up, my initial reaction was that he was attractive, though not exactly my type. But Connor surprised me. I didn’t feel the same butterflies as I did with Ryan and we didn’t have the same flirtatious banter, but we had more meaningful conversations.
Connor showed up as a man—meaning, he didn’t seem like many of the young guys I had dated before. He spoke with self-awareness, shared his points of view while listening to mine, and asked me enough questions that I felt like it was a conversation and not a one-sided interview.
We also shared personal family stories. I opened up about private things that I would never share on a first date—stuff I’d usually withhold until we’re closer to relationship status. He told me about his family dynamics. Conversations like this could be uncomfortable for some this early on, but I appreciated that he laid it out for me and allowed me to decide what to do with it. There was no hiding for either of us.
After the date ended, he walked me to my car, we hugged, and I went home. I don’t think my insides were doing somersaults, but I do think meeting someone who has worked on themselves, knows their value, and possesses emotional intelligence is becoming harder to find these days—at least in my own dating life. It was refreshing.
He texted me before we went to bed, thanking me for hanging out. He also brought up an awkward moment that had occurred during the date and addressed it so that it didn’t linger longer than that evening.
Connor asked me to hang out again. Our next date is planned for tonight. He picked two places ahead of time—neither is in our neighborhoods (he had to do his research). It’s this little bit of effort that, in my convos with others, really makes a difference nowadays.
If I’m being honest, though, my gut is sending up a few warning signs with Ryan while my emotions need to catch up to my brain with Connor. I’m used to the Ryans of the world and see glimpses of my ex in him already. It’s easy to dive in head-first when the attraction is front and center, but I know that I don’t want to do the heavy-lifting while I date anymore.
With Connor, I’d normally be quick to assume it’s not a match. Not because we didn’t have a lot in common, but because the immediate attraction was missing. It’s not a novel concept to me that you can fall for someone’s character before falling for their looks. Some of my exes started as friends. But it’s sincerely hard to always put it into practice—especially when you feel like time isn’t on your side anymore (hello, 40).
Part of writing this column is to take accountability for how I date, but to also be willing to make the kinds of decisions that can finally change the course of my previous love stories. So with that, will I be able to cut things off with Ryan if he can’t match my dating efforts? Can I give Connor the time needed for something more to develop?
Time will tell how each plays out, so I guess you’ll have to come back next week to see how things are going. I’m curious to find out myself.
Nicolle Monico is an award-winning writer and the director of creative projects, digital editor for San Diego Magazine with more than 19 years of experience in media including Outside Run, JustLuxe and The San Francisco Chronicle.
In Unhinged, San Diego local and SDM editor Nicolle Monico shares her experiences dating in the citywhile hopefully finding love in the process.
“What I’m hearing is that you don’t like to be the one answering questions because you don’t feel like you have much to offer,” says a stranger sitting in front of me, five minutes after I meet him.
I start to sweat. This happens a lot when I get nervous, and not in a charming way. It’s the kind that lingers on your upper lip as you talk so you’re continually wiping your face.
I’m sitting in a large circle. It feels as though neon signs blink overhead, calling out my insecurities, as I scan the room of 25 other singles. We begin the second half of the mixer, starting with a meditation before discussing “authentic relating,” a concept that author Ryel Kestano laid out in his book Authentic Relating: A Guide to Rich, Meaningful, Nourishing Relationships.
As we meditate, I question why I’m here, who I could ever meet in this environment. Is finding a partner just not for me? Is everyone else as uncomfortable as I am?
Being a little uncomfortable is kind of the point, though. Authentic relating is designed to slice through the shallow pleasantries of the typical first date. “When you practice authentic relating, you are bringing your whole self into the relationship,” Singer says. “You’re not strategizing; you’re not playing games; you’re not changing yourself to be some version that you think the other person is going to like better than the real. And being seen and heard is healing.”
Kestano defines three levels of conversation: informational (pure facts), personal (feelings about facts), and relational.
“[The relational level] is a conversation where you are revealing your experience and what it feels like to be in this moment with the other person. It is always new,” Singer explains. “It is unscripted. This moment that we are having here has literally never happened before.”
According to Singer, level three is the game-changing key to connecting authentically with others. She asks us to share with each other what is “alive” for us in this moment. In less woo-woo terms: How are you actually feeling as you’re being asked to get to know this person?
As we follow Singer’s prompts, my conversation partner zeroes in on the fact that I tend to push attention off of myself because I don’t enjoy feeling vulnerable with strangers. (Truthfully, this column is not easy to write, at all.)
It’s a far cry from the “What do you do?” convos I usually have with acquaintances. In this setting, I couldn’t feign perfection and hide the parts of me that feel complicated or weak. But neither could he.
As we spoke, I learned that he had never participated in any type of dating meet-up or event like this and that it was overwhelming for him—so much so that during a mid-session break, he quietly slipped out and went home. Nevertheless, our mutual willingness to analyze our reactions and interactions humanized him. I found myself caring about him more than I would have had we just prattled about our favorite hobbies.
This is what seems to be missing in dating right now. Frustrated and fed up by endless failed dates and used to the split-second decision-making of swiping on apps, we might find it difficult to muster the energy to really connect with someone new, at least until we’ve assessed whether they’re worth the effort.
But maybe that’s the problem. What if we approached every date as a chance to engage with an interesting new person, whether or not it leads to a relationship? Every stranger has a story to tell. “We think that people connect to the glossy version of ourselves,” Singer says. “ But actually, where most connection takes place is with the messiest parts of our human experience.”
And, if we buy into Kestano’s words, being willing to get deep right away can help foster relationships built on honesty, integrity, trust, and wholeness.
The singles event wasn’t what I had expected, and it wasn’t always easy to release my ego and follow Singer’s suggestions. But I’m glad I went. The thing is, though, I’m nervous to share this post this week, because it all feels so obvious.
Yet, from what I’ve seen—and read in the flood of DMs I’ve received since starting this series—we’re not actually putting these ideas into practice. Could our perspective on dating change if we started seeing one-off dates as a good thing—an opportunity to learn something new about others and ourselves?
After all, I didn’t meet anyone that night, but I did use some of these methods on my first date with Connor (not his real name) this past Monday. He asked me out again (more on this later). Maybe he was attracted to my mess.
As always, thanks for following along. See you next Friday!
Nicolle Monico is an award-winning writer and the director of creative projects, digital editor for San Diego Magazine with more than 19 years of experience in media including Outside Run, JustLuxe and The San Francisco Chronicle.
In Unhinged, San Diego local and SDM editor Nicolle Monico shares her experiences dating in the city, seeks advice from relationship experts, and dissects the current landscape—while hopefully finding love in the process.
Last year, WalletHub named San Diego the ninth best city in the US for singles wanting to date. But if my dating apps and convos with other local singles are any indication of how true that is, I call BS. Sure, there are plenty of people open to dating, but finding commitment in a city full of Peter Pans is a different story.
I’ve lived in San Diego for 15 years and have dated in this town in my 20s, 30s, and now 40s. I’ve spent weeks chatting with a potential partner only to learn later that they aren’t ready for a relationship (even though their profile said otherwise). I’ve even had a guy leave my side to pick up food for a BBQ, then text me from the road that he’s breaking up with me.
I recently read a quote from Glynnis Macnicol, author of No One Tells You This—her debut memoir on women and singleness—that rang true. “Culturally there is a lot of messaging out there that after the age of 40, if you have not acquired a partner or child, you are sort of in a no man’s land of invisibility,” she toldRefinery 29.
Oof. I feel this.
Being single in your late 30s and 40s (not by choice), feels invisible—at least as a woman. You’re unseen, you’re in the way. No one really knows what to do with you in the dating world. You’re out of the PB nightlife scene and past the cut-off for young professional meet-up groups. Your married friends only have married friends. And dating apps just aren’t working anymore.
Then you have the US Census Bureau telling us that, currently, 57 percent of single adults aren’t interested in a relationship or casual dating. Great. Perfect. And according to a recent PEW research study, “A quarter of 40-year-old Americans have never been married, more than in any other time since data has been collected.”
Have we all just given up? Or has the culture shifted so far to one side that we’re all messier, more discontent, and unsure of how to make real connections nowadays?
I’d like some answers, or at least, some guidance on how single people are supposed to navigate a world filled with swipes, ghosting, and grown-ass adults saying they aren’t ready to commit.
My last relationship lasted three years, but there were so many ups and downs that I’m still working through some lingering whiplash. I inevitably redownloaded the dreaded apps. Hinge was my go-to. After a year, I deleted it one night in a fit of frustration.
So, over the next few months, I’ll be ditching the apps (getting un-Hinge-d, if you will), diving back into the wild world of dating, and sharing my experiences right here for all. I’m hoping that by getting vulnerable, while digging into San Diego’s dating scene, those who also feel unseen can start to realize they’re not alone. Together, maybe we can learn how to better find love in 2024. I’m genuinely hoping to meet someone special.
I’ll be documenting my personal dating experiences while working with local matchmaker and relationship coach Sophy Singer, dissecting dates and conversations, talking with experts in the field, unearthing current research on dating and mental health, and recounting the stories of other singles in San Diego so that we can figure this out together.
Up first: Tonight’s Valentine’s Day workout and mixer with F45 and Sophy Love. A little flirting, a little sweat, and a healthy amount of awkwardness—honestly, it sounds just like my first time.
Nicolle Monico is an award-winning writer and the director of creative projects, digital editor for San Diego Magazine with more than 19 years of experience in media including Outside Run, JustLuxe and The San Francisco Chronicle.
The Best Gym in San Diego Isn’t Really a Gym Anymore
Earlier this year, Fit quietly dropped "athletic" from its brand, from Fit Athletic Clubs to simply Fit, and started calling itself something new: a social wellness club.
There’s a version of San Diego that lives in two extremes. On one side, the 5 a.m. crowd: biohackers, marathoners, people who’ve already logged a cold plunge before your alarm goes off. On the other, the after-dark crowd, the ones chasing sunset happy hours and late dinners with friends. Everyone seems to be either optimizing or unwinding, and most of us feel like we’re failing at both.
Fit, San Diego’s reigning Best Gym for the third year running, has built its entire identity around erasing that divide.
Walk into one of Fit’s three San Diego locations on a Tuesday afternoon and the lines blur fast. Someone’s mid-set on the squat rack. Someone else has a laptop open at a café table a few feet away, half-working, half-people-watching. A group is trading plans for the weekend’s event by the recovery lounge. Nobody’s in a rush to leave.
“We’re not competing for the same people,” says Emily Waybright, Public Relations Manager at Fit, addressing the arrival of a national luxury gym chain in San Diego this year. “We don’t really feel like we’re in the gym category. It’s this unique thing.”
That unique thing has a name now. Earlier this year, Fit quietly dropped “athletic” from its brand, from Fit Athletic Clubs to simply Fit, and started calling itself something new: a social wellness club.
It’s a small wording change with a bigger idea behind it. Fit was never built around escaping the workday. It was built around the people who genuinely like what they do, and who want workouts, work, and friendships to happen in the same place instead of three separate ones. Because sometimes red light therapy with a stranger turns into weekend plans.
Fit’s philosophy traces back to its founder, who started the brand nearly two decades ago after failing to find a gym he actually wanted to belong to. He looked instead to the old-school country club, where people came for a shared interest and stayed for the community. His version was made for a younger generation, minus the golf, plus the loud music.
Which makes it a little ironic that the very award putting Fit back in the spotlight this year is Best Gym.
What does the best traditional gym look like when the definition of a gym is becoming less traditional? It’s a fair question, and Fit’s answer is that the fitness industry itself is shifting. The 45-minutes-in, 45-minutes-out model is giving way to something closer to a genuine third space, the kind of role the office and the bar used to play before remote work and changing nightlife habits rearranged how people spend their time
For Fit, community isn’t a marketing add-on to fitness. It’s the through-line. Members aren’t just paying for a treadmill; they’re paying for an entire day of social wellness that’s built on performance, recovery, connection, and a plan for the next event on the calendar. That’s a much harder membership to walk away from.
Ambition and ease aren’t opposites here, they exist side by side, where passion and play share the same morning. On September 12, Fit is hosting Sol, a full day wellness festival at Fit Social. The morning focuses on wellness classes and vendors and then the evening is a full party with multiple DJ sets and an open bar. Think of it as a kick-off to locals’ summer in San Diego.
Ready to see what a social wellness club actually looks like? Visit fitclubs.com, or follow along at @thefitclubs on Instagram.
You come home from your first day of school and your parents ask, “Did you make any new friends?” Maybe trading Lunchables or sharing a pack of Oreos helped you break out of your shell to strike up a conversation. Maybe you saw your classmate wearing a Padres hat and asked if his favorite player was also Fernando Tatis Jr. Maybe you’re a natural extrovert who has no problem inviting your entire class to your birthday party.
Making friends is an entirely different beast as an adult. You’re trying to balance your health, work, finances, family, and your sanity. And on top of that, a social life? Impossible.
Being a part of a bigger community—like a rec sports league—helps, but we all need intimacy. Witnesses to the exciting, mundane, shameful parts of our lives. Turns out, men don’t have that as much as women do, and the consequences of this are dire. Roughly 1 in 6 men say they have no close friendships, according to a 2021 American Perspectives Survey. Suicide rates in men are nearly four times higher than they are in women, according to the National Institute of Mental Health. Those numbers are even higher for men above 55, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (2023).
In Carlsbad, Men’s Shed helps older men build friendships as the group contributes to construction projects across North County. “Men get lonely,” says Glenn Bernard, one of more than 20 members of Men’s Shed in Carlsbad. “This is a good way to bond, socialize, share skills, and have something to do that’s worthwhile. Purposeful.”
What started in Australia in the 1990s has grown into an international nonprofit with more than 3,000 chapters worldwide, including one that meets at Carlsbad By The Sea Retirement Community. Haley DiDonato, director of life enrichment at Carlsbad By The Sea, established California’s first and only public chapter in 2023. Members (aka Shedders) meet twice a month to discuss their projects and get to work.
They’ve built bikes for the local Boys and Girls Club, a raptor shed at the Agua Hedionda Lagoon, a small birdhouse outside Front Porch Gallery, and a gazebo at St. Michael’s by-the-Sea Episcopal Church, to name a few.
Trade experience isn’t required. David Gilson, the group’s leader, was a pharmaceutical consultant before he retired. Rich Greenamyer is a retired engineering duty officer who built ships in the Navy. When John Gardella wasn’t working sales at Dupont, he woodworked projects for his family at home.
“Men are so tied up in their work all their life,” Gilson says. “Their identity was their job. Suddenly, you retire on Friday, and on Monday they don’t remember you. Now what?”
Courtesy of Dad’s Corps
Marital status also affects how men interact with the community around them. Some Shedders joined because their “wives encourage [them] to be in Men’s Shed, to get out of the house for a couple hours every couple of weeks,” Gardella says. For some widowers in the group—such as Gilson, whose wife passed away eight years ago—Men’s Shed provides a sense of purpose and place. The outings Gilson organizes breaks up the monotony of staying at home with his dog. A 2024 study in the National Library of Medicine says widowers feel long-term levels of loneliness (higher levels than widows), and they were less likely than widows to form new connections after loss. This group is changing that.
The appearance and function of male friendships have been spotlighted since the 300s BC, when Aristotle discussed them in Ethics. Fast forward to the 19th century, and these dynamics have transitioned from heroic friendships—ones built on loyalty and nobility—to ones that better symbolized the Romantic Age: more affectionate in written language (like writing letters to each other) and body language (like draping their arms around one another). By the end of the 1800s, 1 in 3 American men belonged to a fraternal organization.
But when World War II brought a homophobic “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” suspicion around male bonding, friendships between men became more stoic. It wasn’t common for men to talk about their feelings with each other.
In 2026, though, we’re sharing our feelings. Dads Corps, a nonprofit organization through Social Advocates for Youth San Diego, offers classes, resources, and supportive services to fathers. Twice a week for six weeks, fathers practice how to actively listen, learn how to better communicate, and gain more skills that help them in their parenting journeys.
“When dads have kids, they lose their friends because it’s all about just the baby, the mom, and the family,” says Dads Corps director Laura Soto. “When they come to our classes, they get comfortable being able to share their struggles. It does reduce the isolation and help normalize them in that struggle.”
For dads who are new to San Diego, the program helps them navigate their way around the city. For single dads, they can meet other fathers who are raising children the same age to set up playdates. Oftentimes, dads graduate from their cohort and return to volunteer and mentor new attendees.
The program is as therapeutic as it is active. Group facilitators teach dads about healthy relationship practices, answer questions about how they can be more consistent in their children’s lives. It also hosts fishing trips, barbecues, and community service events to let dads practice their learnings with each other outside a classroom.
“It’s about acknowledging that we need to be heard about the concerns that we don’t ask help for as fathers,” says Jorge Narvaez, alumni manager at Dads Corps. “We live in a society where fathers have to look through crevices—go to a bar, go to a barbershop, go to all these different places—just to have interactions with other people. It feels like we finally, as dads at this program, have a space for us to talk.”
Photo Credit: Arlene Ibarra
But some men don’t want to only talk about their inner selves; they also want to talk about books. For Ronald Alsop, the New York City Gay Men’s Book Club was a place for him to meet local bibliophiles when he lived on the opposite coast. There was no equivalent in San Diego—until he started it in 2019. He created the Mission Hills-Hillcrest Gay Men’s Book Club as a way to meet other men and talk about authors like James Baldwin and Edmund White.
Whether it’s Andrew Holleran’s fictional coming of age Dancer from the Dance (the first book the club read) or George Chauncey’s non-fiction novel Gay New York, the books Alsop chooses share a common thread: Each carries some connection with gay culture.
“Traditionally, gay men were depicted in books in a tragic way,” says Alsop, who is also a freelance writer. “In more recent years, there’s been a more positive spin on it, a more wholesome outcome.”
Alsop initially promoted the group by putting flyers around the neighborhood bars and in Uptown News. He was nervous before the first meeting, afraid no one would show up. Now, there are roughly 35 people on his email blast, and the monthly meetups regularly see 12 to 15 people participate.
“The discussion’s always lively,” Alsop says. “I think it’s a way to get to know people better.”
Throughout the county, because of these groups, people are reading books (its own win, these days) and creating community. Dads and their children are getting invited to birthday parties from their fellow fathers. And in Carlsbad, some Men’s Shed meetings are taking place at Hennessey’s Tavern down the road over brunch. As friends.
Matt Eisenberg is an award-winning writer and photographer based in San Diego. A former ESPN editor, his work has also been published by CNN, Bleacher Report and the New York Daily News.
It was the summer of 1999. MTV, The Matrix, and first-generation PlayStation glowed on tube TV sets all over America. What a time to be alive. Smartphones weren’t yet stealing people from the moment. Cultural was a shared reality. During the last few minutes of the monoculture, Tony Hawk executed the first-ever 900 at X Games V in San Francisco. That’s two and a half aerial rotations with a side of the dizzies.
The time had run out on the Vert Best Trick competition long before the 11th attempt when he pulled off the fateful feat. Nobody cared. Not the judges, not the competition, and certainly not the crowd. “Let that bird fly,” they said. Once the trick was landed, they partied like it was 1999 … because it was.
That was the tipping point when the skateboarding world exploded, going from counterculture to a national phenomenon. Shortly after that, “Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater” video game came out, introducing millions of kids to what skate culture looked like. Oh, the game had a killer punk soundtrack, too.
We can all thank Hawk for the globalization of skateboarding. But we can also recognize his local influence and how San Diego County continues to be a hub for skateboarders young and old, for competitors and street skaters. To see it all, go to Park De La Cruz in City Heights—or, heck, any other skatepark in the county—which, at 19,000 square feet, is about twice the size of the average skatepark and has signature features like an M-shaped transition ramp. The amount of talent that continues to evolve in this county is a testament to deep-rooted skate culture and world-class athletes supporting the next generation.
Photo Credit: Casiel Sanchez
The Skatepark
I’m a little early for a skate lesson with pro skater Mike Owen when I get to Linda Vista Skatepark. In the 2010s, Owen ranked as one of the world’s top bowl riders. He’s the founder of San Diego Skateboarding and has “helped thousands of kids, teens, and adults learn to skate safely, confidently, and with style,” the company’s site says. And now it’s my turn. We start the lesson on the nearby tennis courts, getting my basic foot mechanics down. Safety before style.
In terms of street plaza features, the massive Linda Vista Skatepark is loaded with rails, stairs, manuals, and ledges. There are more bowls than you can get from Cava: a flow bowl, backyard-style pool, and vert bowl. The main feature is a full pipe for advanced line riders. It’s a hell of a park, even if somebody just wants to watch the action from the 100-foot-long pedestrian skybridge overhead.
Right now, San Diego has over 50 public skateparks scattered throughout the county. “There are now more [skateparks], more resources for them, and more terrain,” Owen tells me. “Now, they’re offering different competitive style skateparks that help for competitions. The best parks have a variety of different terrain where you have things for beginners and bigger transitions. Not every town has that.”
San Diego, luckily, does. But despite the bounty, Owen believes there should still be more—public skateparks are safe spaces for all to learn and develop on-board skills. Without them, a huge portion of San Diego’s culture withers. Encinitas could be the next city to add a skatepark to the county’s roster: In early July, the Encinitas City Council appointed 12 local skaters and community members for the newly established Skate Feature Committee. In partnership with two councilmembers, the committee’s purpose is to design a working skatepark or feature for the city.
But like any big project, Owen says, it’s a long process to add another skatepark to the community.
“I wish it were easier,” he says. “When there are different contractors for different things, [there’s only] a certain amount of time to build. It gets tricky.”
Then there’s the matter of funding the actual construction and development of the skatepark. That usually comes from grants, fundraisers, and donations. For reference, Linda Vista Skatepark was built on a $4.46 million grant from the California Department of Housing and Community Development in 2014. With an additional $40,000 donated by the Tony Hawk Foundation, the park opened in 2018 and is the largest in San Diego’s Parks and Recreation system. The best way to get a skatepark in your neighborhood, Owen says, is to start a petition and reach out to your city.
Photo Credit: Blair Alley
The Street Skaters
Jordan Thrower’s first street skate sesh at San Diego City College in 2003 ended with a police chase. The campus was swarming with skaters riding rails, jumping stairs, and grinding tricks on benches, curbs, and ledges. When the cops got on their loudspeaker telling them not to run, everyone obviously ran. Back then, cops would give tickets and confiscate boards. The vibe has loosened since. “Now, the police don’t really care,” Thrower says. “They just make you leave. It’s not anything crazy.”
Street skating is when riders use real-world urban obstacles, rather than pristinely designed bowls or ramps—such as in college campuses, downtown areas, corporate buildings, and malls. Abandoned mini-golf courses and construction sites do the trick, too.
Thrower says the street skating hub here isn’t as huge as it once was. Thanks to modern technology and social media, skaters aren’t tied to any certain place to create skate videos. You know, those videos that could have been taken this year but have the low-fi vibe of 2004, where skaters carve down stairwells into parking lots, over mailboxes, or across park benches. The silver lining: Even though there are fewer street skaters than there once was, those who stayed in San Diego are still tight.
“Everyone skates with each other and knows each other here,” Thrower says. “In LA, it’s not really like that. It’s small there, but not everybody knows each other, and they don’t really skate with each other too much. They just have a lot of little crews.”
Back in 2015, Thrower started his own street team and brand that sells boards and shirts called Tantrum. The Tantrum team is split between San Diego and San Francisco. It doesn’t take much to be a part of a skate team. You just have to be a good hang.
“The way I pick people [for the team] is if I can get along with them,” he says. “It doesn’t even really matter if they’re that good. If you’re likable and funny, you can pretty much be on the team.”
Photo Credit: Marc Wierenega
The Future
Running it up to North County, a Vista-based nonprofit organization called Exposure Skate has been shaping up the youth since 2012. Its mission is to give more opportunities to otherwise underrepresented women, girls, and non-binary individuals by offering classes and camps. This, to build up confidence and community. We could all use a little bit of that, eh?
Thanks to Exposure Skate, 13-year-old Joey Yarbrough has found herself competing in the LA Olympic trials. (Her first time on a skateboard came at just 18 months old at an Exposure Skate Rising event.)
While competing for Team USA in Rome in June of this year, she finished 13th at the first Olympic qualifier for LA28. Currently ranked 21st in the world and 5th among American women, the young prodigy is blooming. And she’s in good company and mentorship from her biggest influence, Bryce Wettstein.
“She taught me at the first Exposure Skate Rising when I was little,” Yarbrough recalls. “I compete and skate with her all the time now, and it’s super fun. [At Exposure,] it feels so good to have someone there to help me whenever I need it. They’re like my family, always encouraging me and always there for me.”
Yarbrough will be just 15 years old when the Olympics go down in LA. She’s following the Olympic torch carried by other locals such as Wettstein, Ruby Lilley, Jordyn Barratt, and Exposure Skate’s Amelia Brodka.
“I’m working my hardest to get there,” she says. “I’ll also work my hardest to go higher in the Olympics, maybe on podium. That’s just my dream. So, hopefully it’ll come true.”
Jake Peterson is a San Diego-based journalist and culture writer. His work explores the city’s music scene, sports, local characters, and the offbeat corners of San Diego’s subcultures.
Growing up, Laika Nur, MD, Scripps Clinic sports medicine specialist, loved watching beach volleyball when the Association of Volleyball Professionals tour came to her hometown of Chicago. A talented volleyball player herself, she remembers sitting in the stands all day, and once, even got a couple autographs. Years later, Dr. Nur was attending a professional event focused on women’s sports, and the discussion turned to a new professional women’s volleyball league. The general manager and coaching staff for San Diego’s team, the Mojo, happened to be in attendance, and Dr. Nur took the opportunity to ask them if they needed a team doctor. Flash forward to the Mojo’s inaugural 2024 season, when Dr. Nur officially became the team physician. Click here to read more about Dr. Nur and how she incorporates lessons she learned on the court into her practice.
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