The beekeeper’s van is blocking my enlightenment. I’m trying to pull up the tiny driveway of the Inn at Moonlight Beach, which is steep and full of ulcers. I’m driving my wife’s car, a sheepishly adorable white convertible VW Bug (she’s from New York and hadn’t driven in a decade when I convinced her to move out here, and, if she was going live in California, she was damn sure going to have a white convertible that smelled like suntan lotion and subway emancipation).
Even with this sexy, tiny turtle car, this driveway is harrowing. If I hit the gas wrong, I’m going to take out the very lush porch, dismantling wide swaths of zen. If I have a mishap with the clutch, I’m sure to plow through the micro-farm stand (located halfway up the driveway, on the right).
Courtesy of the Inn at Moonlight Beach
I’m not sure what I expected of an “inn.” Not sure I’ve pondered what that word means since I was a young kid reading about the Jerry Springer-y birth Mary and Joseph experienced. Many lodging facilities across the US call themselves “inns” to portray a warm provincialism, to appeal to the traveling-aunt in us all. And then you get there and it’s just, like, a huge industrial dormitory with an Olde English–looking logo and weapons-grade carpet.
This place, though, is what I think an inn should be. A home, fascinatingly transformed into a snug alcove for weary life travelers.
It is the first platinum WELL-certified hotel in the world. The WELL certification is kinda like organic food certification—but, whereas organic means that food was grown without pesticides and is expensive, WELL-certified denotes places where a shocking amount of things about the property are designed for human health and wellness.
Like this hedge of rosemary and lavender and a dozen other herbs lining the front of the property, used in tea and in your bath to create a sort of human potpourri. Or the succulent table (tiny, engorged, dinosaur-looking plants on a wooden bench, which guests can mix and match for their own parting gift of water-wise puffy plants). And the bug motel, a box of circular wooden tubes for them to rest their weary pollinating mandibles.
Insects are four-star guests here (but, it should be noted, they seem to not bother, maybe dissuaded by the essential oils and incense near the small altar of the owner’s guru, or maybe because they’ve got their own little inn of their own).
Courtesy of the Inn at Moonlight Beach
The whole property—basically a very large home a few blocks from the beach in Encinitas, turned into a wellness sanctuary—is a living, breathing thing. A home surrounded and hugged by a micro-farm. A farmer walks among the vines and shrubs and trees, pruning this and that. He’s thin, angular. He looks very plant-based, bearded as is written in farmer rules, his personality soft and amiable because he looks at plants all day instead of his damn phone. He is so calm and present that, just encountering him, you wonder if your own damn phone has zip-driven your soul.
When Shangwen Chiu Kennedy and her husband first bought this place in 2017, it was a pretty humble bed-and-breakfast—less “old” than just kind of existing. The dirt was that love-thirsty, latte-brown dust, a sort of Yuma hard pack, like the basepaths of abandoned Little League fields. In Shangwen’s vision of a wellness inn, she had to first bring life back to the earth. She dug it all up and piled it in the driveway, a giant heap of ground rehab, and started feeding it compost to it every day, covering it with a tarp.
If you pulled back the tarp and felt the black soil, she says, it was warm, almost hot—the exothermic effect of a billion-trillion micro-organisms building a society of nutrients. She eventually dispersed that supersoil and planted her little inn-farm that the Farmer of Calm patiently fusses with. She digs her finger in the dirt and picks a tiny purple carrot, the size of a baby thumb. Then, a strawberry off the vine. We walk through the noren and into the “lobby” of the inn, where she washes the fruit and places it on a tiny compostable bamboo tray.
The idea of all this, Shangwen explains, is that the warm earth and biodynamically grown organic food-plants and shrubs are exuding an oxygen and life force around the whole property. Nutrients vaporized (she didn’t say that unscientific gibberish; this is me imagining) so that you’re sleeping in the invisible lukewarm life steam of a giant naturalist diffuser. Farm bathing.
Shangwen’s a force. Two degrees from Cornell and Harvard in architecture, landscape, and urban design. She was on partner track at famed architecture firm NBBJ with her mentor, Alex Krieger (an Obama appointee). Together, they rebuilt the Shanghai waterfront (she’d done her thesis on it). She helped build one of the most famous waterfronts in the world—the Bund—before realizing she wanted to slow down and create things like this in San Diego.
In the main room, a couple of employees slowly, methodically do the work of the inn. They arrange cutting boards of fruits, dates, nuts, and raw honey from the local Mikolich family. They steep various teas using herbs grown all around the building. They take freshly picked lavender and other herbs and dip them into honey in jars, then seal them up and let them infuse along the west-facing windows. They dehydrate fruits. They teach classes on how to do all this stuff for guests who are interested.
There are various nuts you can crack. Dehydrated apples, things picked.
I’m here because my wife and CEO Claire has given me a day off. We took over San Diego Magazine almost two years ago. Our son was born the same week. Timing could have been better, things spaced out a bit. Should you ever consider doing those two things concurrently, know that I learned something important.
Courtesy of the International WELL Building Institute
Before making two seismic decisions at the same time, it’s important to identify the environment in which you’re about to make the decisions and then remove yourself. Preferably you should go to a different country and culture, and, once you land, break all of your legs and drink from fountains to try to contract amnesia from the local water supply. Just do everything you can to really trap yourself there.
It has been the most fulfilling way to rapidly age. Once we had finally built our phenomenal team at SDM (the best creatives I’ve ever been around, the ones who can embarrass you with their intelligence), once we could take our own feet off the pedal for a second and sit under a tree or lower ourselves into a boat drink… we decided to launch the biggest food and wine festival we could possibly imagine, tripling our work. And a month ago, that festival, scary as hell, like extending your neck under the trellis of life’s guillotine, happened. And it was far more glorious than we ever could have imagined.
The point is, SDM Media is healthy, growing. This dream with more than its fair share of doubters, with two years of bone-grinding work and plans gone right and wrong, of staring at wild content ideas and P&Ls past midnights, all the blueprinting and filming and writing and editing and storytelling and hiring and pleading to various supernatural forces who might somehow aid us in navigating the modern media world… it’s now a mighty little organism. The soil of our creative house is warm and teeming, giving off a constant stream of ideas about a city, a people, a life, a culture.
And Claire said, “Go.” No dog, no children, no cooking, no dishes, no work, no alarm. Take a single day.
And so I take my Inn at Moonlight Beach key—a real key, with some round ornate keychain whose shape I’m sure is a symbol for some aligning force or is just cute and large enough that you won’t lose it—and go to my room. I crack open TheNew YorkerBook of Poems—that massive, dog-eared tome, a relic from getting a poetry degree almost 30 years ago. I sit on the balcony, breathe in that evaporating farm exhumation. I take 24 hours alone in this neighborhood. I drink great wine at Valentina. I walk to the beach and lay in the sand, read some Pynchon, embrace a disorienting sense of wild unproductivity. I nap for a good six minutes.
I wake, dig my ass into the sand I grew up in, and reset.
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Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
On February 28, 1926, the Fine Arts Gallery of San Diego (now called the San Diego Museum of Art) opened its Plateresque doors to 3,000 guests for opening day. Over the next century, the museum changed with the times—even once functioning as a naval hospital after Pearl Harbor. This year, the museum is celebrating its 100th birthday with an exhibit (open through January 24, 2027) featuring photographs, ephemera, and film footage spanning the museum’s history.
Courtesy of Tim Novara
Free Concerts at Spreckels Organ Pavilion
Every Sunday from 2 to 3 p.m., stop by the historic Spreckels Organ Pavilion for a free concert presented by the City of San Diego on the largest outdoor organ in the world (more than 5,000 pipes). The pavilion seats 2,400 for performances by the civic organist or guest artists.
Some think natural history museums are just cemeteries for dioramas that haven’t received an update since the Reagan administration. When it comes to The Nat, which just finished a $7.5 million rejuvenation, they’re totally wrong. The museum debuted a new rooftop that replaces its 25-year-old atrium. The old roof created a greenhouse effect that steamed up some exhibits, so the new one—which includes 200 solar panels and better temperature control—will help preserve the artifacts inside. Each Friday in the summer, The Nat also becomes one of the season’s vibiest hotspots during Nat at Night, with food from places like Wolf in the Woods and The Craft Taco, bars and signature cocktails on several floors, and a rooftop DJ.
Fleet Science Theater Remodel
The Fleet Science Center just received its most significant update since the 1990s. It expanded its exhibit space by 20 percent and introduced a newly designed entrance gallery (formerly the IMAX theater lobby) that includes free exhibits for visitors who want a taste of the science without paying an admission fee. The former ticketing area now houses the Mindbender Mansion exhibit, and there’s a new café, Element 8, that will, of course, sell the center’s famous soft serve.
September is San Diego’s unofficial second summer—the crowds thin, the weather stays warm, and the city’s calendar somehow gets even busier. This month brings stadium-sized rock shows, Broadway’s buzziest comedy, a new anime convention, world-premiere theater, gallery openings, food festivals, and the first signs of spooky season. Whether you’re ready to lean into fall or determined to keep summer going, here are the best things to do in San Diego this September.
As Guns N’ Roses storm into decade five, their appetite for destruction persists. During their Snapdragon Stadium concert, hear the hard rock anthems, new material and a set from The Black Crowes.
9/23
Kehlani is proof that the romance and earnest sensuality of old-school R&B will never go out of style. Hear her take it back to the aughts at Viejas Arena.
From the silver screen to The Old Globe stage, John Carney will Begin Again (again) with a world premiere musical adaptation featuring new songs—courtesy of Train—and a story overflowing with hope.
9/12-10/17
The concept of work is a guiding principle for San Diego native and multidisciplinary creative noé olivas. Observe his community-informed approach via Tierra y Cielo (Earth and Sky) at Best Practice Gallery.
9/18-10/25
Two workers grapple with the weight of their roles at a temporary migrant shelter in Mario Vega’s world premiere play Our Lady of the San Diego Convention Center, set for citywide performances.
9/26-2/28/2027
Luminous visions of peace and the Punjabi-American roots of Rupinder Kaloti inform The Gathering, a wondrous unification of family foretold via paintings at Oceanside Museum of Art.
9/29-10/4
It’s Mary Todd Lincoln’s world and we’re just living in it. See the presidential paramour barrel to her way to stardom at the Civic Theatre during Oh, Mary!, Cole Escola’s political spoof.
Courtesy of SeaWorld
More Fun Things to Do in San Diego This Month
9/5 & 9/6
Pros and Con(vention)s: Anime San Diego will debut at the San Diego Convention Center with cosplayers, panels and more than 400 vendors well-versed in Japanese animation.
9/11-10/31
Scaredy cats beware: SeaWorld San Diego’s Howl-O-Scream embraces frights forged in darkness. Enjoy an ominous lineup of live shows, scare zones and bloody bars ahead of Halloween.
9/12
The best parts of Artivál and the Alley Cat Art Walk have united for the free Alley Cat Art Fest, an all-day outing for live music and immersive artwork in Downtown El Cajon.
9/12 & 9/13
Take a Grecian vacation for a fraction of the price during the annual Cardiff Greek Festival, two days of immersive cuisine and culture—with plenty of dancing—on the Encinitas coast.
9/13-9/20
Step away from the stove! The California Restaurant Association has eight days of eating experiences with your name on it. During San Diego Restaurant Week, explore by meal, neighborhood or cuisine for your personal dining plan.
9/16
Nourish yourself with an all-inclusive spread of Pacific Beach eats and locally-crafted artwork during the HeArt of PB Restaurant Walk on Garnet Avenue.
9/19
When it comes to stand-up comedy, Chelsea Handler is always ready to roast. See Handler tell anecdotes and skewer an assemblage of victims during her Balboa Theatre performance.
Ryan Hardison is a freelance arts and entertainment writer and recent graduate of San Diego State. When he's not staring at his laptop, he's likely eating an adobada burrito or getting sunburnt at the beach.
Boredom's not an option. These are a few of the top events in the city each year, including a rodeo, free summertime music festival, and a chili cook-off
Meet some rodeo queens (or be crowned as one yourself) in R-Town’s annual celebration of the Wild West. Three days of mutton bustin’, tie-down roping, and barrel racing are all doing the community some good: Proceeds from the event funnel into local organizations like Ramona Town Hall and the Guy B. Woodward Museum. This month marks the 45th annual Ramona Rodeo, which takes place in the Fred Grand Arena and draws more than 12,000 attendees each year.
For nearly half a century, OB has hosted a chili cooking competition that has drawn thousands of hungry locals. (Buzz Cannabis presented this year’s event, so taste testers could have been under the influence of munchies-enhancing drugs.) Non-chili-related street fair festivities include beachfront live music, Fun Zone family-friendly play areas, and a Dirty Birds wing-eating contest.
Photo Credit: Cole Novak
Chicano Park Day
In 1970, Chicano Park was set to become a California Highway Patrol station. The problem: The city had promised a community park in that area. After decades of development fractured Barrio Logan and displaced thousands of families, Chicano locals were tapped out. So, for 12 days, locals occupied the area under the Coronado Bridge, blocking bulldozers and planting cacti. It worked. Construction stopped, and that area is now Chicano Park. Each year, locals celebrate the successful preservation of Chicano Park and the resilience of the Chicano Movement.
Solana Beach gathers at Fletcher Cove Park at the start of each summer for two days of live music ranging from country to pop to Chicano rock, plus an arts and crafts fair, an international food court, a beer and wine garden, and the Solana Beach Firefighters Association’s pancake breakfast. The event is free, but if you want an elevated experience, grab Seaside Pavilion ($75) or VIP Deck ($160) tickets for reserved seating, private cash bars, exclusive restrooms, and discounted swag.
Courtesy of North Park Music Fest
North Park Music Fest
The entire North Park neighborhood hosts an annual music festival, meaning a dozen venues—from Queen Bee’s to Bacari to North Park Community Park—become live music spaces each June. Some locations are open to the public, but if you’d prefer lounge access at Granada House and line-skipping privileges, check out the $65 VIP passes. General admission otherwise starts at $25.
Lemon Festival
It’s weird if you don’t wear a lemon-themed outfit at Chula Vista’s annual Lemon Festival. For one day each August, Third Avenue pays tribute to the city’s former “Lemon Capital of the World” status with live music, citrus-themed photo ops, arts and crafts vendors, a lemon cook-off competition, and plenty of other food that doesn’t include the famed hesperidium. But who would want that at Lemon Fest?
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.
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.
If magazines are like the adultier eldest daughters who know exactly how much anarchy they can get away with, zines are the far less predictable younger siblings going on whim and instinct. Those who draw on the walls around the house, DIY their own piercings, and experiment with different emo/straight-edge/back to emo phases (or not-phases). Boundaries and routines are what zines were created to rail against.
Walk into Verbatim Books’ zine corner, and this rebellion is immediately clear. Zines have no singular form, no clean category or definition. Vintage magazine scraps are collaged into new meaning alongside mini fandom zines. Single sheets of plain white printer paper are covered in nothing but black ballpoint pen. Repurposed hardback book covers are folded into something entirely new. Some are duct-taped together, others stapled. Some glossy, others matte. There are guides to anything and everything, comic panels, photography, hand-drawn cartoons, poetry, recipes, diaries, and ramblings that only make sense to the person who made them—and that’s on purpose.
Zines are creative magic. And with no rules, they’re incredibly accessible. Anyone can zine and have a voice, regardless of artistic training or work life experience.
You are your own Anna Wintour, Graydon Carter, Ruth Whitney.
San Diego–based zine creator Lyssette Williams specializes in mini zines—often limited to eight pages, they’re meditations in abbreviation. Outlining, thumbnailing, and revision all move quickly from idea to page. Larger projects, including Williams’ long-form graphic novel thesis, move at a slower pace. For those, she often returns to pen and ink, a choice that resists the over-editability of digital work.
Raised by a single mother and navigating mixed-race identity in a predominantly white town, she finds a home for processing it all in zines. Her work deals in identity, belonging, self-definition, and punk-rock childhood. But it isn’t always heavy; Williams creates a mini duck-themed zine called Backyard Duck Propaganda that’s hard not to love. “When I create, I think about what would have helped me find the words back then, what my younger self would’ve needed,” Williams says. “[Zines] put the tools in your hands and democratize art. They’re translations of memories and identities.”
Courtesy of Lyssette Williams
For Williams, a big reason she keeps creating is being surrounded by other creatives—a scene that extends across the border. She points to Verbatim and Comicbook Artists of San Diego, plus events like Zine Fest (October 17–18 this year at Woo in Barrio Logan) and Black Comix Day at the WorldBeat Cultural Center.
Zines have always been a road for subcultures. During the Harlem Renaissance, Black creatives like Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston self-published one issue of Fire!!, which inspired other Black authors. In the 1930s, zines (then called fanzines) were hubs for sci-fi nerds to write fanfiction, address the fandom, and create new characters. Superman actually made his public debut in a fanzine called Science Fiction (he was originally cast as a villain with a fully receded hairline). A couple decades later, zines about feminism and riot grrrl became subculture de rigueur.
The internet nearly killed zines, of course. But now, people tired of the algorithm’s firehose are finding comfort and renewed inspiration in analog. Zines, a salve for digital fatigue.
Courtesy of Duophobia
A giant figure in San Diego zine culture is Burn All Books. Founded by Amanda and Nick Bernal, BAB started as a risograph (digital screen printing) studio and turned into one of those places that keeps expanding the whole scene around it, even forming its own archive group, SCANNNERS. Since opening in January 2023, it has published over 35 works and collaborated with more than 100 artists, writers, and zinesters.
For Duophobia, the pseudonym for local twin sisters Alora and Kiani Dotson (affectionately known as the “possum twins”), zines make room for experimentation and play that doesn’t fit anywhere else. Room for eclectic cartoons and dirty jokes. For sticker-covered sketchbooks.
It’s that same brand of nostalgia you might feel when, say, you walk past the carcass of an abandoned mall and see a faded cartoon mural. Their work lives somewhere between childhood and adulthood, where being unserious is taken very, very seriously.
“We’re born and raised in San Diego, and the community of artists here is a main reason we started publishing,” Kiani Dotson says. “There are people here like Trixxie Land who run open art gatherings. Show up, and you’re part of it.”
Land, a zinester herself (she made 250 single-page zines during 2020’s lockdown), is all about storytelling over hierarchy. Art shouldn’t be about gatekeeping or intimidation, she says. So she holds open-invite arts shows at Subterranean Coffee.
Courtesy of Lyssette Williams
Duophobia regularly share their work at local galleries like Subterranean, filling that lowbrow space with pieces that answer: “What would’ve made us laugh as kids?” Children are often the first to pick up their zines, unfolding them in every direction while parents briefly panic at the impulsive destruction. The twins always step in. “No, no, it’s okay,” they say, before showing how one sheet of paper folds into an entire little book. “It’s like magic.” More often than not, the kids leave with a tiny zine tucked under a tiny arm, future San Diego zinesters in the making.
When asked what a zine really is, Alora Dotson’s response was simple: “It’s anything. Literally anything. The more genuine you are, the more people are going to hear what you have to say. Your voice matters, even if it’s just a silly joke or story. People want to hear about it.”
Not a perfect definition? Exactly. Zines inherently resist categories. Want to turn a single playing card into a storybook? Do it. What about your favorite graffiti artist’s signature tag at Prince Memorial Skatepark? Turn it into a zine.
Isabella Dallas is a freelance writer for San Diego Magazine and the Arts and Culture Editor at The Daily Aztec in her final year at San Diego State University. She previously worked as an editorial intern for SDM, but when she’s not writing, you can find her trying the best coffee spots in SD, devouring the latest rom-coms, and indulging in anything and everything pop culture.
SeaWorld dazzles with a drone show, big-name entertainers, new animal adventures and more
By Partner Content
Nights are heating up at SeaWorld San Diego. The quintessential summertime staple on Mission Bay is transforming into a destination for unforgettable day-to-night adventures, bringing back some of its most popular Summer Nights programming and introducing exciting new experiences sure to delight both kids and adults alike.
The 2026 Summer Day to Night at SeaWorld San Diego is the park’s most ambitious season yet. SeaWorld has planned a highly anticipated entertainment lineup that features nine weeks of throwback concerts featuring R&B and hip‑hop favorites from the ‘90s and early 2000s, including Jordin Sparks, Too $hort and Warren G, Ashanti, and an array of boy band heartthrobs performing together as part of the Pop 2000 Tour.
New this season is perhaps the park’s most visible update: a nightly drone show, Ocean of Dreams, which illuminates the sky with hundreds of synchronized sparklers. Drones form sea otters, sharks, dolphins, and a majestic orca that tell a breathtaking 12-minute story of marine life and underwater ecosystems. The show culminates with a spectacular electric neon finale celebrating hope, wonder, and ocean stewardship.
Nighttime visitors are also in store for animal adventures that fuse education with high-energy fun and the dreamy ambiance of nighttime. The park has launched two all-new animal presentations: Shamu’s Celebration:Light Up the Night and Dolphins: Touch the Sky. Shamu’s Celebration:Light Up the Night features vibrant lighting, music, and dynamic choreography that celebrates the power and beauty of killer whales. Dolphins: Touch the Sky showcases playful bottlenose dolphins and the special connection between humans and the natural world. And back by popular demand is fan-favorite Sea Lions Tonite. See the charming pinnipeds splash, play, and parody pop culture in this refreshed crowd-pleaser.
More must-sees: a newly reimagined Shark Encounter, one of the country’s more immersive exhibits highlighting 11 different species up close, SeaWorld’s beloved BMX Blast! stunt show, and high-seas escapade, Pirates Ahoy! The Battle for Mermaid Cove. And don’t miss the park’s all-new Deep Sea Disco, which encourages guests to dance the night away under the glow of the SkyTower, and vibrant closing time laser light display Laser Reef Summer Spectacular.
Amp up the nighttime vibe with local craft beers, curated cocktails, and nostalgic theme park treats with $1 beer all summer long. SeaWorld is the place for day to night summer fun. When the sun goes down, SeaWorld lights up, and inspires guests of all ages to embrace their inner whimsy and see why generations of San Diegans head to SeaWorld to make memories they’ll never forget.
