Nothing could prepare me for the dread I would feel walking into a La Jolla realtor’s backyard a few weekends ago.
Thirty-some folding chairs faced a makeshift stage, where a local band slammed through rock covers to a sparse crowd. In the corner, an unplugged slow cooker of pulled pork sat lukewarm on an otherwise-empty table.
We all wore white, as directed by Dan Courtney, host of the annual La Jolla Summer White Party.
Although Labor Day was the previous Monday, Dan reassured us it was OK. “We checked with ChatGPT and three other AI sources, and summer does not officially end this year until Sept. 21, so it’s still OK to wear white, technically,” he said.
The La Jolla Summer White Party (XXVII) began in 1996 in Dan’s backyard, peaking at an annual attendance of 600 in its heyday.
In a past life, this supposedly legendary affair hosted at “The Grounds of La Jolla” (three adjacent properties owned by Dan) attracted lucrative sponsorships, deep-pocketed attendees, thousands in charitable donations and the best in colorless fashion San Diego had to offer.
But it was always, distinctly, a house party. Somewhere La Jolla’s well-to-do residents and those adjacent to them could let their hair down without accidentally elbowing a hole through somebody’s Matisse.
Knowing what I do about La Jolla, I figured this might not be a usual house party.
I spent a lot of time in La Jolla this summer, mostly hobbling around in front of The Marine Room restaurant in flippers and a snorkeling mask. The eatery is known for its iconic High Tide Dinners, during which guests enjoy $300 caviar service while waves crash against the restaurant’s thick windows. On the other side of the slippery stairwell to the beach, an $87.5 million monstrosity known as The Sand Castle teeters over the tidepools.
The coastal enclave’s social and economic exclusivity has left all of us normals – the so-called 99 percent – to fill in the blanks about life behind the gates and hedges, usually conjuring a caricature of high class living (RE: Matisse paintings and caviar).
I wanted to see it for myself. Maybe this party would be my chance to finally see La Jolla from the other side of the glass.
The doubts began when my colleague-in-crime, Jakob McWhinney, asked me to pull up the address in Google Maps. A red pin appeared not on the top of Mount Soledad, or on a crumbling coastal cliff, but directly adjacent to what is derogatorily known as “The Throat”: the intersection of Torrey Pines Road, La Jolla Shores Drive and La Jolla Parkway.
Dan’s backyard was large, green and overgrown. Through the lenses of my plastic Eyebuydirect glasses, I’d even say it looked pretty nice. But it did not look like La Jolla™.
“You’re not gonna find another property like this in La Jolla,” said three-time white party attendee Janet Tope, who possessed the confidence of a cool aunt who smokes, and maybe also enjoyed a stint as a Billabong model.
She added that everybody else’s yards are “pretty groomed and manicured,” evoking images of trimmed hedges and ground-lit landscaping. “This is pretty wild.”
“I see what you’re saying,” I reply. “It feels like a home.”
“Well, it feels like somebody might live here,” Tope said through her teeth.
Despite being two hours late, the sparse crowd indicated Jakob and I were early. So, we went to the bar where I was treated to a gin and tonic with a single ice cube (and not one of the big, fancy ones).
Old-timers were eager to tell stories of the event’s good ole’ days. Behind an obligatory performance of bashfulness, party veterans wistfully recounted memories of raucous, multi-property bashes complete with fashion shows, bachelor/bachelorette auctions, overstuffed hot tubs and live dance performances.
One of those veterans is Keith Johnson, a longtime friend of Dan’s who’d been attending the party for more than 20 years and showed no signs of slowing down. Shaded by a towering white cowboy hat and Pitbull-esque aviators, Keith reminisced about his old Del Mar bachelor pad and a reggae store he used to run, and lamented his significant other’s efforts to move him out to Texas.
“We were doing it out here, the stripper poles,” Keith told us, motioning to the backyard. “But people complained. It got out of hand. So we built a house strictly for that.”
“You built this house specifically for stripping?” I pressed.
“Well, not strippers, but the people who dance on the poles,” Johnson said defensively. “Anyone could dance on a pole.”
Even with near-total adherence to the all-white dress code, we all looked out of place. Women hobbled along the uneven grass in their stilettos. Guests struggled to keep their white outfits pristine while diving into a spread of pizza, spaghetti and pulled pork sandwiches. There were no tables for eating, only chairs and paper plates.
Keith, who spent much of the week helping Dan build a stage for the party, acknowledged that the party isn’t what it used to be.
“We barely have light right now,” Keith said as the sun started to dip behind the trees. “Two years ago, there was no light, and everybody left.”
I would be surprised if the attendance breached 100 people, and we were shocked to learn many of them weren’t from La Jolla. Keith turned out to be neighbors with Jakob in North Park, and another man we spoke with drove in from El Cajon.
“I wanna move to La Jolla,” one woman told us. “That’s the goal. Maybe in a couple years.”
As for the actual La Jollans, I’m reminded of the old business adage: “Your network is your net worth.”
“I have considered myself an infiltrator,” said Janet, a La Jolla resident and apparent performance artist.
“It’s okay if you look like you have money. You don’t actually have to have it. If you can dress the part, there you go.”
Looking around at the sparkly white handbags and three-piece suits, it started to feel like we were all at a costume party, LARPing as rich people. Aren’t the ultrawealthy just wearing polos these days?
Nonetheless, the party picked up as the evening progressed. A few couples boogied to corporate retreat-ready EDM, and Dan invited a group of old friends on the stage to honor the event’s charity recipients: Cancer Angels of San Diego.
“We wanted (a nonprofit) that helps all kinds of cancer victims,” Dan said. “Not just the celebrity cancers, but any kind of cancer. No kind of cancer is good.”
Walking back to the car, we realize we’re no closer to understanding how “the other half” lives than we were three hours prior.
As it turns out, the $40 cover to the La Jolla Summer White Party ($50 for men) would not be our pass to a world of infinity pools and caviar on small plates served off big trays. And if I was looking out through those glorious windows at The Marine Room, I saw only myself staring back in, still clad in rubber-ducky-tinted flippers and an ill-fitting snorkel mask. Still wondering what life was like on the inside.
La Jolla™, for as large as it may loom in our minds, remains as magnetic as it is impenetrable.
Nonetheless, we would be irresponsible to not at least try having a good time. Food was consumed. Dancing commenced. Selfies were captured and TikToks filmed.
Social media videos posted after the event, much like the ones that lured us there, depicted many fabulous women having fun. The frames were cropped just tightly enough to obscure the confused bartenders and 20-minute spaghetti line, but maybe this is not part of an elaborate grift. Maybe it’s just a bunch of old pals enjoying themselves, blissfully unbothered by poor party planning and class politics.
“When you see people coming together like this, God is good,” Keith mused. “Stop the violence, open your heart and love more.”
Jakob McWhinney contributed to this report.
We’re So Back
The Culture Report is back! This also means I – Bella Ross – will be (mostly) transitioning away from social media to become Voice of San Diego’s new culture reporter.
It’s been a long time since we’ve been in the culture space in any formal way (since 2019, to be exact), and I’m looking forward to building out a section that can highlight parts of life in San Diego that may otherwise fly under the noses of overloaded local journalists. This may include exploring local scenes, unpacking cultural trends or pursuing Vice-like sidequests for the plot, among other things.
Some quick expectation setting: I do not plan to run traditional concert coverage or reviews, nor will I spend a lot of time covering major arts institutions (unless there is a larger story at play or they are being corrupt) (send me tips?). There are many other resources for that already.
As part of this journey, I also hope to work with more freelance journalists that can offer interesting perspectives on local arts and culture. You can email pitches and tips to bella.ross@voiceofsandiego.org.
It’s impossible to say exactly where this new endeavour will lead us, but I’m happy to have you along for the ride!
Cool Local Stuff and Things
- .tvFest: Twitch Con is happening this weekend, and my expert advice is to avoid downtown at all costs UNLESS you plan to attend .tvFest 2026 on Sunday, Nov. 15. Taking place “at the intersection of sound, pixels, and imagination,” this femme-forward lineup looks like it will be worth the bus trip.
- “Children of the Night”: Local punk collector Andrew Krivine just dropped his new book about the cultural impact of The Cramps through the San Diego State University Press, and it looks sick. The book’s y2k-era website inspired much joy.
- Once you’re done getting a cheap tattoo: Pull up to the Comedown Lounge / Petal Pusher / Jordan Krimston show on Friday, Nov. 13, at Whistle Stop. Local indie trifecta!
- Call it What You Like: Also on Friday night, this show at The WOO by Emma Catacutan and Jon Pylypchuk – founders of the new pop-up art series, An Interval – appears to muse the distinct, but spiritually similar, acts of writing poetry and trinket hoarding.
- Euro-autumn, anybody? The folks over at Winylclub (Wednesday wine+vinyl park hang that was shut down by the city a few years back) just dropped a new natural wine collaboration with WONDERWERK. The drop video was extremely charming.
Less Local
- “La Bola Negra”: I will be trying my very hardest to see this new Spanish film this weekend, which some are saying is the film of the year. Catch a screening, co-presented by the San Diego Latino Film Festival, at Digital Gym between now and Nov. 19!
- “EXPO”: Very excited to see that Ulrika Spacek – a mathy, experimental rock act from the UK – will be coming to Soda Bar on March 1, 2027. Gives you plenty of time to listen to their album “EXPO,” one of my favorites of 2026. (Fav Song: “Incomplete Symphony”)
Hilarious (LaJolla party).