THE BEST ADVICE I EVER GOT ABOUT MAKING FRIENDS IN LOS ANGELES

by Jeff Fisher

I arrived in Los Angeles the way most people do: broke, optimistic, and dangerously underinformed. I had two phone numbers in my wallet.

One belonged to a game show publicist whose Dad played poker once a week with my Dad back in South Florida. The other was a young associate producer I'd met on a show I'd PA'd on— a warm, funny young woman that might best be described as a Long Island Princess with absolutely zero interest in sugarcoating anything.

She picked me up during my second week in town and we went to dinner. Somewhere on the drive over, passing Sunset Plaza, she gestured broadly and declared (think Mike Meyers’ Linda Richman in the Coffee Talk Skit): "From here, all the way down — Euro-Trash."

I was about to get quite an education about LA.

THE BEST ADVICE I EVER GOT

At some point during that drive, she asked if I knew anyone in LA.

Uh, not really.

She looked at me — genuinely trying to help — and said: "Jeff, finding friends in Los Angeles is like going to Loehmann's. You pick and pick and pick. Finally you find a blouse. It's got the label cut out, but you can tell it's a Donna Karan. That one you keep. All the rest you throw back."

At the time, I honestly wasn't sure what to do with that. But about six months later, I started to believe it was the best advice I'd ever received about making friends in LA.

(For anyone unfamiliar: Loehmann's was the precursor to Nordstrom Rack or Marshall's. A big warehouse store with markdowns on past-season designer clothes. Sometimes the labels were cut out to avoid upsetting the designers who didn't want their brand diluted. If you found a Donna Karan without a label, you knew exactly what you had. In those days, Donna Karan was the sh*t!)

TOP BANANA

Here's the thing about arriving in Los Angeles fresh off your first PA job on a big feature: you are absolutely certain everything is going to work out.

I had just wrapped as a Production Assistant on Martin Scorsese's Cape Fear. I was ready. Someone was going to watch one of my student films on VHS and just... get it. It seemed possible. Uh, huh. 

The reality was that a month later, I was folding shirts at Banana Republic on Main Street in Santa Monica (now a Starbucks), wondering how I was ever going to get back into the industry.

I'm not going to lie — there were some small victories. I lucked into a rent-controlled one-bedroom in a mid-century building in Santa Monica called The Seafoam. And Banana Republic, in those early days, had an employee motivational system where they put a banana with each employee's name on it — and you would "rise up the tree" (located in the employee bathroom) as your sales numbers climbed.

For a shining moment, I was Top Banana.

I was taking any victory I could get.

THE THROWBACKS

Meanwhile, there were a couple of guys I met at the gym who lived a few buildings over and seemed to know about a lot of parties. Things seemed to be looking up — a place to live, a couple of new friends, that short run as Top Banana.

But the more time I spent with these guys, the more I started noticing something. They didn't have a lot of nice things to say about the people in their orbit. They'd introduce me to someone and, the moment that person walked away, would share their shortcomings. It was hard not to think, what do they say about me when I walk away?

But what was I supposed to do? Sit home alone in my barely furnished apartment watching my VHS copies of John Hughes movies…again?

After another night out where I couldn't quite determine whether I'd been insulted, patronized, or some awesome combo of the two, my Long Island friend's words came back to me.

These were the friends I needed to throw back.  Even if it meant sitting home alone.

THE EARTHQUAKE, THE CHICKEN POX, AND THE MOTHER SHIP

I want to be honest about what happened next: there were a LOT of lame nights at home where I second-guessed that decision.

Add a freeway-collapsing earthquake. A case of adult chicken pox (as sexy as you’d imagine—calamine lotion is a scorching hot look). Some serious alone-time navel-gazing about what exactly I was doing with my life.

But a few months later, a new neighbor named Lance moved in downstairs — genuinely nice, genuinely fun. I also met Todd and Merle, who were plugged into some great parties too—and without the next-level snark.

Meanwhile, I was grinding away at any entertainment company I could connect the dots to, interning my way toward something when I wasn’t pushing khakis. And then — timing being everything — I landed an interview at a talent agency.

The morning of that interview, the last of my adult chicken pox fell off. I can only describe this particular specimen as the Mother Ship. It was a HUGE pock located dead center of my forehead, like a third eye without any of the perks. I'm not entirely sure I could have gotten the job if it was still there. The agent who interviewed me already said I couldn’t work there if I wasn’t clean shaven.  I had to explain the only reason I didn’t shave was the pox, which I think he 40% believed. I got the job.

FINALLY.  SOME “BLOUSES” WORTH KEEPING.

From there, I started meeting people in the industry who had come to LA chasing the same kind of dream I was. Other people who were passionate and a little terrified and just trying to make something happen in the film and tv business. That gumption was exciting to be around.

There were some throwbacks in that crowd too. Note to the wise: the people who are mini-nightmares as assistants tend, in my experience, to become maxi-nightmares later in their careers. Maya Angelou knew what she was talking about.

But the Donna Karans I found in those early industry years? They are still some of my closest friends.

Sidenote: Sandra, my assistant manager at Banana Republic, would become a lifelong best friend—and a decade later, the best Golden Globes party date ever.  She’s truly the Top Banana.

THE 405 IS NOT A PLACE TO MAKE FRIENDS

Los Angeles is an enormous city and at the moment, the public transportation is, uh, challenged. Unlike New York or Chicago — where you're crammed onto a subway or an El, surrounded by strangers whether you want to be or not — here you can sit alone in your car, gridlocked on the 405.

When you do meet people, some of them came here to reinvent themselves before they actually got a sense of who they were to begin with. They might emulate someone they admire on social media, or telegraph a persona that's more performance than person. It can make for some wonky life decisions — theirs and, occasionally, yours.

And then there's this: almost everyone here arrived with a goal. Be a movie star. Be a screenwriter. Be a director. When you've had a dream as long as you can remember, some people let genuine relationships fall into second position. 

Which is exactly backward. The people who make it in this town — really make it, in the way that actually feels like something — almost always have a crew. People who knew them before the credits. People who pick up the phone, even in 2026 when phone calls seem very 2012.

TURNS OUT… SHE KNEW THINGS

Years later, I ran into my Long Island friend at a movie premiere. She was running an A-list movie star's production company. She was warm and wonderful, exactly as I remembered.

We didn't have time to do much more than catch up briefly. Hers turned out to be a friendship that was there for a reason and a season, if not a lifetime. Those are real too — and worth honoring.

Who knows. Maybe we'll still reunite one of these days. And if we do, the first thing I'm going to do is thank her for the best advice I ever got.

THE TAKEAWAYS (FOR ANYONE WHO JUST LANDED HERE WITH TWO PHONE NUMBERS)

→   The “ick” is data. If you consistently feel worse after spending time with someone, you don't have to justify it or explain it. That feeling is telling you something. Listen to it.

→   The throwbacks aren't failures. Throwing back the wrong blouse isn't wasted time. It's the process. Every wrong fit is getting you closer to the right one.

→   Find people outside the industry. Some of my most grounding friendships in this town have nothing to do with showbiz. Those friendships will keep you sane when the industry is doing what the industry does.

→   Mini-nightmares become full blown nightmares. Pay attention to how people treat others — especially people with less power than them. That's who they actually are.

→   The goal can wait. The people can't. LA will try to convince you that your career is the only thing that matters. It's not. The Donna Karans in your life are the ones who'll be there when the career gets hard — and it will get hard.

→   Some friendships are for a reason or a season. That doesn't make them less real. Thank those people. Hold onto the lifers.

#LosAngeles, #Hollywood, #MakingFriendsInLA, #LifeInLA, #EntertainmentIndustry, #FilmDirector, #PersonalEssay, #BehindTheScenes, #CareerAdvice, #DonnaKaran,

#ThrowbacksArentFailures

Navigating a new city in this industry — or figuring out your next move in a career that isn't going the way you planned? I offer one-on-one coaching and consulting sessions at reeltalkwithjeff.com. Reach out — let's figure it out together.

Jeff Fisher is a director and writer whose credits include Paramount Pictures' "The Stranger in My Home" and "The Image of You," Hallmark's highest-rated film of the year "My Christmas Love," and reality hits spanning from "The Simple Life" to "Keeping Up With The Kardashians." Visitwww.jefffisherdirector.comto see his work and www.reeltalkwithjeff.comfor more industry insights. @jefffisher_insta