Lifestyle
My heart broke when we closed our shop in L.A. I’m beginning to see out the other end
On Saturday, Image co-hosted a party in memory of Género Neutral, the beloved retail shop in Echo Park that closed earlier this year. To mark the end of an era, Ashley SP, one of the co-owners of the shop, wrote the below piece, which is also a celebration of what’s to come. Interspersed throughout are photos from the party of all the friends and family who pulled up, as captured by none other than Glenjamn.
Piecing together the last 11 months felt like trying to laugh at a joke I didn’t quite understand — painful, cringe, and less and less funny every time I tried to explain it. The “so, how are you?” questions were earnestly plastered on the faces of everyone I’d been avoiding since April, when we closed our shop in Echo Park, Género Neutral, after three years. The questions got louder and louder and my voice, faint. I preferred being the young(ish) woman who did “cool” things, who was fun and held it together enough to turn chaos into chaotic good. I preferred being “that girl who owns that shop” instead of “that girl whose shop ended up closing,” and who felt like a failing live wire because of it. “I have no idea how I’m doing” became my typical — and honest — sad girl response to those daunting questions for all of spring and summer, until it became too much to let die another day, and I needed to figure out how to rebirth my business.
Emily and Bella De La Torre
Firmé Atelier’s Jonathan Lee looking into Estevan Oriol’s car.
Artist rafa esparza, left, and Bryan Escareño
My business partner, Jenni Zapata, and I were of course not alone in this experience of closing our doors suddenly and seemingly prematurely, as we watched so many fellow small businesses succumb to the quicksand of L.A. brick-and-mortar retail in 2024. We approached this past January with fresh energy as best we could, existing in survival mode most days and fairly detached from the social spaces we used to frequent. We weren’t ready to be vulnerable with others about the predicament we found ourselves in. I can’t fake any funk (and choose not to), so I started to slip away.
Our spirits were weary from a tough holiday season, from watching a few “bad” days turn into weeks, and then months. But we were determined to reignite the Género magic that helped us turn nothing into something during the pandemic, drunk on delusion and wine, replacing the seltzers of our days gone by. The truth is, whatever we did in the shop wasn’t going to be enough to sustain a new future, as too much became out of our control. We couldn’t throw the financial dice another month, let alone the rest of our lease term, or find the last loophole in an economy that isn’t built for independent small-business owners. My bank account knew this, my body knew this, but my heart was breaking. I met people I never wanted to live without in that shop; I met a version of myself I never imagined I could be when we opened our doors, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her.
Jordan Johnson and Bobby Cabbagestalk
Lupe Rosales and Ashley Alcantar
We were the exception to the retail rule for the bulk of our business, but for reasons that make sense only in hindsight. By the end of 2023, we’d sit on our conversation pit-style couch at GN in amazement at how many people would come to hang out and talk with us in a week, but who wouldn’t buy anything, or even try to pretend that’s what they came to do. What we sold on our racks mattered less and less to the bulk of guests that came through — it was the metaphorical space we created for people that kept them coming back. We witnessed a community form organically in our doorway, on our couch, on our bench outside, and on Sunset Boulevard, “[singing in non-English]” and dancing to some of the best DJs on the east side.
How do you put a price on that, let alone pay rent and next season’s invoices from it? You can’t, we couldn’t — so we stopped, albeit to the shock of a lot of our friends and peers who didn’t have to keep track of what success looked like the way we did.
Maurice Harris, the artist and floral visionary behind Bloom & Plume and the coffee shop of the same name, got it. In August, he closed his coffee shop nearby, on Temple Street, after five years. “I stayed in my own way for a very long time, and that’s been a hard pill to swallow,” he told me. “We all struggle with being in the hot seat and realizing, ‘Oh, I could be the problem here,’ and that you’re probably going to create that problem a few more times before you learn the lesson. My therapist and I talk about how you don’t change until it’s painful enough.”
Free Oribhabor, Bobby Cabbagestalk and friend
After closing his coffee shop and while exploring his cult-followed “Capitalism Doesn’t Care About Your Curiosity” series he self-produces on Instagram, Harris’s approach is changing, while rooted in authenticity. He’s journeyed his love of flowers into scent exploration, developing candles and fragrances. “I’m giving myself room to be more flexible in the world of doing this differently,” he generously shared. He’s focusing on the things that he’s discovered can be next, and new.
As small-business owners, we’ve all taken turns looking up to each other in the fight to be authentic, to reinvent, or to legitimize the risks we’ve taken. None of us really knows what we’re doing, which makes it that much more magical when something “works” — and relatable when it doesn’t. From a boutique perspective, the kisses of death looked like the ubiquity of fast-fashion culture and the now-eternal sale season, unreliable consumer attention spans, and the fact that people aren’t spending money like they did, as personal spending power tanked for so many post-pandemic. Factoring in the cost of living and operating in L.A., small retailers are becoming akin to islands in a sea of rents that only bigger chains can afford, which leaves us all a bit cynical and bored, as the “cool” factor is challenged in more and more neighborhoods. If these conversations-turned-therapy sessions with our peers told me anything, though, it’s that death and rebirth can coexist, regardless of how quickly we accept that transformation when confronted with it.
Eve Mauro and Estevan Oriol
For me, “changing” has sometimes looked like going on Do Not Disturb on my phone for the last 11 months. Other times, it’s been choosing to meet with our newest business partner — one of my best friends, Danny Jestakom — to talk about the ideas we’ve been poring over in remixing, recalibrating and growing GN into a certain afterlife, one with less constraints, or certain freedoms. Shedding the imposter syndrome in pivoting the business is something I’m still working on, as I tell myself I do this now instead of that, and I’m a better person for it. Sincerely, I still sometimes struggle to lean into how life is completely different now, until I wake up from my fever dream and remind myself none of this really matters anyway (Aquarius moon here, y’all).
Jaime Rosas and Anahi Pozos
Last Saturday, we threw our first event, a party in partnership with chef Enrique Olvera’s Ditroit Taqueria in the Arts District. It was our celebration in loving memory of the Género Neutral shop, and an honoring of what’s to come with GNLA, the older sibling of Género, which will still be about collaborating with our favorite brands, people and spots around Los Angeles. We came up with the name for the party, Siempre Juntos, or “Together Forever,” at the tail end of summer, long before ballots were cast, before our collective hearts experienced another guaranteed heartbreak. Yearning for the infinity of connection and for the opportunity to reunite, we wanted nothing more than to create a moment where we all could get together again, like no time had passed, like the good ‘ol days, like nothing had changed even if everything had.
Models April Kosky, left, and Sky Michelle
Carolina Isabel Salazar and Pablo Simental
Jonathan Lee and Eric Kim of Firmé Atelier
Image’s fashion director at large, Keyla Marquez, editorial director Elisa Wouk Almino, and staff writer Julissa James
I’m completely certain of what’s next — things being hard, growth being nonlinear, not knowing what I’m doing and doing it anyway, much like the approach we had when crafting Género Neutral from scratch. I smile again because of it, and because we have thousands of new friends now to see us through. If GNLA is the other side, then I hope to see you there.
Ashley S.P. is a writer and the co-founder of GNLA, a new multicultural agency rooted in the joyous and inclusive spirit of the Género Neutral shop in Echo Park.
Lifestyle
Shy on the dance floor? Virtual reality ‘partners’ aim to help you find your groove
Entrepreneur David Huang tests out a VR headset while conducting demonstrations of the social dance lesson app Dance Guru at the Augmented World Expo in Long Beach, Calif., June 17, 2026.
Chloe Veltman/NPR
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Chloe Veltman/NPR
Wedding season is in full swing, bringing with it a familiar sense of dread for anyone who fears the dance floor.
But relief may finally be at hand with the help of a new app, Dance Guru, and a virtual reality (VR) headset.
The social dance instruction app transports users to a spacious, digital dance studio. Waiting inside is a computer-generated coach: a handsome, male avatar wearing a shirt open to his navel. He speaks with a slightly gravelly English accent.
“Watch me now,” he instructs at the start of a waltz lesson — which NPR tried out at the Augmented World Expo in Long Beach, Calif., an annual conference showcasing the latest developments in virtual and augmented reality.
The avatar then demonstrates a basic box step.

From there, the lesson becomes interactive. The coach tells the user to hold his hand while an electric pinging sound tracks the student’s foot placement.
“One, two, three, four, five, six,” the virtual teacher counts down.
When the user stumbles, he remains remarkably patient. “Do not worry, foundations take time. Let’s try that again. Work on grounding your steps more intentionally.”
Solving the beginner’s dilemma
Dance Guru creator David Huang said he came up with the idea for the app a couple of years ago out of frustration.
“I always wanted to learn to dance and I was always terrible at it,” Huang said. “And I always ended up stopping midway through the lessons.”
He soon realized that many beginners hit the exact same roadblocks.
“Private lessons are too expensive, and you feel like you’re always forgetting the dance steps,” Huang said. “You cannot find a partner to dance with. So I figured maybe I can create something like this.”
The Dance Guru platform currently offers tutorials in salsa, bachata, waltz, and cha-cha, in both lead and follow modes. To make the digital instruction feel authentic, Huang used motion-capture technology to record the movements of real-life dance teachers — with their permission.
Building on the legacy of online tutorials and video games
Dance Guru belongs to a small but growing wave of apps using VR to demystify social dance. At a nearby booth, conference attendee Victor Chen is testing out a competing app called Trip the Light. It currently offers salsa lessons, as well as freestyle options, where a user can dance with a partner without having to learn specific steps.
Trip the Light’s booth at the Augmented World Expo included posters of the app’s virtual instructors. Real-life performers, who gave Trip the Light permission to motion capture their movements, were used as a basis for these avatars.
Chloe Veltman/NPR
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Chloe Veltman/NPR
“A lot of times when you’re trying to learn a choreography, it’s watching a YouTube video and you have to pause it, rewind, and play it,” Chen said. “If you were to have a virtual avatar dancing in front of you and correcting for any parts that you missed, it might be a lot easier.”
Interactive video games like Dance Dance Revolution and Just Dance, and YouTube tutorials have been helping people improve their skills in private for years. But those games are mostly aimed at solo players. Unlike the new generation of immersive VR apps, they cannot simulate the mechanics or confidence required for partner dancing on a live dance floor.
The reality check
But this kind of app won’t work for every dancer.
“Everyone learns a little bit differently. And so unless you have a game that has lots of different ways of teaching, you’re going to have things that work for some people and don’t work for others,” said Ariana Katana, a trained contemporary dancer and dance content creator who’s active on YouTube, Twitch and other platforms. “Also, it’s hard to dance with a headset on.”
And then there’s the issue of not being able to physically feel a virtual partner’s hand or shoulder while dancing with them. Patrick Ascolese, the creator of Trip the Light, said the experience could become more tactile in the future. “Haptic suits and wearables will be coming, but I think we’re a little away from that,” he said.
Ascolese said even with their limitations, immersive tools like Trip the Light have immense potential as judgment-free training grounds — giving reluctant dancers the baseline confidence they need to eventually step onto the dance floor with real partners in the real world, including at weddings.
“Just like anything else, practice makes perfect,” said Ascolese. “So the more time you spend in VR with a virtual partner, it works towards helping you get over that social hurdle. We are teaching you the moves that you have to do in order to go out and have fun.”
Jennifer Vanasco edited the broadcast and digital versions of this story. Chloee Weiner mixed the audio.




Lifestyle
How to have the best Sunday in L.A., according to Deidre Hall
For half a century, Deidre Hall has taken on every kind of disaster in the drama-packed town of Salem, Ill., as a star of “Days of Our Lives.”
There was the time — actually, it happened twice — when her character, Dr. Marlena Evans, was famously possessed by the devil and even levitated.
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Or the time a serial killer, who was actually Marlena under hypnosis, seemed to kill several beloved characters. The long-running show’s storylines have become legendary, and in March, while promoting “Hail Mary,” actor Ryan Gosling even gave Hall a shout-out, admitting he was a fan, praising the hard work of soap opera actors and calling her an “OG acting inspiration.”
But Hall’s real life in Santa Monica is much quieter than her character’s, and she likes it that way.
“When I bought my house in Santa Monica, I didn’t realize how great it would be to live near Montana Avenue,” says Hall, 78, about the popular shopping spot. Every day, she walks to the main street with her golden retriever, Riley, and enjoys Pilates, art and good food along the way. “The owners of the Farms Market even keep dog biscuits, so guess where the dog wants to go every time we walk — the Farms, of course,” she says, laughing.
When she isn’t filming the daily soap opera, which airs on Peacock, Hall enjoys raising monarch butterflies, exploring the shops and restaurants on Montana, and hosting movie nights at home with her two sons.
Here’s what a perfect day in L.A. looks like for her.
This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.
7 a.m.: Breakfast and dog walk
I usually kick off my day with a protein shake, feed our golden retriever and take her out for a walk. She’s a phenomenal girl. When we adopted her, her name was Riley, but I did think about naming her after Mrs. Hughes from “Downton Abbey.”
10 a.m.: Church and garden time
After I walk the dog and go to church, I like to spend some time in my yard. I’m not a natural gardener, but I really enjoy it. I started raising monarch butterflies because my identical twin sister, who played my twin on the show, planted a butterfly garden. Monarchs are amazing because they are transitional. Every year, they travel from Mexico to southern New England, but it’s getting harder for them. Their numbers have dropped by about 80%. To help, I plant milkweed, which is what they need to survive. I buy my milkweed from the Staghorn Garden on Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica. Julie, who owns the nursery, is delightful and has a wide variety of milkweed. The monarchs always seem to find my garden. Julie was raising some caterpillars too, and she cared a lot about them. We talked about how important it is to help the butterflies. That’s why I do this. Sometimes I get milkweed with eggs already on it, and Julie knows her butterflies are going to a good home.
1 p.m.: Walk to Montana Avenue for some lunch
I live near Montana and love taking long walks, going to Pilates and trying out the great restaurants nearby, like R+D Kitchen and La La Land. I’m a big fan of the waffles at the Courtyard Kitchen. Just a few days ago, I had a chicken salad on raisin bread with an Arnold Palmer, and it was delicious. It is right on Montana and has a nice outdoor seating area. It’s one of my favorite spots. La La Land always has a long line in the morning, which is perfect if you want coffee. They serve coffee, doughnuts, croissants and avocado toast. There’s plenty of outdoor seating, and you can even bring your dog.
2 p.m.: Peek inside a clock shop
There’s a small clock shop on Montana Avenue that’s closed on Sundays, but if you walk by, you’ll see all kinds of clocks — standing, table and wall clocks. The owner is great at fixing them. Once, I bought a wall clock from MacKenzie-Childs, but it didn’t work. And I was really upset because it matched everything else on my countertop. I brought it to the owner and said, “I love this, but I can’t make it work.” He fixed it right away. His name is John, but I call him Geppetto. And we all know why. He really does have a magic touch.
2:30 p.m.: Visit a neighborhood art gallery
Ten Women Gallery is run by 10 artists, all of whom show their work there. I was drawn to some watercolors there, bought a few cards and spoke with one of the artists. She told me, “You seem to love watercolors,” and mentioned that the artist who painted them, Pamela Harnois, lives in Los Angeles and teaches nearby. I got Pamela’s name and found out she taught at the Brentwood Art School. I was so inspired by her gift that I started taking private lessons with her on Saturdays. That gallery is where I discovered my love for watercolor painting.
3 p.m.: Grab some ice cream at Rori’s
The other day, my longtime girlfriend wanted to get ice cream and told me, “We are walking to Rori’s Artisanal Creamery.” It’s a small shop on Montana near Lincoln. They make everything themselves, using local ingredients from grass-fed cows with no added hormones. The place is family-owned and probably has the healthiest ice cream you’ll find. They switch up their flavors often, but my favorite is the salted caramel.
6 p.m.: Family dinner and movie night at home
R+D Kitchen is always packed, so my sons, who are 31 and 33, do the cooking. They come over, and together we make salads and cook dinner. There’s a neighborhood grocery store called the Farms, off Montana, a small family-run place that has everything we need. Everyone knows each other there, and people bring their dogs. We try to have movie night every Sunday. Sometimes the day changes, but we always make sure to have one night a week where we cook a meal and sit down as a family. Keeping that tradition has become really important to us. My sons are great cooks, which is funny because they definitely didn’t get that from me. [Laughs]
9 p.m.: Take Riley for one last walk and visit neighbors
After dinner, I take my dog for a walk. It’s a great way to meet neighbors. We always go around the same block. We’ve met so many people, and since she’s a golden retriever, she loves meeting everyone.
10 p.m.: News, knitting and bedtime
I am a news junkie, so I usually watch whatever is on the news before I go to bed. I have a long-standing passion for knitting. Lately, though, the news would make me drop a stitch.
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