Can you still make it in LA?

On a warm Wednesday in early June, Jaylen parks behind his building in West Adams and stares at a $73 parking ticket tucked under his windshield. He lets out a laugh not out of amusement, but because it’s his third one this year, and he’s gotten used to the sting.
“This city gonna charge you for breathing soon,” he says, stepping over a pothole toward his apartment. Rent’s due in five days. Groceries are already low. He’s got two jobs, and still some days it feels like the city is slowly pushing him out.

Jaylen isn’t real, but his struggle is. His story draws from real data, real voices, and the lived reality of countless young Black Angelenos trying to hold on in a city that no longer holds space for them, and Jaylen’s not alone. Across South L.A., Inglewood, and Leimert Park, Black Angelenos are quietly asking a once rhetorical question: can you still make it in LA?

Let’s start with the numbers.
As of spring 2025, the average rent in the Los Angeles metro area is $2,749, according to Zillow, roughly 31 percent above the national average. In historically Black neighborhoods like West Adams, rent for a one-bedroom averages around $2,850, a dramatic increase of over 40 percent in the last decade according to the Zumper Rent Report.

Food isn’t far behind. The Bureau of Labor Statistics reports that Los Angeles’ food-at-home index, a measure of grocery prices, has been rising at a steady 3–4 percent annually in recent years. For households already spending half their income on rent, even modest increases in grocery bills can tip the balance.

And gas? Despite national fuel prices falling by about 12 percent over the last year, California still posts the highest average gas price in the country, with Los Angeles hovering around $5.32 per gallon as of June 2025, according to data from AAA . For anyone commuting from South LA to Burbank or the Valley, every mile feels like a tax on ambition.
Add parking tickets, rising utility bills, surging insurance premiums, and the occasional emergency expense, and you start to see why so many are struggling to stay. Consider this the cost to stay put.

For Black Angelenos, the financial burden hits deeper. According to a 2023 report from the California Housing Partnership, Black renters in L.A. County are more likely than any other group to be “severely rent burdened,” meaning they spend over half of their monthly income on housing.

It’s not just about money, it’s about identity. “It’s like being priced out of your own memory, the stores changed. The murals faded. Then they raised the rent and called it revitalization.” some netizens say.

Black homeownership in L.A. has been shrinking, too. In 2000, nearly 46 percent of Black households owned homes in L.A. County. By 2022, that number dropped to 34 percent according to UCLA’s Center for Neighborhood Knowledge. Many are forced out, while investors convert multi unit homes into luxury condos or short term rentals.

To survive, many turn to gig work. Uber, DoorDash, graphic design, braiding, reselling sneakers. The UCLA Labor Center reports that LA County has one of the highest concentrations of gig economy workers in the nation, and Black residents are disproportionately represented in these precarious jobs.

Flexibility, yes. But stability? Not so much. No paid time off. No retirement. No long-term plan.
Meanwhile, LA’s economic growth centers on sectors like tech and entertainment, which often exclude those without elite degrees or networks.
For older generations, “making it” in L.A. might have meant buying a home or opening a business.

Now? It might just mean staying put.
It might mean making rent without asking for help. Walking to your cousin’s house. Grabbing a plate from the fish spot on Crenshaw. Hearing Frankie Beverly echo off an apartment wall. Staying means something now.
So… Can You Still Make It?

The honest answer? Yes but barely. And not in the way we used to.
It takes community. It takes creative hustle. It takes sacrifice. And it takes redefining success, away from white picket fences and toward something rooted in presence, resilience, and joy despite it all.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s what making it in LA looks like now.