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Screentime

‘Sweet Life: Los Angeles’ shows us that life sometimes isn’t that sweet

Nabeeha Anwar/ Illustration Director

Screentime columnist Madison Tyler breaks down the importance of showcasing South LA’s vibrancy and the hustle of the show’s stars.

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In one of the very first frames of the new HBO Max unscripted series “Sweet Life: Los Angeles,” a quote from South LA native, rapper, businessman and philanthropist Nipsey Hussle flashes across the screen: “If you look at the people in your circle and don’t get inspired, you don’t have a circle, you have a cage.”

The series follows a circle of eight Black LA residents in their twenties as they navigate relationships and careers while grinding to build their own legacies. Unlike other reality TV shows that chronicle the rich and famous, all of these South LA hustlers are still on the come up.

If you invest time into the six half-hour episodes HBO Max has released, you’ll find it easy enough to keep track of the relationships between the core characters – Tylynn, Amanda, Jordan, Briana, Rebecca, Cheryl, Jerrold and P’Jae.

“Insecure” creator and star Issa Rae served as executive producer on “Sweet Life,” which walks the line between South LA travelogue and a young, Black excellence, lifestyle series. Ever the champion of South LA and its Black residents and small business owners, Rae’s touch is all over “Sweet Life,” and the show is better for it.



South LA is comprised of Watts, Compton, Inglewood, Leimert Park, View Park and Baldwin Hills — also known as “The Black Beverly Hills” — neighborhoods. Although LA is undergoing gentrification, these are some of the last few Black enclaves in the city, legacies of the communities Black people built in the face of racist housing policies such as redlining.

Making ample use of ticker graphics, the editors and graphic designers do not hesitate to showcase the hip and trending places in the neighborhoods that the young strivers spend their time and dollars at.

Briana and Tylynn shop for sage and crystals at Nappily Naturals in Leimert Park, where they discuss their respective love lives, while longtime-friends Amanda and Tylynnn do trap yoga — yoga set to trap music — at Dockweiler State Beach. The show is a far cry from the Santa Monica and Malibu beaches that usually get airtime on reality television and scripted series depicting the city of LA.

South LA is rarely portrayed in the light “Sweet Life” casts it in: diverse, popping and trendy, shown as the place to be. But as a South LA native myself, what I love most about these Black young adults’ lives being centered in South LA neighborhoods is that, as the next generation of movers and shakers, the subjects of “Sweet Life” prioritize preserving and building up Black spaces.

In one episode, Amanda, who works in PR, hosts a painting party for the new house she bought in South Central LA. She says she’s proud to “Buy Black the Block,” a spin on buying from small, local, Black businesses. Historically, Black people have fought tooth and nail to get into white neighborhoods and spaces. This new generation portrayed in the show doesn’t want “a seat at the table” — they have their own tables.

While I was expecting for “Sweet Life” to focus only on the upper classes of Black LA society, I was pleasantly surprised that was not the case. Jordan, owner of clothing brand Hypland, drives a Tesla and once rented a private jet. Meanwhile, P’Jae drives a run-down Honda with the driver’s side sun visor hanging by a thread. Amanda buys her first house in one episode, while Jerrold is still living with his parents to save money.

Some of the cast have their own businesses and brands, while others, like Amanda’s boyfriend and Briana, still work 9-to-5 jobs. Still, everyone in this entrepreneurial bunch wants to get rich.

On an extravagant trip to Cabo, Tylynn tells Amanda, “I like Black people experiencing luxury and opulence.” The ethos of “Sweet Life” then seems to be that living large is the goal, and to do so you need to surround yourself with the right people.

I have some qualms about the show’s uncritical representation of the hustle and the pursuit of luxury. Is lavish consumption the same as Black homeownership or building generational wealth when it comes to Black empowerment and systemic change? “Sweet Life” seems to think so, but I find the equivalence dubious.

Nevertheless, I am here for the drama. Reality television thrives on passive aggression as it slowly festers into outright aggression and confrontation. In “Sweet Life,” conflict arises from an uninvited guest to a Palm Springs vacation, messy dudes (definitely side-eyeing Jordan) and inconsiderate friends who show up late to the tequila tasting with the nerve to not be following the dress code.

Sometimes life isn’t so sweet, no matter how excellent you are or try to be. And that’s what keeps “Sweet Life” so entertaining and worth coming back to.

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