Erewhon, where LA's rich, young, and famous worship at the altar of expensive health food, is reaching peak saturation. Hey, enough Balenciaga collabs and celebrity streetstyle will do that to anything.
A-listers seeking a pre-passé nighttime bite in Beverly Hills are thus turning elsewhere; specifically, to an unassuming two-level strip mall in West Hollywood. On the second floor, between a yoga studio and beauty salon, lies Sushi Park.
Its unassuming façade is graced by a well-known, bluntly-worded sign that some locals claim to know by heart: “No Takeout. No Trendy Sushi. No Salad, No Veggies. No California Roll. No Spicy Tuna Roll. No Teriyaki, Tempura.” Inside, diners order $200-per-person meals tepidly described by reviewers as "not the best sushi" in town.
This is Sushi Park. And everyone is going there. And I don't say everyone lightly: In this context, "everyone" refers to the most famous young people on the planet. Taylor Swift, Kylie Jenner, Hailey and Justin Bieber, Selena Gomez, and Zoë Kravitz have all suddenly made Sushi Park their go-to spot this year. Scrolling through one paparazzi site in particular, I counted over a dozen instances of A-listers dining at this demure hole-in-the-wall within the past six or seven months.
Those are numbers typically reserved for the kinds of restaurants you have make reservations for months in advance.
Kendall Jenner loves Sushi Park so much that she's hit the spot nearly a half-dozen times in the past few months alone, including one much-publicized outing with then-beau Bad Bunny.
So, what's the appeal? It presumably ain't the food.
Sushi Park is almost like the anti-institution. Each generation of celebrities has its own clutch of go-to upscale restaurants, places where they go to be seen. Giorgio Baldi, Carbone, Mr. Chow: these are temples of taste, both literally and figuratively, and its adherents come to be blessed with attention.
Sushi Park stands in opposition to that. In fact, it's practically divergent by design, if this kind of earned incidental appeal can be considered "by design."
A place like Catch steakhouse, with its sprawling layout and luxurious furnishings, offers a soft-focus stage for its famous fans to bask in the glory of fame. Sushi Park instead is so unostentatious that its clientele is forced to climb a set of stairs to even walk through its plain doors.
It's the presentation of ordinary with the trappings of luxury.
This is the same allure that draws flocks of fresh-faced famous folks to Erewhon. The supermarket's modest feel — it's just your friendly local health food store! — and stop-you-in-your-tracks prices — those viral Erewhon smoothies each cost around $20 — affords the retailer an air of bougieness that can't be bought.
Whereas the aforementioned five-star restaurants smack you in the face with their opulence before one even enters each establishment, Erewhon channels IYKYK indulgence. "Erewhon Drip" exists for the same reason as quiet luxury.
One must know what Erewhon is to understand that it's a flex to shop there. One must know what Sushi Park is to even find it.
"You wouldn’t expect [Sushi Park] to be anything remarkable but it actually is," a local artist and occasional Sushi Park customer told Highsnobiety. "Wearing sweatpants feels normal in there; it’s just absolutely expensive. You go for an occasion or you go with someone who feels casually about spending that much on a meal."
Sushi Park is the physical manifestation of a youth culture vibe check. Like so many other famous eateries, its appeal is partially founded on unattainability, but its young, wealthy, early-30s clientele likely also find Sushi Park's no-nonsense presentation fresh, an appealing contrast to the louder luxuries they're accustomed to.
As such, dining at Sushi Park is the celebrity equivalent of rocking a $30 handbag or grabbing drinks at the neighborhood hang, an act of gentle, comfortable rebellion within the safe confines of familiar exclusivity.
It's just that this neighborhood hang just so happens to charge a couple hundred bucks for some nigiri.
