Free Parking: Type S Night Lights Long Beach 2025

When the smoke clears.

Editor's note: Written within 24 hours of the event's close, quick impressions in the midnight hours...

Maybe it was the excessive exhaust inhalation from the two-step battles at the parking garage exit, but as I crossed the Vincent Thomas Bridge on the drive home from Type S Night Lights Long Beach 2025, I felt philosophical. Car culture is undoubtedly undergoing a massive shift right now, and there's no shortage of fear over where we're headed. Gatlinburg comes to mind, but tuner cars have always had outlaw roots, so what are we trying to save?

Many are quick to lay blame for the outrages splayed across social media as of late. The takeover crowd is a common target, with vegetable-inspired haircuts and burble tunes called out in innumerable comments sections. But perhaps all of that is merely a symptom, rather than the disease.

Either way, organizers are well aware that the stakes have been raised. Larry Chen touched on it multiple times in the lead-up to Long Beach, laying it out clear as can be - keep it in check, or wave goodbye to the public meets. Burnouts and street racing and property destruction are how this scene dies.

Earlier in the day, as I lined up for entry and the golden sun hung low in the sky, it was obvious that lack of enthusiasm wasn't the issue. Folks were already queued up and ready to go the morning prior, and the line of cars waiting to find a spot at the show stretched for blocks down Seaside Way.

The concept was simple: free entrance for all, and anyone can show their car. In the age of insane price tags and gatekeeping auto elitism, that combo is unheard of - and perhaps that's part of the problem.

After passing through security and climbing some stairs, I was greeted by row after row of pristine JDM metal, the polished paint mingling with blue neon, towering canopy lights, and the final glow of twilight. High-rise apartment buildings, palm trees, and the Long Beach Arena provided the backdrop, while food vendors hit my olfactories with hip hop served as the soundtrack.

The top row of the parking structure housed the high-dollar pro builds. Even after more than two decades covering this stuff, I still get goosebumps seeing perfect R34 and R33 Nissan Skylines parked stateside, and by the chatter that surrounded me, I knew I wasn't alone. A fourth-generation Toyota Supra RS*R tribute was surrounded by smartphones, while nearby, an immaculate white FD Mazda RX-7 had its hood up, showing off a custom three-rotor with all the trimmings, its owner beaming with pride.

Over in the northwest corner of the lot, a smattering of Formula Drift machines were on display, the battle-damaged body panels providing a nice contrast to the polished and perfect show cars. Some of the drivers were on hand as well, chatting and looking relaxed. Critically, none of it was behind a velvet rope. Racers and race cars mixed with the general public, providing a sense of accessibility that's often missing from top-shelf motorsport - and maybe that's where others had lost the plot.

Moving down the levels, the highly curated show cars gave way to the locals' daily drivers. Granted, six-figure budgets and sponsorship deals can buy some very pretty toys, but the heart of the car scene will always be with the folks that wrench after work and pinch every penny to turn a dream into rolling reality. Like an AE86 Panda Trueno with a bike rack on the roof, or a rallycross GC8 Subaru Impreza with duct tape on the bumper. These are the builds that tie the whole thing together, the sinew that allows the monster to stand upright, regardless of how many social media followers they might have. Without the core, the scene is just an empty, curated shell.

As I stood next to a white BMW E30 with a skeleton in the passenger seat, I felt a stir run through the crowd. And then I heard it - the unmistakable sound of race cars, a cacophony of barely contained horsepower just outside the gates. I rushed to the edge of the parking structure to see a line of Formula Drift competition cars making their way up the parking garage ramps towards the top level.

Like a squadron of rocket ships, the comp cars weaved through the crowd, the smell of oil and ethanol saturating every pore. I saw more than a few young kids staring in amazement, eyes wide, jaws dropped. The heroes of sideways motorsport had arrived. "He's right there!" I overhead one excited fan exclaim.

One of the big crowd pleasers was Chris Forsberg's Nissan Patrol, which showed up to the party with a 1,000-horsepower 4.8L TB48 inline-six firing off two-foot flames through the hood.

For many, the sound and the fury are just part of the charm, and it's impossible to deny the appeal when thousands of smartphones are raised in unison at the spectacle of raw combustion. Tire smoke and turbochargers only complete the aesthetic. It's all part of the same package, and as the night came to an end, the entire structure reverberated with the sound of revving engines, a riot of gasoline turning into vapor.

Which brings us back to the question at hand: what are we really trying to save here? Truth is, if you've made it this far, you already know the answer. It's different for everyone, and either way, there's no shortage of chaos if you go looking for it. But done right, a splash of chaos keeps things interesting. Done right, chaos can be beautiful.

Embrace evolution. Reject regression. Here's to the next big shift.