There's something beautifully dirtbag about setting an alarm the night before—not for church, not for a flight, not even a hike—just to make sure you beat the rush at the titty-centric coffee shop.
Eight a.m. on a Sunday. The pews are still warm from the 7 AM service of churches all around Los Angeles, and yet, I was pulling up to Los Angeles’ first (in a long time) Bikini Coffee Shop: Tanlines.
I wasn't first. A cop had beaten me to it—a five-foot-flat little man, blue line on his license plate—already posted up, as our tax dollars had personally funded his oat milk latte. Champing at the bit to have three beautiful women be nice to him.
I didn't know what to expect. Was the coffee going to be any good? Who exactly wakes up bright and early on a Sunday for bikini coffee?
Bikini cafés aren't new—just newish to Los Angeles.
The concept took off around Seattle in the early 2000s and became so widespread that ordinary coffee stands began advertising themselves as "family friendly." L.A. tried it once before with Bikini Espresso in 2009, but the shop lasted only four months. The city that put the bikini car wash on the map couldn't make it legal for multiple girls to serve you a cup of joe.
Of course, Seattle wasn't even first. Chile's café con piernas—literally "coffee with legs"—had already been serving coffee with a side of sex appeal for years. Apparently, multiple cultures examined caffeine and reached the same conclusion.
Tanlines belongs to a brother and sister, Brenda and Romero Villapudua, who had long talked about opening something together. They grew up going to mom-and-pop Mexican markets and wanted that feeling: the intimacy, the regulars, the sense that a place belongs to its neighborhood. He was in the Bay Area, she was in Long Beach, and whenever they linked up, the hangout always ended at a coffee shop. The concept, when it finally clicked, felt obvious: L.A. was missing this entirely.
"It's a super saturated market, we wanted something that would be different," Romero tells L.A. TACO. Neither of them had a background in coffee or running a business. "We just opened back in January of 2026; we are super fresh." They're figuring it out as they go, and that learning curve has not been without its bumps.
L.A. TACO received an online tip alleging that "Tanlines Coffee is predatory. They prey on vulnerable sex workers." When the allegation was put to owner and manager Romero, he was familiar with it. He traced it back to when the shop first opened: as newcomers to the business, they overhired, brought in baristas for a stage, and realized too late they didn't have the budget to take everyone on.
The baristas who did stay weren't hired for their pour-over technique. "None of them really had coffee experience. It's more about having a positive attitude and making the vibe enjoyable. Learning the skills to make coffee will come," Romero says.
The coffee is good. Beans sourced from City Bean Roasters' Westwood blend, landing on the sweeter side with a lot going on. The baristas push their favorites, recommending things like the banana nut bread latte or the marzapan latte. There was something almost wholesome about seeing all these men lined up to get their sugary little drinks. Almost.
The clientele is exactly who you'd expect and then some. Blue-collar workers and an entire fleet of UPS drivers share the line with nurses working on laptops and a mother-and-son duo from the farmers market who occasionally bring the staff homemade chicken salad. Then of course, your regular Gooners, men who post up in the corner with the cheapest coffee they can get and face the bar, just enjoying their $4 show.
The pastries come from Homeboy Industries. Father Greg Boyle's legendary L.A. operation that trains formerly incarcerated men and women in the culinary arts. So your morning bun arrives with a small sermon baked in, whether you asked for one or not.
The vibe of the coffee shop is bright, with light coming in through all the windows (steel bars over them like in many homes in an L.A. barrio environment meant to deter burglars, but windows nonetheless), orange lining to match the Tanlines branding, and a wall full of photos of the staff at a pool party, taken by one of the baristas' boyfriends.
To the left of the cashier sits a display for a bright orange "less-than-lethal" gun. Sold by one of the neighboring businesses that somehow perfectly matches the Tanlines aesthetic. It's confusing and inviting all at once, the kind of detail that feels very Florida-coded but in the heart of The City of Commerce.
The staff is beyond friendly. They put a whole new twist on falling in love with your local barista. They command the room and keep the line pushing; it was funny to see the cashier in the weeds with a giant line of customers in front of her like a regular coffee shop, with the only true difference being that the women were in their bikinis, freely being beautiful, powerful, and eight tickets deep on the line. It almost felt like they had found the perfect way to completely eliminate the complaint that an order was taking too long, because being there in their presence was the whole point.
“I was a bikini barista in Modesto. I wanted to do something I was already comfortable with, and when I saw that L.A. was getting one of these, it was time to move. I was always comfortable in my body, and I always wanted to play barista stimulator. I love making drinks; I love the whole job. I just started here two weeks ago, and it's so much better than the shop I worked at up north,” Barista Erika tells.
Mowgli, a part-time “Jumbo’s girl” and barista at Tanline, explains that the biggest difference between here and working at Jumbo’s is that she gets to feel more like herself, hang out with customers more, and talk about whatever's on her mind with them. “I had a whole conversation about death and dying with a customer the other day; you can’t talk that deep at the club. I’m talking to customers about gardening, my pet chickens, whatever I want here!” Then Mowgli proceeded to tell us about her pride and joy, pet chicken “Darlin’Bilina”.
Ruby, who had come from being a bikini bartender, said making the shift from nighttime to daytime just made sense. “I was already doing this and couldn’t work nights anymore; I needed the change. I looked this up, and it had barely opened, and I jumped onto the opportunity. The biggest difference is you’re no longer dealing with drunk people; I genuinely feel safer in this environment.”
Romero, when asked about how they keep the space safe, states, “I’m here seven days a week, open to close, but nothing has really happened where I’ve had to really intervene; the customers have been really chill.”
Pearl explains that she feels taken care of at Tanlines, she likes the people that come in, she likes the people she works with even noting that she had worked an event the night before and had not slept and the manager Romero’s girlfriend stepped in on the line so she could take a nap upstairs, which in the hospitality industry is incredibly rare to management be that understanding and helpful.
A delivery driver who's become a regular pulls up on his shift and is greeted by every barista like he's a part-shareholder. That's how often he's there. He's part of a group called C.O.D and Coffee, a group of gamers who meet up at coffee shops to watch livestreams and videos of people playing Call of Duty. "I sent them a photo of my screen watching a game with the girls posted up behind," he says with a grin. "Best C.O.D and Coffee, ever."
The older man working with copper wire in the warehouse just behind has nothing but kind words. "I really like having them here," he says. "It's nice to have a place to get something to eat and drink on the shift. They're totally fine."
Tanlines presents itself as something transgressive—a bikini coffee shop in an industrial corner of Los Angeles. But after a few hours inside, the novelty wears off and something much stranger emerges: It's just a neighborhood café. There are regulars. Customers and baristas talk about gardening, death, and pet chickens. Beautiful women make lattes, joke with each other, and remember everyone's order. The bikinis may get people through the door, but community is what keeps them coming back.
4300 E Washington Blvd. Commerce, CA 90040
