Doo Dah Takes Old Pasadena: A Parade-Free Takeover With Extra Mayhem

Old Pasadena never really expects a Doo Dah Parade—mostly because the “occasional” parade itself never “promises” to show up—too much commitment, man,—but what descended on DogHaus and the Old Towne Pub on Sunday was pure, vintage, gloriously unhinged Doo Dah.

Call it a takeover, call it a Doo Dah Party, call it a civic disruption powered by beer and questionable couture. Whatever it was, it filled two blocks with enough music, mayhem, and merriment to qualify as a parade in everything but legality.

There would have been an actual parade this year—except, as Doo Dah royalty explained, the universe had other plans.

“We don’t like to give our real names,” said a man identifying himself as Doo Dah Prince Andrew, The Duke of Doo Dah. “It’s rather convoluted, but it has to do with the effect of the fires in Altadena and whatever that is, North Pasadena.”

The Eaton Fire aftermath—and the long recovery still unfolding for families throughout the burn zone and surrounding neighborhoods—was a major factor behind this year’s cancellation. Not the parade’s first disappearance, either.

“There’s a reason it’s the occasional DooDah,” he said, reminding everyone that this marks the third time the organizers have thrown a party instead of a parade, including the two COVID-era years.

Patricia Hurley, managing director of the Light Bringer Project—the nonprofit that has shepherded the parade for decades—said the year’s decision was both practical and respectful.

“People are still grieving, and there’s still a lot of work to do,” she said. “It just wasn’t yet time to get out in the streets and party. A lot of the families and kids we serve are fire victims, and our programs are under pressure with all the budget cuts. It was wiser this year to hold back on spending and focus on our mission.”

So instead of hundreds of costumed marchers clogging Colorado Boulevard, Doo Dah did the next best thing: it shoved everyone into two bars and let the universe handle the choreography.

By mid-afternoon, the Old Towne Pub stage was shoulder-to-shoulder for the announcement everyone came for—the coronation of the 2025 Doo Dah Queen.

Her name: Bootleg Meg. Her preparation: minimal.

“I didn’t decide to try out for Queen until this morning,” she said, laughing. “My first time trying. I didn’t wake up today thinking I’d be royalty.”

She works in bookkeeping “in the real world—kind of boring stuff,” but she fronts a rocking band as well, and had already dazzled the DogHaus crowd earlier in the day with a rocking version of The Sweet’s “Ballroom Blitz.”

Her first official proclamation as queen was aimed squarely at the community still recovering from the fires.

“To the residents of Altadena and Pasadena: we’re all in this together, and we’re going to come back stronger than ever.”

So, no parade? No problem.

There were bands, former queens, future queens, a prince of questionable lineage, and more glitter than advisable indoors. And for one afternoon, the spirit of Doo Dah didn’t just survive. It took over.