The Idea

Ah, Radwood. Since 2017, the event has showcased some of the finest parts of 80s and 90s culture all around the U.S., from cars to fashion and everything in between. For enthusiasts like me, the highlight has always been the opportunity to see the regular traffic of yesteryear finally get the spotlight they always deserved. It felt like everyone had the chance to show off their car, no matter how mid it might have been, and there was a sense of community among everyone in attendance.

The Execution

Then came the Alameda show, and Radwood wanted to “experiment.” This year’s event took place in October, rather than July, and the location moved once again to the Gold Bar Hangar, a former Naval hangar turned bar/event venue. The first sign of trouble reared its head when the admission process required interested owners to submit pictures of their car alongside their current insurance carrier for some strange reason. If you were accepted, the entry fee was a rather ludicrous $95, up from around $30 in 2025. General attendees entered for free, whereas last year it cost them $20.

What this resulted in was an overpacked venue with hand-picked, pristine cars that felt more like a corporate publicity stunt than a Radwood event done for the love of the game. I have no doubt the car owners were die-hard enthusiasts, but with only a handful of patina’d cars, it felt like Radwood wanted a manicured image of its show à la Monterey Car Week, rather than letting anyone with a period-correct car flex their ride. The only curation that should happen at an event like this is ensuring that 15 examples of the same car don’t show up to crowd the lot. This isn’t Motorlux. Hell, the 80s- and 90s-only parking lot outside the show had more variety than the show field itself.

Even if I did still see some dope cars, like that Trabant wagon, there just weren’t that many cars overall to look at. The whole place felt emptier than past events, with vast spaces between sections that could have easily fit more rides.

Second, while free general admission may have done wonders for Hagerty’s numbers, there was barely any room to move around, let alone take good pictures of every single car. More often than not, there would be 10 people crowded around a car, so you’d either have to put up with some limbs in your photo, or awkwardly wait five feet away to be noticed so you could shoot.

And then there was the music. One of my friends had their car parked right next to the stage, and they measured a 105-110 dB peak. That’s the equivalent of a chainsaw running constantly throughout the place from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. A jet engine taking off is 130 dB. Having conversations anywhere near the speakers was damn near impossible. Also, I’m no stickler for cursing and other foul language, but at a family-friendly event like this, whose idea was it to let the DJ introduce themselves as “motherfucking DJ Mike”?

The Disappointment

Overall, I left Radwood feeling like the organizers had mostly lost the plot of what the show was meant to be about. The camaraderie of a fun few hours with fellow owners of mediocre-but-cool-to-us 80s and 90s cars was gone, replaced by immaculate, museum-worthy examples and supercars you’ll see at any cars & coffee-style show on the West Coast while your ears are blasted from every direction. Denying cars that have been at Radwood for consecutive years for seemingly no good reason is a misstep of the highest caliber. If this truly was an experiment, and not a sign of things to come, then it was a failed one, and I hope things go back to the tried-and-true formula that worked for so long. If not, I can’t see the show hanging around for very much longer.